...nurgh...

Comic Reader Résumé: Fall-Winter, 1982

2012-02-02T01:36:00.002-06:00

ré·su·mé [rez-oo-mey, rez-oo-mey]
noun
1. a summing up; summary.
2. a brief written account of personal, educational, and professional qualifications and experience, as that prepared by an applicant for a job.

In 1982, a standard size comic new off the rack cost sixty cents. Meanwhile, I could buy loose back issues at the local flea market for a quarter or less each. Even in my youth, I appreciated value for the dollar. This helps to explain why I took much of the rest of 1982 off as a newsstand collector. In September, it took Masters of the Universe #1 to get me to pay full cover again, and it pretty much immediately put me off. I'd been buying the toys, so I was surprised when Skeletor appeared to die from catching He-Man's sword in the chest after a Superman team-up in DC Comics Presents. When this #1 seemed to open with an epilogue, and declared Skeletor totally alive, I felt cheated. Alfredo Alcala did a fine job livening up George Tuska's pencils, but to a kid there was something oddly icky about Alcala. I couldn't articulate it then, but he had a 70s Eurocentric vibe that, when applied to half naked barbarians, made me feel squicky. I guess you could call it an early bout of homophobia, although I should point out that I came to love Alcala later on horror titles. Anyway, the book felt misaligned with the mini-comics packaged with the figures, and came across as a Conan wannabe even from my far less critical formative perspective. The story by Paul Kupperberg did not hold my attention, and in fact Kupperberg would disappoint me so often in my youth that it was a revelation when I connected the dots years later. "The blotting Kleenex-- the eyelash curlers, the exfoliating stone-- a single father... of course dad was a transvestite!" I skipped October and November.

Now December was a banner month, though. When I saw that blood trailing down Black Cat's arm in Peter Parker, The Spectacular Spider-Man #76, I had to have it. I'd read one other Black Cat comic, but I had that bonding through familiarity that only children and the mentally disabled can produce with such ferocity. Unlike the Skeletor tease, Felicia really was stabbed, smooshed, and slashed all to hell by the arms of Doctor Octopus and the forces of the Owl (yes, the Owl had forces back then.) Also, this all happened while she was in bondage wearing a skintight outfit with deep cleavage. In another contrast with He-Man, this was probably my first pass at sadomasochistic pulp exploitation, which I was perfectly alright with. There was even some great melodrama as Peter tries to pass a college final in a daze while thinking about his girlfriend in critical condition. Whatever his faults as a plagiarist, Bill Mantlo could write circles around Kupperburg's functionality. Jim Mooney was also an inspired embellisher over the often stiff Al Milgrom, giving him fluidity, softening the edges, adding romance, and yes, sex appeal. Milgrom was great with conveying emotions, though. I haven't read the story in decades, but I remember it so vividly that I don't really need to.

Then there's DC Comics Presents #55, which I don't remember so well. I'm not really sure why I bought this one. I liked Superman, and he appeared to be crushed to death in a two page spread, but it was a fake-out. I think I'd seen Parasite in a coloring book, or just thought he looked cool. I would have a nostalgia for Air Wave from then on, but of the "oh, hey... Air Wave... huh" variety. Horrible costume, dorky powers, thin connection to Hal Jordan... blech. I think there was a villainous train conductor riding a mini flying choo-choo in this, and I know the original Air Wave wore roller skates that let him ride on top of telephone/power lines. That's something, of some sort. I never really warmed to Bob Rozakis (or much of DC's writing pool at the time,) and Alex Saviuk was sort of my personal Paul Kupperburg of art.

Finally, there was another awesome The Brave and the Bold, #196. That title was a perfect gateway drug, with a generation's Batman writer & artist using him to introduce all manner of DC irregulars to new readers. So of course DC canceled it four issues later for a garbage X-Men knock-off, the loathsome Outsiders. My affection for this take on Ragman outlived that for Black Cat, probably because there still aren't many humanist slumland five & dime super-heroes running around. Turning him into a wimpy Spectre with a minority angle to trot out on Hanukkah was less than inspired. As with the Spider-Man, what sticks with me are images like Vietnam vet Rory Regan standing at a sink, unable to wash the blood off his hands, or his father's drunken group of friends being slowly electrocuted. The identity switches were novel, and Jim Aparo drew the Caped Crusader with an unparalleled grace. Bob Haney scripts were always a gas, but this one resonated in a way specific to a guy probably aware that his writing days were almost done, giving his all on the way out the door. That is a striking cover as well on a childhood favorite.

Gakuen Mokushiroku: Highschool of the Dead

2012-01-30T00:10:00.000-06:00

The Short Version? Highschool unDead
What Is It?Action Horror T&A Cartoon
Who Is In It? Nobody.
Should I See It? No.

Back in October when the second season of The Walking Dead began airing, AMC also ran a Halloween-themed movie marathon (if a movie a day qualifies.) They were going to show Survival of the Dead, which I had yet see, hosted by George A. Romero. After the season premiere of Walking, and probably during my chilly reception to The Talking Dead, I decided that I would finally stream Survival off Netflix instead of bothering with the edited broadcast version with its commercial interruptions. As tends to be the case with Netflix, as soon as I decide to watch something, it's no longer available, and I was instead left with Highschool of the Dead. Like most people, I have the lifelong scars from those days that still allows me to love Heathers and Brick, so I decided to check it out.

I have tried to get into legitimate anime (as opposed to the Americanized stuff I grew up on like Battle of the Planets and Robotech) since the early nineties, but what little tickled my fancy tended to be the most prurient in nature. Zombie fiction though, I've loved since grade school. I'll give even the most rotten looking zombie shit half a chance, and combining flesh eating with somebody's freshman year seems like a chocolate and peanut butter combination. It was the anime part I had the most reservations about, since I find the stuff that gets animated in Japan and shipped to the U.S. tends to target the lowest common denominator in both cultures. Gakuen Mokushiroku: Highschool of the Dead is a rare and spectacular work of agitprop artistry, in that in manages to synthesize the very worst aspects of every genre it approaches to simultaneously serve as the nadir of each, tacitly proposing the abolition of all three.

For instance, I'm a big supporter of the shambling undead, as I prefer the psychological impact of creeping inevitability over the adrenaline rush of fast zombies. Gakuen Mokushiroku mostly favors old school shambling, but only in the form of lackadaisical predictability, repeating every hoary cliche and rendering the undead's victims painfully incompetent non-entities. However, these guys will get their run on occasionally, and with one exception, they're all of the bite-beat-turned variety. You don't get to see the slow, painful deterioration of bite victims, but even after they go all "rage virus" on you, they're pussy imbecile zombies that can easily be outrun, outsmarted, and outfought. There's no emotional component-- they're video game cannon fodder.

Gakuen Mokushiroku also represents the worst in anime. The "humor" is so painfully sophomoric and obvious that it's nearly invisible, beyond the tropes signalling "this is humorous," like nosebleeds in sexual situations and reaction shots to a sarcastic "burn." There's a ton of violence, but not a bit of it has any more impact than, again, the 8-bit bloodletting of an "edgy" eighties video game. Everyone turns out to be some form of archaic weapons master, and swordfighting with the living dead seems like shooting fish in a barrel. The character designs are totally prefab, seen countless times elsewhere, aside from maybe the chubby dork sharpshooter. The characters are completely shallow, and the plotting is mind-numbingly by the numbers. If you've seen one episode, you've seen them all. Adding to this feeling is that each twenty-five minute installment includes three minutes of obnoxious credits that you have to sit through to get to epilogues whose substance is largely reiterated in the next episode. Hell, there was even a "clip show" about four episodes in the catch up all their latecoming viewers.Finally, aside from one nude sequence midway through the twelve episode run, the sex here is all sizzle and no steak. Every bit of cleavage bearing, pantie flashing fan service is packed into each episode, without any of it being remotely titillating. I was shocked by that nude sequence, but only because I thought the show was designed for twelve year olds without internet access, because even the most desperate pubescent could scrounge up better stroke material out of Sears circulars or daytime television. The excesses of the show destroy any stroke value (for instance, the internet gif where a bullet in Matrix-style passes between a woman's individually swaying breasts.)

In the high school sub-genre, there has rarely been a less appealing gag than having one newly hunky fan-insertion protagonist lusted after by girls from every (hair) color in the rainbow. There's a mean bossy girl, an ex-girlfriend next door, the mystifying femme, the dumb blond bimbo-- all with tits bigger than their heads. They have names, I suppose, but they're all just types defined solely in one dimension. The voice acting is performed by the same faceless, indistinct lot behind every forgettable anime, and their performances are broad, flat, and grating. While there are students and teachers, the action leaves the actual high school fairly early, and there's little about that setting that impacts on the semblance of a story. It's every crappy teen flick in set-up, but in execution it's just every crappy zombie movie and/or anime.

Gakuen Mokushiroku: Highschool of the Dead is so wretched, I took finishing it as an endurance test that took me several months and the threat of lapsing off Netflix to complete. Unsurprisingly, while a few subplots are resolved, the mini-series is left wide open for a continuation. After slogging through the banality of this farce, you can't even expect the satisfaction of a complete story with any sort of finality. This is like one long introduction to the most tired franchise characters possible in a genre mash-up that makes potted meat product out of the detritus of its influences. I watched the whole thing, and my life was lessened by the time flushed away during my malignant exposure.

Wednesday Is Debutie For All I Care #133

2012-01-27T00:00:00.001-06:00

The Defenders #1 (2012)
Valen the Outcast #1
Witch Doctor: The Resuscitation #1

Defenders #1 (Marvel, 2012, $3.99)
16--18-- yeah, that's twenty pages for four bucks. I thought I'd at least get a few extra pages for the dollar difference against all those DC New 52 titles, but nope. See, I think most of those DC books suck, but I'll at least try them for a few months. That dollar has made the difference in my not trying a Marvel book I thought I might like so many fucking times, I can't tell you. I did try this one though, and it was the umpteen jillionth time for me and the Defenders.

The best thing about the title historically is that it's usually this really weird, off-flavor team-- kind of like blue cheese. I was actually traumatized by an issue of New Defenders as a kid, and what the hell was that thing Joe Casey did a few years back with Colossus? Anyway, the book's tended toward ookie and even spooky, which hasn't made it particularly profitable over the years, but it has been a neat footnote and the inspiration for some truly awesome WTF Handbook entries.

I don't get that impression here. Matt Fraction, despite his reputation for out there stuff like Casanova, has produced the most mainstream Defenders book of all time. You could have told me Bendis wrote this, and I'd have taken you at your word. The opening chaos was cliche to begin with, but it still reminded me of the relatively recent Xombi #1, without being a fraction (zing!) as inventive. Then we find out David Duchovny will be playing the part of Doctor Strange, which is WAY better casting than Doctor McDreamy, but still only serves to remind me that the Defenders lacks Californititties. It isn't enough for Namor to be an asshole with horrible taste in fashion anymore, so he chops people up with a scimitar, which only serves to remind everyone of how Aquaman swings a trident these days. Silver Surfer can become snow now, I guess, so okay. I've happily stayed away from Hulk stuff for many years, so I don't understand the nature of the threat that brings the new team together, like what the fuck it is and why Hulk isn't on the team to clean up his own mess. Who needs to keep new readers when there's lint to pick out of the Incredible Navel?

Speaking of Hulk shit, there's now two She-Hulks, the one here is red, and it's an out of character Betty Ross-Banner. I never liked Betty in the old days, but she was pretty cool when Peter David wrote her. Here's, she's kind of like old school Savage She-Hulk, but comes off as dumber and more unnecessarily aggressive. I guess this is female empowerment? What is it with Marvel watering all their properties down with doppelgangers, anyway? Don't they notice they're the shark-jumping point of franchises that often never recover, like Ghost Rider?

I didn't read Fraction's Iron Fist solo series, so I didn't know that he was one of those dilettante technologist comic book nerds that only appear in fan wankery. I never cared much about the guy, even when Claremont and Byrne were doing him, and this doesn't help in the slightest.

I bitch, but this wasn't a terrible book or anything. The dialogue was poppy, the art by the Dodsons was pretty, and even the coloring was attractive. It's just that the Defenders were always the "un-team," the leftovers thrown together in awkward but intriguing ways. In their matching costumes and tepid temperaments, the Defenders now seem like another Avengers line-up. It'll probably do well. Meh.

Valen the Outcast #1 (BOOM!, 2011, $1.00)
I have to be honest-- I read this comic on the toilet when I was really sleepy and one good bowel movement away from a wipe and a snooze. I don't remember much about it. Decades ago, I read a comic called Stalker #1 about a peasant who trades his soul to a devil to become the most badass swordfighter in the world. Stalker was struck by his existential emptiness, and decided to use his new abilities to get his soul back. Faustian deals are nothing new in fiction, but the premise was so simple and effective, I suspect it directly influenced later hits like Spawn. It was also written by Paul Levitz when that was a good thing, and featured the remarkably curious combination of epic art talents Steve Ditko and Wally Wood.

Valen is kind of like that, except he was a king who is now an undead zombie and he's got a mission of vengeance something something. A person wrote it and then another person drew it. It's leagues better than Wulf the Barbarian or Iron Jaw, but nobody is going to remember this in ten years like I remember Stalker, and Stalker fucking flopped.

Witch Doctor: The Resuscitation #1 (Image, 2011, $2.99)
Robert Kirkman is no one-hit wonder, but for every inspired work, there's a slew of mediocre shit that deserves its spot in the quarter bin. Kirkman came up from Image fandom, so I figured his Skybound publishing initiative was a way of paying it forward. That's a nice way of saying he would help a bunch of guys less talented than him fill a few more discount bins. For instance, when Witch Doctor was announced, the only thing I found noteworthy was that the cover artist did a nice old school Berni Wrightson pastiche. Still, the book received a reasonably positive reception online, with Hannibal Tabu dubbing it a House for the supernatural set. Given that I'm sufficiently sick of recycled big two garbage and a one shot was being offered, I gave it one shot.

The House parallel only works in the broadest sense, as Vincent Morrow is an egocentric doctor who condescends to his staff while offering brilliant analysis. Given that Morrow has one primary aide, Sherlock Holmes would be just as fitting. I suppose Morrow also has a sharp tongue, and the humor throughout is sardonic. I guess if you like House, you'll like this, but I don't think it's a requisite. The book reminded me as much of an updated Mr. Monster, just as that Wrightsonesque artist provided detailed interiors that owed just as much to modern talents like Phil Winslade. It's a very entertaining book that is well crafted, with fun characters capable of starting and ending a story in just twenty-two economical pages (meaning Marvel can go fuck their mothers some more.) Never underestimate the power of the quality entry point, as I intend to follow Brandon Seifert and Lukas Ketner's creation into trade paperback...

Is Tiny Dancer Really Elton's Little John? by Gavin Edwards (2006)

2012-01-24T11:17:00.001-06:00

Gavin Edwards is a freelance magazine writer who was sort of like the Bob Rozakis of Rolling Stone Magazine. Readers would ask him a random, often amusing question about the popular music industry, and he'd do his best to answer it. As a column, this required considerable brevity, so Edwards decided to expound on previous responses, add some new ones, and publish it as a book with the similarly gratuitous title Is Tiny Dancer Really Elton's Little John?: Music's Most Enduring Mysteries, Myths, and Rumors Revealed. The result is a brisk read, perfect for the bathroom, lunch break, or a simple single sitting during a trip. It's broken up into fifteen themed chapters (rock star sex lives, misheard lyrics, deaths, etc.) then further compartmentalized by roughly one Q & A per page. These modules of trivia allow the reader to stay on for any length of time they wish before setting the book down and picking up fresh. It's fairly trashy, like gossiping at a lounge table before a set, but it's a fun way to meander through the least necessary and most difficult to conventionally access ephemera of rock history. Given the choice between this or some shit unreferenced, sub-literate wiki, there's no contest.

A Frank Review of "The Devil's Hand" (1961)

2012-01-21T02:02:00.000-06:00

The Short Version? The Devil's Advocate, without all the good stuff.
What Is It? "Thriller"
Who Is In It? Hawkeye Pierce's dad, Commissioner Gordon
Should I See It? Not really. Whatever.

From the swingin' surf rock that plays over the opening credits, you know that this film is going to be pretty swell... compared to all the other boring ass moldy public domain crap available for fishing out of a Wall*Mart bin. It's about a guy who is selected to be the new mate of a witch, so he dumps his ailing girlfriend and takes advantage of being a casual member of an evil devil cult that actually refers to itself as an evil devil cult. As cults go, it's impressively multicultural, which was a slight thrill for me, after having seen a lot of other Aryan junk from this era recently. It stars an Italian and two Mexicans, and the best looking girl is a black chick who gets to dance a few times. The movie is totally watchable, if you've got it on in the background while submitting online job applications or something. The women are all attractive, the acting is reasonable, the footage is well shot, and the brief running time is agreeable. The protagonist is kind of a slimeball, and it doesn't make sense that two barely legal hotties are after a middle aged man, but that's showbiz. I was hoping for a twist ending that took advantage of his anti-heroic qualities, but infringing upon Commissioner Gordon's religious right to perform human sacrifice is pretty good, too.

Wednesday Is Genre Press Cheapness For All I Care #132

2012-01-18T00:00:00.001-06:00

Extinction Seed #0
Flash Gordon: Zeitgeist #1
House of Night #1

Extinction Seed #0 (GG Studio, 2011, $1.99)
To the best of my recollection, this was my first real taste of the wares of GG Studio, and it was much better than I was expecting. Mind, it still wasn't especially good, but I was expecting utter shit. Livia Pastore's art bears the passing resemblance to J. Scott Campbell that appears to be the house style, but packs in far more panels per page to maximize the story space over any flash. The art was shot (are rather scanned) from pencils, which does an excellent job of showing why the industry still needs inkers. I'm of the school that believes there would be no Jim Lee without guys like Scott Williams, Art Thibert and Joe Bennett to polish him up. Despite the efforts of colorist Alessia Nocera to add shadow and weight, the art is marred by an ephemeral quality that comes across more like a bleached out cartoon. There's twelve page of plot threads, but they don't coalesce into a story, very much bringing home the feel of this being a novelty-numbered teaser. If not, the hints of aureola through bathing bubbles and short shorts aplenty should bring it home. There are then five sketch pages of designs for characters never properly introduced, then eight house ads (including a full page advertising the opportunity of future advertisement space to advertisers.) As a whole, the package is serviceable, but insubstantial, which I'd imagine is less of an impression made than hoped for.

Flash Gordon: Zeitgeist #1 (Dynamic, 2011, $1.00)
As the introductory-priced first issue of a mini-series, this was a pretty solid book. As a reintroduction to Flash Gordon for a new generation of potential readers, it's kind of misguided. Alex Ross worships at the alter of the 1980 cult favorite motion picture triumph of production design over-- well, everything but maybe the original soundtrack by Queen. The flick flopped, but it's better remembered than the numerous other attempted revivals over the past thirty years, so why not let Ross do a full adaptation at the den of nostalgia that is Dynamite Entertainment.

Instead, at a time when DC Comics has had surprising success with running screaming from its roots in World War II, Zeitgeist plants Flash Gordon firmly in the realm of period piece. The premise is that the alien conqueror Ming the Merciless sets his sights toward Earth, and presumably contemplates the assistance of Adolph Hitler. That, or some renegades seek Hitler to work against Ming. I honestly read the book a few weeks ago, and forgot which way it went.

Anyway, the book does a nice job of setting the stage, introducing the thinly disguised Yellow Peril menace Ming as a Super-Hirohito usurping Hitler as the axis of the Axis. There are also a bunch of pages with that Gordon guy, who exhibits no real personality and comes across as kind of a pussy protagonist. The only thing worse than his getting forced into an experimental spaceship by Hans Zarkov is how long it takes Flash to wrest control from a tubby middle-aged scientist. Gordon is matched only by the completely useless Dale Arden as worst character in the book. Hitler doesn't get speaking lines, and he's the most overused villain in all known media. Yet, as presented, Flash and Dale are worse than Hitler. Worse. Than.

I've managed to go this long without reading a single Alex Raymond strip adventure, so the only way I can confirm any truth to source material is by saying this issue is exactly like the movie, aside from the period setting. Eric Trautmann's script covers the basics (aside from providing a protagonist of value,) and the art of Daniel Indro is very appealing. Like several of the more recent Dynamite samples, the quality has improved well past the point of my using Dynamite as a punchline, but not quite to the point of paying more than a dollar.

House of Night #1 (Dark Horse, 2011, $1.00)
My girlfriend loves Harry Potter, and I know the movies pretty well through osmosis and some unfortunate direct contact, thanks to those incessant ABC Family weekend marathons. As you may have noted from my tone, I don't care for the stuff, but I respect the basic quality of the work and the fans. I find it much more tolerable than a lot of the other cults out there. When they finally stopped making Potter stuff, my girl decided to give Twilight a try. Thankfully, that didn't take, because that shit was insultingly dumb. I'd already ruined her for it with True Blood anyway, although I would wholeheartedly support some guest appearances by Anna Kendrick, Christian Serratos and Ashley Greene as girlfriends of Jason Stackhouse.

House of Night is like eating a Harry Potter book and a Twilight book and then shitting them both onto pulp stock. Whatever nourishing value either franchise has got absorbed in the small intestine, and House of Night was the refuse reject for use by the body. The comic is based on a series of young adult novels that clearly, calculatingly picked through the bowel movements of J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer looking for edible peanuts. The comic adaptation is therefore like the last body in a Human Centipede of literature that begins with eating the shit of two successful writers. I can't even begin to parse out the cliché laid upon cliché laid upon cliché from such obvious, direct and universally recognized sources. It is the worst elements of both franchises so blatantly stolen that even illiterate Americans who wait for the movies should cry foul. Plus, fuck it, they threw in some of Eric Northman's viking kin, because maybe the kids won't have snuck a peek at True Blood their own selves. The lead is even some fairy sorceress or some shit like the lovechild of Ron Weasley and Sookie Stackhouse. As (poorly) drawn by Joëlle Jones, that somehow equals Dani Moonstar. Given the images conjured by that "If They Mated," probably for the best.

nurghophonic jukebox: "Your Love Just Ain't Right" by Angel

2012-01-13T23:32:00.002-06:00

Written By: Andre & Keith Williams
Released: 1991
Album: Your Love Just Ain't Right
Single?: Yes.

I caught this song on “MTV International,” a syndicated block of videos that ran on Spanish language channels hosted by Daisy Fuentes. Angel speaks less español on this song than Gerardo did on "Rico Suave," so sights were clearly on crossover. It didn't take, I can't find any lyrics online, and the music video only came up available on YouTube in May of 2011. It's as repetitive as one would expect from a dance track, but I found it catchy, and thought I'd share. According to another YouTuber, "1991 dance-pop single from Angel Ferreira, a former background singer for artists like Madonna and Vanessa Williams. Today he leads an Afro-Cuban musical group known as Angel & The Mambokats." Dude can dance too, although people with a low voguing tolerance had best avert their eyes.

Wednesday Is New 53 Minus 49 For All I Care #131

2012-01-11T00:00:00.001-06:00

Aquaman #4 (2012)
Green Lantern Corps #4 (2012)
The Huntress #3 (2012)
Stormwatch #4 (2012)

Aquaman #4 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
I liked this better when it was called Aliens. Well, except without all the stuff with Bishop and Carter Burke and Newt and Vasquez and Hudson. Pretty much just the colonists and the colonial marines that died in the first encounter. Aquaman is Hicks and Mera is Ripley and the jerky cops are all Gorman and I guess the dog is Jonesy. Oh, and it's only about five minutes long, and ends when the ship picks Ripley up from the platform. Coming in 2012: The Power Loader!

Green Lantern Corps #4 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
Remember that old Stan Lee saying about how every comic is somebody's first? Pete Tomasi doesn't. See, this was my first issue of GLC since the Mongul arc from volume one. I don't think any of the corpsmen who were in that story turn up here. I don't know these guys. They raided some ninja dudes's planet, things go to crap, and one gets executed because John Stewart needed something else to feel guilty over. The ninja guys have something to do with GL power batteries, from what I gather. Whatever. Guy Gardner is Jack Bauer, torturing some dude that already looks dead up in his face. Martian Manhunter shows up from out of Tomasi's poop chute to get all mindrapey, including wiping Guy, who he's never met before. You know what kind of comics I don't need to read? Ones with nothing new or interesting to say except to tell me that all my funny JLI issues don't count anymore. Fuck you bitches, 'cuz I've got a few longboxes of that good shit, and they're the only reason I bought this turd.

The Huntress #3 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
Stop me if you've heard this one: Huntress in a foreign country, shooting trick crossbow bolts from hiding. She calls the reporter guy for exposition. She eavesdrops on conversations. She beats up random unimpressive goons. There's corruption in high places. The gangster bad guys leer at the innocent girls they traffic for sex. Huntress vows to stop them. Dude, you could have stopped me sentences ago. This isn't just every issue of this mini-series, but whole chunks of the video market for action movies in the heyday of VHS. It could be retro cool if it were sexy or funny or amusing bad-- anything but strictly perfunctory. A waste of a good character and really attractive art on endlessly spinning wheels.

Stormwatch #4 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
Paul Cornell kept telling everybody that all the wack-a-doo b.s. going on in this book would amount to something. Apparently, that something is the readership's collective sigh that the dude bails after #6. Not one-- not two-- but three gods pop out of boxes to tell plotlines from the first three issues to talk to the hand. "Those sixty pages you read earlier? That 'plot?' Nope. Stops right here." They're really tired contrivances too, like "Let's fill the energy guy up with enough energy to shoot super-energy that'll wipe out the bad guys in one fell swoop" and "Our secret bosses show up to fix everything." GTFO. Midnighter coming on to Apollo was less like all those cynical, sarcastic British techno-thrillers they're known for and more like the sorts of panels from '60s Young Romance comics Roy Lichtenstein would have swiped from. The rest of the paper doll version of the Authority just goes through the motions of a post-Morrison team book as written by an incompetent acolyte. Also, artist Miguel Sepulveda shows a Rob Liefeldian hatred of feet. Lacking the common courtesy to offer spontaneous manifestations of fog or smoke or dust clouds, Sepulveda just draws toes like Charles Schultz drew Charlie Brown's hair.

A Frank Review of "Terrified!" (1963)

2012-01-09T00:00:00.000-06:00

The Short Version? Pre-Slasher movie
What Is It? Thriller
Who Is In It? Nobody
Should I See It? Probably not.

I wish Terrified! was a better movie. It has an interesting premise, with acting decent for its time and budget. There is an aficionado of fear conducting unscientific experiments in a small town. From simple games of chicken on the highway to burying a man alive in cement, our killer relishes the terror he inflicts. The guy is sharp looking in a neat black suit and tie with black gloves and mask concealing everything but his eyes. Between his distinctive looks and obsessions, the killer serves as a prototype for the slashers of a decade on, but this guy also enjoys verbally taunting and manipulating his prey.

There are three primary characters pursued by the killer. Rod Lauren plays Ken, a brooding James Dean type fascinated by the effects of terror on society. Ken offers a few heavy-handed monologues on the matter, which nonetheless elevates the material above the usual mindless b-movie nonsense. Lauren was a one hit wonder whose life took several tragic turns, including a murder accusation and his later suicide. Steve Drexel plays David, a workaday guy vying for the affections of a shared love interest. Tracy Olsen plays Marge, the lovely young woman torn between the two men. Ken is given a few flashback moments to round out his character, but for the most part, none develop beyond that outline.

Most of the running time is spent in a ghost town converted into one large haunted house, through which the killer teases and chases Ken. This is fun at times, but goes on too long, and could use a few more bodies to divide the killer's time. From there, a few minor complications arise, the killer's true identity is revealed, and after wasting a quarter of an hour, everything wraps in a matter of minute. Not a typo.

Someone could do a really nifty remake of this picture. It needs more characters and a lot more red herrings to jerk the audience around about the killer's identity, but without it feeling like a wimpy cheat. A few more bloodless murders could be played out instead of just teased, and a few more armchair psychological/philosophical rants could be fun. Until then, this is just a dated, thrill-less thriller with a nifty antagonist but not a lot to do.

Comic Reader Résumé: Spring-Summer, 1982

2012-01-06T00:00:00.000-06:00

ré·su·mé [rez-oo-mey, rez-oo-mey]
noun
1. a summing up; summary.
2. a brief written account of personal, educational, and professional qualifications and experience, as that prepared by an applicant for a job.

March, 1982 was a decidedly off month for me. My copy of Conan the Barbarian #135 by Steven Grant, Mark Silvestri & Josef Rubinstein came out of a grocery store three pack purchased by my father four or five years after publication. I probably bought The Saga of Swamp Thing #2, but only because I was a sucker for photo covers, and that might have just come out of a cheapie bin as late as 1989. I have no recollection of either story.

I definitely picked The Warlord #58-61, because I was really into Mike Grell's riff on The Man in the Iron Mask. I'm just as confident I bought them a year or two after the fact at the flea market, and that I could never force myself to read the Arion back-ups.

By comparison, April of 1982 was boffo. DC Comics Presents #47 came home with me because it was the first Masters of the Universe comic book tie-in, and I was totally into He-Man at the time. Paul Kupperberg's story was okay, I guess, but I totally hated the art by Curt Swan and Mike DeCarlo. I could have sworn Skeletor was killed when He-Man threw his sword into the villain's chest, so I was confused when he turned back up again in another comic. When Conan stabbed somebody, they tended to stay dead. I always found super-heroes mingling with licensed properties weird, and I was somehow savvy enough even then to recognize instances like this where it occurred. I have absolutely no memory of the back-up, "Whatever Happened to Sandy the Golden Boy?"

The Rose and the Thorn had an origin recap in The Brave and the Bold #188, and the multiple personality disorder feminist angle tripped out my unsophisticated brain. The cover and interiors by Jim Aparo were striking, and writer Robert Kanigher had me hooked with the title, "A Grave as Wide as the World." The Nemesis back-up by Cary Burkett and Dan Spiegle was less impressive, as I found the art ugly and a disservice to the reservedly cool look of Nemesis, sort of a Steve McQueen type.

I recall looking through a buddy's copy of Marvel Fanfare #3 with the sweet Michael Golden art, which was likely my introduction to Ka-Zar and the Savage Land. I also really dug my pal's Avengers #221 because of the novel voting ballot cover to select two new team members. I distinctly recall reading Avengers #222 at the beauty salon where my grandmother got her hair done. The team of Jim Shooter, Steven Grant, Greg LaRocque & Brett Breeding did a fine job by my standards, as I retained a soft spot for Masters of Evil Moonstone and Tiger Shark for years. I especially thought Whirlwind was cool, aside from the dippy helmet, because he could deal so much damage while protected by his tornado. Egghead was the odd man out, a wimpy scientist amongst scary villains.

I guess I was a bimonthly reader. I don't believe I bought anything in May, except perhaps the second part of the Rose & Thorn team-up in The Brave and the Bold #189. Just as likely, I fished it out of a back issue box years later. It had nazis, who were pretty ubiquitous thanks to Raiders of the Lost Ark, but it didn't not stick to my brain like the first part.

You would think a kid set loose for the summer would be all over comic books, but these were pretty much dead months to me. In June, I only picked up Weird War Tales #115, around the time the Creature Commandos feature merged with G.I. Robot. Robert Kanigher and Fred Carrillo crafted the affecting tale "You Can't Pin a Medal on a Robot," which impressed me with its stoicism and depressed me with its pathos. Those poor disabled soldiers, fighting for countries that dubbed them freaks and sent them off on suicide missions.

My one new comic for July was Batman Annual #8, which I pulled off a spinner rack at Gemco. I was fascinated by "The Messiah of the Crimson Sun" by Mike W. Barr and Trevor Von Eeden. I had never seen art or coloring like that before, the latter provided by Lynn Varley of eventual The Dark Knight Returns fame. It was beautiful, striking, and had scope of apocalyptic magnitude, up to and including the appearance of a Christlike figure. It was my first Rā's al Ghūl story, who remains one of my favorite villains, Batman or otherwise. Of course, any time I read a Rā's story of less grandeur or with art inferior to the high standards set here, I feel the creators are just plain doing it wrong. I still have my original copy, sans cover and some early pages, plus a complete reading copy. This was the first "graphic novel" I ever read in terms of feel and quality, despite it simply being an annual. Has DC ever collected all the '80s Barr Ra's stories in a trade paperback? I'd much prefer to see something like this in a hardcover than the umpteenth repackaging of Alan Moore stories. I guess that I was so bowled over, I skipped August entirely.

A Frank Review of "Nightmare in Wax" (1969)

2012-01-04T00:00:00.000-06:00

The Short Version? The Garage of Wax
What Is It? "Horror."
Who Is In It? Nobody.
Should I See It? No.

The House of Wax is a classic film shamelessly and artlessly ripped-off by this floundering feature. The main differences are that this was contemporary instead of a period piece, none of the acting or effects are any good, the cinematography is a muted mess, plus there's no goofy anaglyph 3D to lend any cheese factor. The killer's technique doesn't make a lick of sense, the cops in this program are morons, and the only thing worse than the non-story is the cop out ending. Terrible from front to back. Completely worthless.

Wednesday Is Anthologistic 2011 For All I Care #130

2011-12-31T01:18:00.119-06:00

Liberty Annual 2011
The Next Issue Project #3: Crack Comics

I've had these two swell anthologies lying around for a slow week to review, then took off much of December in that department. Now I've got to rush them out while the year of release in the fucking title still matches the year of review...

The CBLDF Presents Liberty Annual 2011 (Image, 2011, $4.99)
I didn't know that Bob Schreck was bisexual, and I don't actually care, except that an aspect of his co-editing this year's anthology seemed to be gaying it up. Maybe Lady Gaga's really the one to blame, but somehow censorship and queer bullying got all tangled up into a book that seems more concerned with the latter than the former. Let's break it down...

Editorial illo by Moon and Ba. Baa? Bah.
Batman pin-up by Dustin Nguyen. You know, the hero accused of being a card-carrying member of NAMBLA by Frederick Wertham, whose publisher helped create and sustain the Comic Code Authority of America. See the cognitive dissonance between stated subject and textual one already?
Grendel in "Sympathy From the Devil" by Matt Wagner. Even a big greasy wop mafioso can dig on dick. That's One to Grow On. Pedantic and fucking lame.
Alan Turing pin-up by Frank Quitely. It used a high minded concept as an excuse to not finish the friggin' drawing. I Googled him, as requested by the artist. Dead dandy who was persecuted while contributing to the development of computer science.
"It's Not a Trick" by J.H. Williams and Todd Klein. Stop me if you've heard this one-- Williams sacrifices storytelling for an intricately designed page layout.
"The Light at the End of the Tunnel" is a Hustler strip, except trading misogyny for homosexuality and somehow, impossibly, being even less funny.
Cowboy Ninja Viking by more people I don't care enough about to type the credits for. Preachy shit that reads like comments following a Yahoo article on censorship.
"La Caricature" by Brabdon Montclare and Joelle Jones: Finally a well drawn story relevant to the subject. Mediocre, but still.
"Punk Rock, Gay, Time Machine" by Steve Niles and Michael Montenat. Still gay, but the autobiographical aspect makes it interesting, while sidestepping the recently ubiquitous "it gets better" platitudes.
X-Men pin-up by Greg Land. I guess framing the muties as social outcasts and spotlighting the White Queen in her fetish costume marries the two subjects of this edition. I repeat-- Greg fucking Land best summarized this comic.
"Dunce" by Carla Speed McNeil: I seriously have to find some Finder. Two stories in two anthologies on completely different subjects were highlights in each volume. Discusses political correctness and mental retardation from a very personal standpoint.
"The Broken Arrow" by Michael Vincent Bramley and Fred Hembeck: What I find interesting is that you don't even have to "read" this silent story panel by panel. You can take it all in at a glance as one image with a clear message. It would make a nice poster for tolerance.
"Radiation" pin-up by Shane Davis: Um... what?
"The Flowering" by Kazim Ali & Craig Thompson: Easily the best of the bunch. Sensitive, thoughtful, spiritual, insightful and even sensual.
Avengers Prime trio pin-up by Greg Horn. Big, dumb and ugly.
"Separation of Church and State" by J. Michael Straczynski and Kevin Sacco: Strong two pages of talking points against the bullshit notion of a "Christian Nation."
Green Lantern pin-up by Ivan Reis. Okay, I'm far more irritated about these goddamned super-heroes than I am about the homo-hijacking. They have absolutely, 100% fuck-all to do with anything, and are woefully out of place. "The Will To Power!" Seriously?
"The Conversion" by Dara Naraghi and Christopher Mitten: Man, the examination of Islam is the salvation of this edition. Nifty story set in 1982 Iran that could in many respects be a direct reflection of Anytown, U.S.A. today.
"God I Hate The Unfunny, Ham-Fisted Judd Winick," or something like that.
"The Naked Truth" by Richard Starkings: Three pages of anthropomorphic animal cock and the disproportionately slim quim that accommodates them. Unnerving nude paper dolls with amusingly hyperbolic text. Why would a merciful god withhold so brutally on the poor pachyderm?
"Being Normal" by Mark Waid and Jeff Lemire: Somehow, accepting yourself while getting your geek on feels like a more universal progressive message than Hunter Rose's making observations about the bible most of us worked out by junior high.
"Dangerous Customs" by the guys stuck spelling out the mission of the CBLDF on the last page of these annuals each year.

In summary, the disparity between the good and bad was more pronounced this year, and by taking on a specific "b" cause this time, the book felt less inclusive and more like a lecture than usual. Hopefully, more inspiration will be taken from the highs that blended homosexual characters into a broader narrative than from Judd Winick dick-slapping people across the cheek in each panel.

Crack Comics #63 (Image, 2011, $4.99)
Almost a year late, the latest (and slowest) Next Issue Project was well worth the weight. Three issues over four years (Fantastic Comics #24 (2008) was solicited for December of 2007, while Silver Streak Comics #24 (2009) came out two years ago) is not an admirable shipping record, but this was honestly the best one yet, and one of my favorite reads of this year. Let me count the ways in which this single issue modern continuation of a Golden Age series is superior to the Project: Superpowers competitor experiment it outlived (though likely will never outproduce, at least in the 21st century...)

Mike Allred cover: Simple but swell.
Nifty period novelty ads.
Captain Triumph by Alan Weiss: A dynamite story with lush art that makes inventive use of the character's central gimmick.
The Space Legion in "A Matter of Some Gravity" by Chris Burnham: Fun art, storytelling, and effects to evoke the period, but weak characterization and an abrupt, oblique conclusion.
The Clock by Paul Maybury: I've never heard of this guy before, but his story seriously kicked ass to the point where I want to read the next issue after that big tease of a closing splash. I suspect this owes as much to the influence of the Punisher as the Clock, but a great time nonetheless. The art is in the indie mode, along similar lines as Paul Grist's contribution to a previous N.I.J., but it suits the material, as does the muted, almost slate coloring.
Molly the Model by Terry Austin: A bit more titillating than the source material would suggest, with art recalling early Los Bros Hernandez, which for a single page gag strip adds up to winning.
Alias the Spider in "Curse the Darkness" by Adam McGovern and Paolo Leandri: More talent unknown to me, and they seem intent on snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, but don't quite pull it off. There are one or two too many twists in the serpentine script, preventing it from ending on a high note on page five of six. Regardless, the giddy high their superb craftsmanship put me on up to that point mark them as persons of interest.
Spitfire by Herb Trimpe: The quality starts to decline rapidly at this, the Trimping point. Actually, this was a cute story, a sort of rambling origin for an exceedingly P.C. lift of the Blackhawk Squadron. I confess to a lifelong anti-Trimpe bias, but I had no idea that he drew this until I looked up the credits, and it's the best art I've ever seen from him.
Slap Happy Pappy by Joe Keatinge: Easily the worst story of the lot. It just plain sucked. Ugly mini-comic art and a dumb, trite story of blessedly brief two pages.
Hack O'Hara by Erik Larsen: This project is Larsen's baby, but he's also guilty of being the most consistent provider of poor choices in this series. Featuring art stylings, layouts, and a monster deeply indebted to Silver Age Kirby, Larsen brings snarky '80s revisionism and a friggin' intra-feature crossover to boot. Larsen has the most fun with the book's conceit technically, including brown paper and off register color separations, but it's atonal in its company and reminds me of mistakes made previously in both the N.I.P. and the short-lived Dynamite Publishing Golden Age sub-line.
Red Torpedo in "Life at Sea" by B. Clay Moore, Frank Fosco and Erik Larsen: A rather dry silent story to close out the book. Larsen's inks overwhelm Fosco, and the plot owes debts all over the place. Decent enough to not dissuade me from giving the book as a whole my unreserved recommendation.

Wednesday Is New 52-2 For All I Care #129

2011-12-28T00:00:00.002-06:00

Aquaman #3 (2011)
Demon Knights #2
The Huntress #2 (2011)

Aquaman #3 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
This was my favorite issue so far, since I felt it had the best balance of back story, exposition, action, characterization and tantalizing morsels of future developments. A lot can come of a simple throwaway line like "You still kept that trident. Despite all the trouble it might bring." Anyway, the book remains gorgeous to behold, and while still a slight read, this time it was a satisfying one.

Demon Knights #2 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
Like the first issue, except the closing battle there carries on throughout this issue and on to the next. Nice art, mildly humorous, flips the Stormwatch paradigm by focusing on the familiar characters you like instead of the new ones you don't. Still, nothing is accomplished beyond displays of powers/prowess. I could have posted this week's reviews last week, but I kept putting it off waiting to be inspired to say more about this one comic. Never came. Eh, these books are mostly two months old anyway, so who gives a shit?

The Huntress #2 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
I liked it better when it was called The Huntress #1. It's like they just rearranged the pages here. It still looks good, and I'd like to give a shout out to colorist Andrew Dalhouse for managing softer, feminine coloring suited for a purple-clad vigilante without undermining the darker aspects of the story. However, that story has not progressed in the slightest, and reads like a silly '80s action movie without a sense of stakes or accomplishment for the protagonist. There's even a mild, halfhearted exploitation vibe. The Guillem March cover is this comic in a nutshell: an otherwise attractive image marred by an incompetently positioned bo staff obscuring the heroine's face. I want to like it, but it undermines itself in obvious ways.

1998 Wizard Magazine Holiday Present Tags

2011-12-25T00:00:00.001-06:00

Featuring Katchoo from Strangers in Paradise, Dawn, Monkeyman and O'Brien, Darkchylde, Danger Girl, Lady Death, The Coven, Shi and The Tenth. A very indy Christmas, so I figure the big two must have been Grinches after last year. It occurs to me that I wish Tony Daniel drew Batman in his old cartoony style. Might be more palatable.

nurghophonic jukebox: "Ésta Es Tu Vida" by Hombres G

2011-12-22T00:00:00.000-06:00

Released: 1990
Album: Ésta Es Tu Vida
Single?: Yes.

The album was a critical success but a sales dud. Cool, dark, preachy video, though. Dig the cheesy early CGI!

Lyrics:

Ellos lucharon por tu nombre
y ni siquiera saben cual es
jovenes que llegan desde algun lugar
pero todo sigue igual.
Ellos murieron en las playas
no todos pudieron cantar
ahora hay abuelos
que no hablan de la guerra
pero todo sigue igual.
Y yo no se porque
no nos abrazamos
porque queremos aparentar tanta frialdad.
Hay algo aqui lleno de odio
hay algo que funciona mal
y entre tu y yo es posible
que tambien haya algo que cambiar.
Y yo no se porque
no somos todos hermanos
porque queremos aparentar tanta maldad.
Todos vemos la muerte
y sentimos el dolor
lo pasan todos los dias
por la television.
Tiene alguien algo que decir
queda alguien que aun crea en el amor.
Esta es tu vida, y asi sera
pero no puedes luchar mas
ahora mira a tu hijo a los ojos
porque te preguntara:
no se porque
no nos abrazamos
porque queremos aparentar tanta frialdad
Hey tu
ellos esperan una palabra de tus labios
Hey tu
ellos no quieren que les enseñes a matar
Hey tu
ya no hay batallas en las playas
ya no hay gente que se calla
aunque todavia se muere por la libertad

nurghophonic jukebox: "Silent All These Years" by Tori Amos

2011-12-17T00:00:00.001-06:00

Written By: Tori Amos
Released: November, 1991 (U.K.)
Album: Title
Single?: #21 on UK Singles Chart, #65 on U.S. Billboard Hot 100

I want to say my introduction to Tori Amos came with the video to "Crucify," followed by her appearance on The Arsenio Hall Show in 1992 to perform "Silent." It's a beautiful song that has never lost its power, but I somehow managed to go nearly twenty years without seeing the official music video. As a result, I prefer the live version, so you'll have to scroll past the lyrics for the glossy take.

Lyrics:

Excuse me but can I be you for a while
My dog won't bite if you sit real still
I got the anti-Christ in the kitchen yellin' at me again
Yeah I can hear that
Been saved again by the garbage truck
I got something to say you know
But nothing comes
Yes I know what you think of me
You never shut-up
Yeah I can hear that

But what if I'm a mermaid
In these jeans of his
With her name still on it
Hey but I don't care
Cause sometimes
I said sometimes
I hear my voice
And it's been here
Silent All These Years

So you found a girl
Who thinks really deep thougts
What's so amazing about really deep thoughts
Boy you best praya that I bleed real soon
How's that thought for you
My scream got lost in a paper cup
You think there's a heaven
Where some screams have gone
I got 25 bucks and a cracker
Do you think it's enough
To get us there

Cause what if I'm a mermaid
In these jeans of his
With her name still on it
Hey but I don't care
Cause sometimes
I said sometimes
I hear my voice
And it's been here
Silent All These...

Years go by
Will I still be waiting
For somebody else to understand
Years go by
If I'm stripped of my beauty
And the orange clouds
Raining in head
Years go by
Will I choke on my tears
Till finally there is nothing left
One more casualty
You know we're too easy Easy Easy

Well I love the way we communicate
Your eyes focus on my funny lip shape
Let's hear what you think of me now
But baby don't look up
The sky is falling
Your mother shows up in a nasty dress
It's your turn now to stand where I stand
Everybody lookin' at you here
Take hold of my hand
Yeah I can hear them

But what if I'm a mermaid
In these jeans of his
With her name still on it
Hey but I don't care
Cause sometimes
I said sometimes
I hear my voice [x3]

And it's been here
Silent All These Years
I've been here
Silent All These Years

The Walking Dead Volume 1: Days Gone By (2004)

2011-12-13T04:22:00.001-06:00

I believe The Walking Dead is now my personal single longest unbroken run reading a title. I was interested when the first issue was solicited, but I was inclined to trade-wait most series by that point, and am glad I did. That first volume was less than ten bucks, and was released quickly enough that I got to preorder the first uncollected single issue that same month for a dollar. It was jarring jumping from the shocking finale of the trade to a follow-up issue by a new and extremely different artist. Rereading the trade, I was much more conscious of the individual issue/chapter breaks, and I don't think I would have related to the story the same way in monthly installments. The book works better as a twice yearly bolus infusion of zombie soap opera, and I suspect I might not have stuck through the grind of months.

Kirkman seems to need that twelve times a year schedule. In his first and only foreword to the trade paperbacks, he explains that this was intended to be the zombie story that never ends, as opposed to the grim finality of most movies. Kirkman dismisses Return of the Living Dead in favor of Dawn, which is something I could never do, despite Romero's film being perhaps my favorite ever. Still, I understand that Kirkman needs his epic to be deadly serious, always relate in human terms, and cleave to Romero's social commentary over O'Bannon's cheeky kicks. This is the beginning of the long journey of a group of characters experiencing hell on earth, and so far, Kirkman has remained true to his stated goals.

Kirkman said of the series' star, "You guys are going to see Rick change and mature to the point that when you look back on this book you won't even recognize him." He also spends a lot of time heaping praise on artist Tony Moore. These things are related. Moore couldn't produce on a monthly schedule, and after years prior as a creative team, their partnership ended with the last issue collected in this trade. The split was acrimonious, but Moore stayed on to produce covers into the second year. A bone of contention that I've always had with the book is that there are no cover reproductions in the trades, but I'm somewhat thankful now. The new artist so made this book his own that I literally do not recognize the Rick Grimes of these earlier issues as the guy I've followed for years since. Of course, Kirkman meant the changes that would occur within Rick, and that was true as well.

It's very interesting to look at Tony Moore's work in retrospect. He has a very crisp, energetic style. He's a natural storyteller who packs in just the right amount of detail to please the eye without stalling the flow of the story. The sequence where Rick and Glenn scavenge at a gun shop in Atlanta, and things take a bad turn, is one of the rare instances in all my years of with comics where I was so excited that I had to stop reading the text and let my eyes travel panel to panel to see the action resolve. Moore's work is wonderful, and yet, I think it was best that he left the book when he did. All of his characters have friendly, comic strip faces that make it difficult to take dramatic moments seriously. His zombies are delightfully grotesque, but in a Jack Davis at EC vein that render them less threatening and tragic than they should be. There's a key character death where the victim looks less in agony than about to groan "good grief" in their best Charles Schultz imitation. The dichotomy is problematic.

It was a great thing to have Tony Moore start the book. He set the artistic bar high and hooked readers that might have resisted his less flashy replacement. The gray tones Moore established set the visual look of the series in an essential way for a black & white comic intended for a broad audience. It lends weight and shadow that is the life blood of the reality and survivalist horror of the book. At the same time, there's an innocent quality to the art that reflects the naivete of the characters at this stage of the crisis. The final twist at the end of the trade shatters any illusions of normalcy, and is the perfect point to switch to a moodier, more "vérité" art style.

I don't believe that I've ever revisited any of the volumes of this series before, and after nearly a hundred issues and 1.5 seasons of a television adaptation, it's revelatory. I sometimes think of the AMC show as a "What If?" tangent universe where a few variations yield divergent results. I'm reminded how phony that notion is. The characterization on the show is so vastly different that many "adapted" characters are unrecognizable, and I feel their being informed by the characters as they developed severely damages their personal arcs. For instance, the Lori of the show is a cold bitch pretty much from her first episode, and in the comics she did become rather unsympathetic, but in the beginning it was easy to see her as a loving wife and mother. On the show, I often find my loyalties divided between Shane's amoral pragmatism and Rick's perilous altruism. It's no wonder the audience favorite has ended up being Daryl Dixon, the white male Michonne. It's clear why Rick became group leader from this first trade, as he's the most intelligent and the broadest thinker of the band. The comic book Shane is plainly deluded and emotionally unstable, so it's no wonder Rick was readily embraced. TV Rick jumped straight into territory where his reasoning is permanently in question, while comic Rick proved himself thoroughly before making understandable missteps in uncertain times.

Another thing I miss on the TV series is the time taken to properly introduce supporting characters and ensure that they are likeable and valuable. For instance, the show threw Glenn, Andrea, T-Dog and Merle at the viewers all at once. My girlfriend couldn't understand why Glenn is my favorite surviving character, because on TV he wasn't the person who guided Rick through Atlanta, and he wasn't the lone sneak thief that sustained the group. My Glenn didn't show up until the second season. The Dale of the show has been an increasingly irritating nuisance and busybody, where in the book he was the first person to warn Rick about problems within the group, and proved handy with an ax in saving Donna. My recollection was that Amy and Andrea developed as sisters across a couple of years worth of comics, so I was surprised to find the turn in their relationship was about as swift as on the show. However, they then progressed quietly in the background, whereas the show turned that into such an in-your-face development as to be a major turn-off. At least Carol and her family were vastly more engaging adapted than their dull comic origins.

All this is to say that The Walking Dead deserves its success, because the foundations of a multimedia property were sound from the beginning. Yes, the 28 Days Later... homage opening was dumb, and the influence of zombie fad flicks of as recent a vintage as Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead remake are apparent, but Kirkman and Moore build from their skeletons something with real meat to hang off them. It was excellent on first read, and holds up in part because what followed remains vital, begging reflection and comparative analysis. I feel it's one of the major works of the zombie genre and the comics medium, so I look forward to that third reading in 2019.

Love That Bob

2011-12-10T00:06:00.001-06:00

"The Church of the SubGenius is a "parody religion" organization that satirizes religion, conspiracy theories, unidentified flying objects, and popular culture. Originally based in Dallas, Texas, the Church of the SubGenius gained prominence in the 1980s and 1990s and maintains an active presence on the Internet."-Wikipedia

Anybody else miss "Night Flight?"

nurghophonic jukebox: "Stay" by Shakespears Sister

2011-12-07T00:17:00.000-06:00

Written By: Siobhan Fahey, Marcella Detroit & Jean Guiot
Released: January 25, 1992
Album: Hormonally Yours
Single?: UK Singles Chart #1, U.S. Billboard Hot 100 #4, certified gold in both.

My brother recorded a copy of this video off MTV way back when, and I loved it immediately. I recorded various other Shakespears Sister songs off broadcast TV shows like Friday Night Videos, but of course none of those ever reached the heights of "Stay." The "band" was actually a generous name for Siobhan Fahey as a solo act. The forty-year-old veteran backup singer Marcella Detroit only performed on a few songs, but based on the success of this single, lawyered-up to try taking 50% of the act. Detroit got shitcanned, and Fahey ended up institutionalized with severe depression. As I recall, both singers were also pregnant at the time of the song's release. Talk about a drama factory. I ended up buying Hormonally Yours on CD about half a decade later, and there were a number of solid tracks on it, but also a fair amount of Europop crap. Anyway, here's the little seen extended version of the video, but turn up your volume to hear it.

Lyrics:

if this world is wearing thin
and you're thinking of escape
i'll go anywhere with you
i'll do anything it takes [just wrap me up in chains]
but if you try to go alone
don't think i'll understand

stay with me, stay with me.

in the silence of your room
in the darkness of your schemes [ ... dreams]
there among the souvenirs [you must only think of me]
and the useless memories [there can be no in between]
when your pride is on the floor
i'll make you beg for more

stay with me, stay with me.

you'd better hope and pray
that you'll be safe [ that you make it safe]
in your own world [back to your own world]
you'd better hope and pray
that you're gonna awake [that you wake one day]
back in your own world [in your own world]
[cause when you sleep at night they don't hear your cries]
[in your own world]
[only time will tell if you can break the spell]
[back in your own world]

stay with me, stay with me.

As an added and more audible bonus, here's the song performed live on The Arsenio Hall Show. I have a more complete copy of this with the host's introduction, but it is otherwise inferior, so I won't bother uploading it...

A Frank Review of "Death Wish" (1974)

2011-12-05T00:26:00.000-06:00

The Short Version? Vigilante Movies: The Beginning
What Is It? Thriller
Who Is In It? Charles Bronson, Cosmo Castorini
Should I See It? Yes

In an alternate universe, Sidney Lumet stuck with this picture instead of jumping ship to Serpico. It starred Jack Lemmon as the aging Paul Kersey, who gradually turns to vigilantism after the murder of his wife and the psychologically catastrophic rape of his daughter. It was a socially conscientious look at the impact of crime and outlaw justice. Henry Fonda played the police chief, and it was another film classic from perhaps the greatest decade of cinema.

In our reality, Death Wish is an above average exploitation flick by journeyman director Michael Winner starring that spectacular lump of meat, Charles "F'n" Bronson. While filmed in the gritty '70s style of contemporary greats, name dropping producer Dino De Laurentiis should dissuade viewers from any elevated regard for the picture. It's a Dirty Harry knock-off coincidentally swollen with cameos by stars in the waiting (including Olympia Dukakis and Christopher Guest, while debuting Denzel Washington and Jeff Goldblum.) Bronson is a lousy actor but an intimidating screen presence. The assortment of scenarios with muggers waiting to meet the business end of his revolver are exciting and retain the element of real danger to the protagonist, as opposed to the bulletproof tough guys of the 1980s. Vincent Gardenia plays the detective in charge of finding the vigilante, and he's actually intelligent in adept pursuit.

The movie is basically Paul Kersey's origin story, so it takes nearly forty-five minutes before the protagonist goes out on his first patrol. The information before this point is necessary to the development of an extreme response. Rather than setting up grand villains and such, the movie then begins the parallel stories of Kersey's new life and the police pursuit of him for it. The result is, ahem, all-killer no-filler, and leads to a logical conclusion that doesn't insult the audience's intelligence by involving the hoods responsible for Paul's woe (although there's meta-justice dealt out in "St. Ives". Already in his fifties, the movie finally made an action star out of Bronson, and remains engaging nearly forty years and countless imitators later.

Extras?

Theatrical Trailer Also, don't underestimate subtitles. With bare bones releases, you appreciate the little things.

Wednesday Is Old New 52 For All I Care #128

2011-12-02T12:00:00.000-06:00

Demon Knights #1
Grifter #1 (2011)
Justice League #1 (2011)

Demon Knights #1 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
The characters are a lot more fun in this book than in Paul Cornell's Stormwatch, and the story is clearer, but it seems kind of pointless. This is like a JLA of immortality, meaning that the characters that are best known are perfectly safe, so your reading enjoyment is dependent upon your interest in watching the leads going through the motions. Madame Xanadu is more flippant and sexually adventurous than I recall. The Demon is more amorous and gullible, plus I don't like the wings. Vandal Savage is more thuggish and boisterous. It would be interesting if Al Jabr turned out to be Adam One. I suppose it's cute seeing these characters in earlier days, and the playing with magic as advanced science (dragons = dinosaurs) is nice. With a name like "Demon Knights" and all these Daemonites running around the DCnÜ, you just know there will be some tie-ins to come. I guess that's something to look forward to. Appealing art by Diógenes Neves aside, this seems like a short-lived aside, if not an outright lark.

Grifter #1 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
I vaguely remember reading the original Grifter #1 back in the '90s, which had the misfortune of being a side story in a crossover event. That book failed to impress, as did this one, for somewhat similar reasons. The issue opens on an airplane, with Grifter hearing voices, being attacked, and falling into the clear blue sky. It might have worked to start in the middle of the action in a movie, but it fails miserably as a comic. Since the reader likely knows Grifter is the hero of the story, there's no confusion about his role. His attackers are also obviously evil and something other than human. The scene therefore does not misdirect or surprise the viewer, and as a comic does not need to immediately hook the reader on an action beat (especially a lackluster one,) so all it does is confuse and disengage.

Then the flashback starts, including an extension of the title sequence, which grinds the breakneck pace to a whiplash halt. It's this nighttime office building rendezvous game of nitwits-- con artistry on the level of putting your thumb between your fingers and claiming to have another person's nose. At least Grifter is finally owning the meaning behind his kewl Image name, if nearly twenty years and a whole bunch of John Cusack movies too late. Tension and reveals have to be built up, all to return to the opening sequence of the book, on which a full page of recap is wasted. Worse, the resolution of the "cliffhanger" lasts exactly one panel, and if Grifter has super-powers that would allow him to survive a midair dive from an airplane, that might ought to be spelled out. The grinding gears of shoddy pacing strip the story of traction. What when laid out sequentially seems like a decent introductory episode feels slight as disarranged modules.

The last few pages are spent dumping exposition that a better writer could have worked into the story, including the completely unbelievable notion that the protagonist's military background would lead a Pentagon official to send his brother after him with extreme prejudice. Let's not get a highly capable but personally disinterested agent to track down Grifter, but instead send a blood relative. No massive, obvious conflict there. Old readers will shrug and say "this again?" New readers will just shrug. This is one of those comics written by someone whose knowledge of the world comes from other comics and video games. Part and parcel, it helps to read other "Edge" line books like Voodoo to fully appreciate the extent of the hand-me-down, been there/done that experience.

Given all my complaints about Nathan Edmonson's story, I want to make sure to point out that the book's grace is in the art. I liked Cafu's work on Vixen: Return of the Lion, but it was soft and stiff. His work with Jason Gorder flows better, with tight inks that lend mood and weight. There's a strong resemblance to early Gary Frank, without the excessive detailing that mars his art today. I understand the miserable Scott Clark takes over art chores in a few issues, so hopefully that means the present team move on to a book that could better utilize their talents.

Justice League #1 (DC, 2011, $3.99)
As evidenced by the story title "Justice League: Part One," more thought and originality was put into Johns' spelling of first name "Jeff" than into this story. It's basically a fifth of the plot points of Legends #1 with a fifth of the characters but five times the crosshatching and cover price. My go-to complaint about Star Wars: The Phantom Menace has been that if you asked any random person with a basic knowledge of the franchise to imagine their own Episode I, it would have been a more entertaining movie than what was produced. Ditto.

Brit, Vol.1: Old Soldier (2007)

2011-11-29T00:00:00.004-06:00

I'm sure folks get sick of my reviews of Robert Kirkman books, because I always talk about how whatever it is isn't as good as The Walking Dead, even off volumes of The Walking Dead. Did I also bitch that every Frank Miller project wasn't The Dark Knight Returns or every Alan Moore project Watchmen? No, because Miller also gave us Born Again and Year One, while Alan Moore did Miracleman and Swamp Thing. I keep reading Kirkman books, and the drop-off isn't just steep from The Walking Dead, but too often from other random shit I pull off the shelf. I don't have to love every project, but can't I at least like one?

Well, I like Brit okay. Of Kirkman's various projects, it reminds me the most of The Irredeemable Ant-Man, an intentionally funny action comic with an amusingly skeevy lead. Brit qualifies for Social Security, but invulnerability keeps him on the government payroll, and there's always his side job as owner of a strip club. Kirkman owes a clear debt to Erik Larsen's combination of blue collar ethos and outrageous gross-out scenarios, but he just as clearly does the influence one better. The title does a nice job balancing domestic hassles, giant monsters, and the occasional melodrama. This trade collects three extra length specials, providing three complete stories for your entertainment dollar. The first book has rough early art by Tony Moore, the second a smoother look, but Cliff Rathburn's third installment plays the trump card. A satisfying and attractive package, so it's a shame the follow-up ongoing series was three years late and by a different writer...

1991 Miller Lite "Then, Now, and Forever" Commercial

2011-11-27T02:34:00.000-06:00

I'm finally going through a batch of VHS to DVD transfers I did years ago of material dating back to the early '90s. Since I was poor, video quality is usually lacking, and the YouTube library makes a lot of my stuff redundant. Still, as I go through it and check to see if there's cause to upload any of it, I figured I'd share here. This commercial spans decades of pop cultural fashion/music history through the then cutting edge morphing technology (now most the domain of Syfy original movies.)

1980 S W Studios Masquerade Make-Up Kits ad

2011-11-24T05:40:00.001-06:00

Be a CLOWN!
Be an INDIAN!
Be a MONSTER!
Be a SPADE?

Having grown up on Mammy Two Shoes and Jolson references in animation, I shouldn't be too surprised that you could still advertise a "Black Face" make-up kit in 1980. What's interesting is that it appears to be an African-American ~~boy~~ lad wearing the make-up, and I tend to think the wonders of latex applications hadn't quite trickled down to the suburbs yet. Perhaps "Zulu Warrior" would have been more appealing to the racially insensitive youth of America, but I suppose a sigh of relief could be uttered for the absence of "Darkie Savage" or "Spearchucker." Never mind the "Indian," which was probably a trademark dodge for "Tonto" rather than a nod towards A.I.M. Just scope the KISS make-up, or rather "Black & White (Disco.)" Between "Black Face" and "Indian," "Kabuki" was clearly expecting too much. Ads like this remind me that whatever the faults of political correctness, I'll take it over grody crap like this.

Wednesday Is Any Day For All I Care #127

2011-11-21T00:53:00.000-06:00

Jack Avarice is The Courier #1
Orchid #1
Charles M. Schulz Peanuts #0
Star Trek/Legion of Super-Heroes #1

Jack Avarice is The Courier #1 (IDW, 2011, $3.99)
I bought this book expecting to like the art and not give a rat's ass about the story. Instead, it was breezy, funny read with art glitches that gave me pause. Creator Chris Madden is set to revive the Danger Girl series, and in terms of basic style, he's quite clearly a suitable stand-in for J. Scott Campbell. However, I'd be very surprised to learn that he drew on anything but a tablet, and I'd expect some sort of background in animation, as well. This is to say, Madden tells a story well visually, but in an extremely rough hewn shorthand. Each panel looks like a really nice sketch jotted out on the quick at a convention, with all the layout framework left in. The art could be very pretty, with elements of Kyle Baker slipping into the Campbell, but it is often distracting in its disheveled nature. This book is published weekly, so perhaps the intention is to show how well Madden can perform under extreme deadline pressure.

Anyhow, despite my aggravation with the "almost there" art, the story is as fun as Danger Girl was over a decade ago, and Madden's silly characters make the sort of immediately endearing impression one would expect from a cartoon. Giving everyone distinctive features and their own logos right off the bat never hurts. Twenty bucks to read this week after week for a month doesn't seem that steep when the book seems like such a good time.

Orchid #1 (Dark Horse, 2011, $1.00)
Companies like Virgin Comics used to talk with famous people about their lame ass ideas for b-movies and potential starring vehicles, then hire some journeyman writer to turn their shitty star-fuck-fan-fic into a marketable product. That is not the case with Dark Horse and Tom Morello, legendary guitarist from Rage Against the Machine and Audioslave. Morello, a man of integrity, has written his own first chapter of a graphic novella that can stand proudly next to one of those shitty derivative sci-fi stories from the back of a Heavy Metal you bought in junior high to masturbate to the Luis Royo cover or the Horacio Altuna lead before they invented internet porn. It's much better written than the free music track downloadable with purchase, and will take longer to read than to listen, but it's still sort of like splitting a fifty count McNugget combo with a friend. It sounds like a good deal until you're chocking down #37 while the wedges of salt with potatoes mixed in have dried your throat and sent your BP to 180/120.

Peanuts #0 (kaboom!, 2011, $1.00)
It's Peanuts. I have to explain Peanuts to you? If you don't know whether you'll like this going in, google "Peanuts." The six page opening works fine, in part because it plays like a Sunday strip with more individual panel image space. The silent "Woodstock's New Nest" is like a week or two worth of daily strips strung together into a series of set-ups and beats. There are four pages of reprint strips of predictable quality, and the closing weak link four page sample of the graphic novel "Happiness is a Warm Blanket, Charlie Brown!" It goes by quick, but at a buck, there's nothing to complain about.

Star Trek/Legion of Super-Heroes #1 (IDW, 2012, $3.99)
This is one of those books that seems like a natural, and although there's little connection between the two franchises in this opening issue, its steady going so far. A decade of super-hero porn commissions haven't kept the Moy brothers in their fighting from from a run on Legion in the '90s, and sometimes flat coloring does them little favor, but it's not a bad looking book overall. Chris Roberson establishes the premise of the crossover, and while the various characters aren't really given a proper introduction (aside from mugshots on the inside cover,) the characters' voices seem confident.

There's also ten page preview of another Roberson project, "Memorial," which reads just like one of those network shows out this season that ripped of Fables. Actually, I only saw the pilot of Once Upon A Time, but it's pretty much just like that. Fairy tale characters in a modern setting, less Willingham's cynicism and innovations in favor of playing things more obviously cute and fanciful. It's not bad for this type of thing, but you'd figure that if this is half of the debut issue, you'd spend more time with your protagonist and less with Pinocchio and Captain Hook decked out like Reservoir Dogs. That is, if you don't want to be dismissed as a total cash-in, I mean. Didn't Roberson even write an actual Fables spin-off? This is one of those "change the names to reuse a rejected script" things, isn't it?

A Frank Review of "Madmen of Mandoras" (1963)

2011-11-18T02:59:00.000-06:00

The Short Version?They Saved Hitler's Brain!
What Is It? Thriller
Who Is In It? Hitler!
Should I See It? Maybe.

For an early '60s black and white public domain bomb, Madmen of Mandoras is decent. The plot is a total hash of disparate elements that only go together because of the assumptions of the genre, rather than a sense whoever wrote the screenplay ever read it again afterward. People keep getting kidnapped or shot in service to a gobbledygook conspiracy of super-villainous impracticality involving Nazis and Latin American strongholds. The important thing is stuff keeps happening, so at least it isn't completely boring. Everybody do a shot when somebody gets shot, and it'll do wonders. The main reason to watch of course is the same as it was when some UCLA students tacked on twenty minutes of new footage in 1968 to turn it into a "head" film: there's motherfucking Hitler's head in a motherfucking glass jar. Dated technique be damned, it looks really cool and wrong, plus, y'know they do things-- with the head. Not Barbara Crampton things, but still, wicked.

Wednesday Is Not-So-New 2+2 #126

2011-11-14T12:33:00.000-06:00

Aquaman #2 (2011)
Legion: Secret Origin #1
Stormwatch #2 (2011)
Uncanny X-Men #1 (2012)

Aquaman #2 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
This is a gorgeous book, and clearly the best visual rendition of Aquaman ever seen. The writing also respects the character, even if the metatextual defensiveness is a bit of a self-defeating turnoff. Show, don't tell. Cool villains, and I approve of the dark fantasy direction, but it sucks to read an issue inside five minutes.

Legion: Secret Origin #1 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
I've had a lifelong interest in the Legion, beginning with the fantastic art and character designs seen in DC Comics house ads for books that never reached the newsstands in my neck of the woods. Years later, I read some occasional Legion back issues, but the property is notoriously convoluted, so those tastes were not enough to help me wade into a continuity that served as the basis for the X-Men soap opera. I finally jumped on in 1994, when the entire franchise was rebooted in the wake of Zero Hour: Crisis in Time. Mark Waid wrote a strong introductory #0 issue, and writers like Tom Peyer and Tom McCraw kept me buying the book for the rest of the series' run. I also dove into back issues, reading nice fat chunks of the esteemed Paul Levitz and controversial Keith Giffen runs.

Beginning in 2000, DC launched a series of renumbering schemes intended to introducing new readers to the Legion. In eleven years, there have been two volumes of Legion Lost, one of Legion Worlds, one of Adventure Comics and three volumes of Legion of Super-Heroes (one top-billing Supergirl,) plus the animation tie-in The Legion of Super-Heroes in the 31st Century. I spent six years happily collecting at least two Legion series a month, and sampled every single offering since for various durations, but have yet to buy more than thirteen consecutive issues.

Legion: Secret Origin will not change my mind. I already gave the 21st Century Paul Levitz a chance on Adventure, which I thought was terrible. This book was just mediocre, but as a jumping-on point for new readers, it's the pits. There's nothing but soldiers, bureaucrats, and scientists talking for seventeen of twenty pages. Much of what is said is vague or of no great importance, and the only characters truly introduced were Brainiac 5 and Phantom Girl, but not in such a way as to inspire anyone to want to read more. The Legion origin adventure takes place off-panel, and we're instead stuck with a boring contrivance tacked on to the already burdensome Legion continuity. The only good thing I can say about this book is that it's some of the slickest, smoothest work I've seen from Batista, which may be the influence of inker Marc Deering. In truth, the only reason I ordered this book was to get a free Legion flight ring, and my supplier didn't send me mine, so I got nothing I wanted out of this purchase.

Stormwatch #3 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
DC must be going for some kind of record in soliciting the most comic books using cover art that doesn't actually appear on the book. I made a bit of a stink over the announcement that the tonally appropriate Miguel Sepulveda cover art used to promote #1 was supposed to be replaced by an atonal Chris Burnham one. It wasn't that I disliked Burnham's art, but that I didn't feel it worked as well as a debut image. I also loved Sepulveda's cover to #2, which was replaced by an unannounced (Al Barrionuevo? Sepulveda?) replacement. Now here's Sepulveda's #3, which looks nothing like Burnham's solicited #3, which doesn't bode well for his #4. Are they trying to push exclusive artist Sepulveda, are they keeping the book's tone consistent, or heaven forbid, actually using the Martian Manhunter's presence to help sell the book to a DC audience? DC isn't even doing variant covers for this series, so I guess the trade paperback will just have a killer pin-up section.

I talk a lot about the cover because there isn't that much to say about the issue. I liked it as I was reading it, but after those few minutes was up, I once again felt gypped. For frig's sake Cornell, slow down and take a breath. I know a bunch of these characters, but a large portion of New 52 readers do not, and as introduced over the past three issues they might as well be Itchy & Scratchy. "They fight! And bite! They fight and bite and fight! Fight fight fight! Bite bite bite! The Stormwatch (not Authority) Show!" Which would make J'Onn J'Onzz Poochie, I suppose, unless Poochie is a gestalt of all the new characters (Adam, Harry and the Projectionist.)

Jack Hawksmoor is the God of Cities, which developed over time from the funky guy who communed with cities, but it pretty much all happened under creator Warren Ellis. Now we have the Projectionist, the goddess of media, and Harry Tanner, the Eminence of ~~Blades~~ Lies? It's getting a little fan-fic in here, like Cornell is building a "bleeding edge sci-fi" JLA by reworking the same Ellis riff. Even Jenny Quantum is explained this issue as a sort of goddess of theoretical science who can do pretty much anything, unless a theory is disproved*. Jeez, instead of operating out of a ship called the "Eye of the Storm," maybe they should rechristen it the "Gods out of a Box?"

There are some cute moments, including Jack having tea with the personifications of three cities (including a Paris with stereotypical "oui-oui" accent.) Not to get spoilery, but if Harry Tanner doesn't turn out to be the Tao of the team at some point in the near future, the red herring is glowing like a traffic light. If there were any remaining doubts, let it be known that Adam One is a terrible team leader. J'Onn J'Onzz remains a glorified walkie-talkie who gets jobbed this issue to make up for his de-jobbing last issue, although the rest of the team suffer a double jobbing. Sucks to be them, but each issue reenforces an increasing likelihood that this book may end up being "Midnighter and Apollo's Breeder Friends!"

Again, the book isn't bad, but it's kind of like a Jeph Loeb comic with half a brain (as opposed to none.) Lots of action, slight characterization, all to the glory of Superman/Batman stand-ins. So long as he doesn't get nailed for any more swiping, Sepulveda's art looks sweet, like a star in the making (just hopefully not the Rob Liefeld of the Perez/Hitch influenced set.)

*I thought I was having trouble with spell check, but instead learned that "disprooven/disproven" isn't actually a word. That sounds familiar actually, but my real education started right here. That's one to grow on!

Uncanny X-Men #1 (Marvel, 2012, $3.99)
Remember X-Men #1? The one from 1991 with four different covers and a fifth that combined the other four into one gatefold Jim Lee mini-poster? That shit sold fucking MEEELIONS of copies, and was like the be-all, end-all of comic books. I believe it's still the bestselling single issue of all time.

Remember a couple of years ago when they relaunched X-Men with some creators nobody ever heard of and an asswipe team with Spider-Man and goddamned vampires? I don't. Seriously, I forget that shit happened all the time. I still think the mega-millions X-Men comic is out there, but you can now have a complete run of that title and totally ignore this other dogshit adjectiveless X-Men. In fact, so many people ignore the X-Men now that they cancelled the original X-Men title that was the only book left at Marvel to publish over five hundred sequentially numbers issues under (basically) the same title that didn't involve (him again) Spider-Man. That's a big deal, right? Major talent and a heavy push, right?

Last month, a new Ultimate X-Men #1 was better than it had a right to be, especially while pairing Iceman and the Human Torch. It hit pitch perfect notes to recall the past, while offering twists enough to reflect our present. This? Look at that cover. That is not a Jim Lee gatefold. That isn't even a New 52 Rob Liefeld, which is at least excitingly revolting. That is the most pedestrian image for an X-Men cover in, like, ever. It's barely fit for #545, which makes me wonder if this scam wasn't decided after the fact in a pathetic bid to steal DC's thunder.

Open the book, and there's a splash page of all the main characters in the book with tiny little caption boxes relating their names, secret identities, and powers. I think they count that as an introduction to new readers nowadays. That stinkin' thinkin' insures that there are no such beasts. The next two pages establishes the locale of San Francisco and the current status quo of Marvel mutants. That helps, I guess. The next two pages reintroduce the villain Mister Sinister. They're pretty good. The next two pages tell readers that Scott Summers is fucking that evil whore Emma Frost, so if you grew up with Cyclops as a cretin, he totally still is. He's also leading the single worst X-Men team I can think of, according to a splash page. Let's look at this for a moment.

Magneto: God, this character sucks. He had an arc, where he started out as a dyed in the wool world conqueror, but then he became sympathetic as a Holocaust survivor and fallen friend of Professor X. He tried to make good in Xavier's absence, backslid, and ended up a hard villain again. That's a great tragedy. He's done the same thing half a dozen times since, plus died repeatedly, and now he's a joke. I don't care if there are only two hundred mutants left-- you've got to keep killing this guy until it keeps. If I were among the last 200 humans on Earth, and I glanced over to see Osama Bin Laden still kicking, there's be 199 humans and a bloody rock. In fact, it would be a bright spot to that whole "everybody else is dead thing." We're all crying for lost family and the weight of our shared responsibility, and then we'd roast marshmallows over Magneto's corpse. Maybe one of those mutants could turn him into the marshmallow even.

Danger: Joss Whedon completed the "Professor X is an irredeemable monster" course begun with Onslaught by having him knowingly enslave a sentient life form and use "her" as the training ground for his team. Can't come back from that, and the end result is a lame ass robot x-person.

Colossus: Created to be the star of the All-New, All-Different X-Men, he ended up being the Potsie to Wolverine's Fonz. Hell, he was the Arnold to Nightcrawler's Potsie. Nice visual, cheesy Cold War accent, personality void. Plus, now he's in danger of losing his soul while exploiting a new Juggernaut power-up. How much cliche can you strap onto a character before he collapses in on himself?

Magik: Colossus' sorceress little sister, who like him used to be dead, and for all I know still has a soul compromised by demons. Her costume remains blah and she was created for the New Mutants, one of those teams that existed for years for no apparent reason beyond launching Bill Sienkiewicz's abstract style.

Hope: She's Jean Grey. Look at her! It's Jean Grey, re-raised by the son of her clone, watching Scott fuck Emma. She totally skeeves me out.

Storm: She's awesome, and a way better team leader than Cyclops. I hear she's joining the Avengers, which is a perfect place for her and makes her an ideal role model for mutant kind. She should be on that team with her husband, the Black Panther. Of course, that marriage is now on the rocks, because it was a stupid idea in the first place, and helped lead to T'Challa becoming the poor man's Daredevil instead of the African Batman. Anyway, why is Storm associated with this riff-raff team? It's like Obama rolling with the Weather Underground. Who needs that headache?

Namor: Aside from his Leisure Suit Larry costume and his letting a little bitch like Cyclops tell him what to do, the only interesting aspect of this team. I hope he fucks Emma while Scott and not-Jean watches.

Am I the only person who looks at a team like that, and thinks of Saved by the Bell: The New Class? Did you know that at seven seasons, that show ran almost twice as long as the old class? I only just found that out on IMDb. I can't name any of those actors, and I'm certain I never saw a single episode. Okay, maybe this is more like ER. After so many seasons, all the guys you like are long gone, and the ones left have been thoroughly exhausted as characters through countless arcs of life/death/marriage/divorce/entire seasons being a dream. I should have referenced "jumping the shark" and the later seasons of Happy Days, right? Damn it, I totally had that set up earlier in the review. I blow.

Moving on, the new team spends pages talking about how the reason they exist is to swing the mutant dick around, and they even try to have Cyclops play Billy Badass by mocking Wolverine's starting a new school. Actually, that is kind of wimpy. Fucking neuterboy Wolverine. I do remember when he used to be cool. Ended sometime around Kitty Pryde and Wolverine. Anyway, on page thirteen a Celestial poses a threat, and a team member with one of those powers that insures it won't matter loses a limb. It's all really dull (I did mention the Celestial,) so I didn't care that it lasted twenty-seven pages with a final spread that just made me shrug. Kieron Gillen has done work that's gotten him some hype, but I don't see it here. Carlos Pacheco now draws in a style reminiscent of Paul Smith, which means he's way better and more graceful now. Still, I don't do not can't give two shits in such a potent manner. If "meh" were a liquid, I'd be swimming in it. It'd probably be brown. No, gray. Definitely gray.

Death's Head Resolicitation (August, 1991)

2011-11-12T00:11:00.002-06:00

Literally on the back of the torn out page of Advance Comics with the Mutant Genesis Ad was this solicit for what ended up being the first Death's Head II mini-series. I believe the same little sketch, presumably by Liam Sharpe, was in the original solicit. Because the image was so small and the lines so fragile, I decided to take the scan as is. The yellow highlight was for books I was interested in ordering, and the green for those that got purchased. I was so anal in those days, I read the goddamned thing cover to cover. I'd been a fan of Death's Head since he appeared in a comic strip on the back of Dragon's Claws, the first Marvel UK series I followed.

A Frank Review of "Night Court: The Complete First Season" (2005)

2011-11-10T00:00:00.003-06:00

The Short Version? Crazy city court with a zany staff.
What Is It? Sitcom with regular doses of human drama.
Who Is In It? The sorts you'd expect.
Should I See It? Yes.

Growing up, Night Court was one of my favorite sitcoms, and I followed it both in first run and syndication. I'm always wary of revisiting shows like this, especially after years distance without exposure, because they rarely live up to those misty watercolor memories of the way they were. While not exactly an exception, Night Court still holds up as an amusing, entertaining program with standout performances and strong episodes. Others, well, we'll take a look at that. This disc covers the show's debut 1984 season as a midseason replacement, and it's fun to see both how much was in place from the very beginning, and how many changes were made. Harry Anderson often says he was essentially playing himself as Judge Harry T. Stone, so the consistency over nine seasons isn't shocking. The only character written expressly for the actor cast was Selma Diamond, who does not deviate from the very start. Karen Austin is a treat as Lana Wagner, who was built up as Harry's primary support and love interest all season. I expect that would come as a shock to viewers who missed this half-season, since the character vanishes three-quarters of the way through. Richard Moll's take on Bull solidified very quickly, and the actor has understandably been most associated with the character ever since. Paula Kelly was terrific all season, so it was a shame that she received so little attention, especially give the two Bull episodes and an awful lot of time devoted to Lana. John Larroquette grew the most organically, reasonably prominent but not quite a featured player yet, with the seeds of the future "crème de scum" planted over a series of episodes only just beginning to hatch by the end of the season.

"All You Need Is Love": This one was all about introducing viewers to the wacky, improper, youthful Judge Stone, with a fair amount of time bouncing off his first court clerk, Lana Wagner. Assistant D.A. Dan Fielding is uptight and pretentious, Bull is brusque, and Bailiff Selma Hacker is dry as a bone. The very basics of the supporting character are there, but only to play off Harry. Actress Gail Strickland breezes in for a single episode as P.D. Sheila Corinth, while Rita Taggart makes the first of several appearances as hooker with a heart of gold Carla B. Not bad for a start, even if things go a bit overboard in portraying Harry as a loose cannon.
"Santa Goes Downtown": An after Christmas comedown, with wonderful character actor Jeff Corey as a mentally ill St. Nick. Michael J. Fox as a runaway is a nice surprise, but he overplays the disaffected youth angle to the point that you kind of want to brain him. Paula Kelly makes her debut as Public Defender Liz Williams, and helps play this one for heart more than laughs.
"The Former Harry Stone": Terry Kiser joins the cast as muck-raking journalist Al Craven. I enjoyed the character, but the cases coming through the court didn't warrant press, and many of Craven's smarmy characteristics would later be adopted by Dan Fielding. '80s sexpot Judy Landers gives Dan his first opportunity to show signs of lechery. Seinfeld's dad Barney Martin has a cameo as a bum.
"Welcome Back, Momma": The disgusting, manipulative, womanizing Dan Fielding we all know and love really starts to blossom here, amidst a parade of beauty pageant contestants charged with assault. For the second episode in a row, an element of Harry's past comes back to haunt him, bringing either the humanity the series was known for or the wet blanket over the humor the show was also known for. Bull's sweet naivete is developing. Martin Garner debuts as newsstand operator Bernie.
"The Eye of the Beholder": The first Bull-centric episode, showing the big guy for the teddy bear he is. Character actors Al Ruscio and Stanley Brock turn up, for the first of several appearances in a variety of roles.
"Death Threat": Character actor Phil Leeds offers the first of several appearances, this time memorably as "God." George Murdock is also great as Womack of Homicide. Jack Murdock (relation?) as a twitchy member of the bomb squad is a kick, contributing to an already strong episode. For once, even the shoeshine boy with a sob story (Gabriel Gonzalez) injects humor, instead of the usual soap opera.
"Once in Love with Harry": Carla B.'s third episode is a spotlight that wrings drama out of her situation, leaving it up to John Larroquette's Dan Fielding to keep things from getting depressing. Howard Honig's cameo is a bit much. Bull is about as hairy as he gets. The sexual tension between Harry and Lana gets ratcheted up. Jason Bernard makes his first appearance as the adversarial Judge Robert T. Willard, though his run is limited.
"Quadrangle of Love": What the title says. Harry, Dan and Bull competing for the same woman. Not as funny as it sounds, unfortunately. Too much Mel Torme, as well. Like, way.
"Wonder Drugs": A Lana Wagner spotlight, even more so than usual. I liked this character, and it still surprises me that someone so important disappeared before the second season. I'm glad she got this showcase. Jack Riley is great as usual in a cameo. Lionel Mark Smith makes a good straight man.
"Some Like It Hot": Mike Finneran debuts as maintenance man Art Fensterman, who would appear sporadically for the rest of the series. Combined with the first of repeat performer Yakov Smirnoff, this one was pretty painful sitcomedy. Larroquette and Kelly have some rich moments in handcuffs, at least. Still, a rotten episode to serve as Karen Austin's last, as she departed the series without notice, and only really had a cameo here.
"Harry and the Rock Star": Pandering to a younger audience with Kristine DeBell. Fairly grating, but Alice Drummond is fun in a cameo. Paula Kelly was especially good this time, as well. The one good thing about the loss of Lana is that there's no repeat cattiness against another Harry love interest.
"Bull's Baby": A strong episode, aside from a painfully out of place Murphy Cross as a substitute court clerk.
"Hi Honey, I'm Home": Murphy Cross remains stiff in an expanded role, likely written for the Lana character. A good story to end the season with, enhanced by the always awesome Charles Napier in a guest appearance. Bernie and Selma have a sweet subplot, as well. Shame Paula Kelly didn't see much action in her last episode.

Extras?

Commentary on All You Need Is Love by Creator/Executive Producer Reinhold Weege Discussing pre-production and the difficulty of getting all the necessary information about the show across in a pilot. Really though, this is a tight overview of the series, well worth a listen.
Night Court: Comedy's Swing Shift Eighteen minutes of a fantastic hour long documentary. What's here is swell, but they only got Reinhold Weege and Harry Anderson.

Luke Cage Noir (2010)

2011-11-08T00:00:00.001-06:00

Once DC Comics set into a comfortable, family friendly rut in the 1950s, they had to start telling "Imaginary Stories" that allowed changes to occur with their characters, even though they were all done-in-ones with no impact on "reality." Marvel did something similar with "What If...?" except those were tales spun off a set point in continuity, typically a worst possible case scenario where heroes failed instead of triumphed. Meanwhile, DC started rebooting its official continuity every five years, so when they started doing "Elseworlds" one-shots, they were more like quaint throwbacks than daring flight of fancy. Marvel never really bought into reboots, but once they broke the cardinal rule of "nobody stays dead but Bucky and Uncle Ben," nothing seems to matter or feel irreversible in their universe anymore. They have whole sublines of "Elseworlds" type stuff, rather cheesy "imaginary stories" like "what if a given Marvel hero and their supporting cast operated out of a Depression era crime setting?" Some characters lend themselves to that sort of thing, and some characters are Deadpool.

Luke Cage was supposed to be a very hip cat when he was created in the 1970s, but his whole reheated Shaft shtick was heavily indebted to gumshoes from decades prior. Telling a legitimate 1930s noir story with the character, along the lines of the work of authors like Chester Himes or Walter Mosley, is actually pretty inspired. The solicited covers for the four issue mini-series were fucking gorgeous, and Shawn Martinborough drew the hell out of the interiors. The colors by Nick Filardi complemented well, and Dennis Calero offered a potent cover for the trade collection.

Things fall apart from there, though. The trade is in a dinky digest format, which at three-quarters standard dimensions is too big to fit in a pocket but too small to serve the art well. The pages are a slightly heavy but flat stock, so that regardless of the colors used, everything looks brown or gray. Ten buck for four issues sounds fair in a standard format trade with decent quality printing, so Marvel charges $14.99 and cuts every corner they can. It would have been deeply offensive if the story had lived up to the efforts of all the other creators.

Adam Glass and Mike Benson are probably best known (as much as they are) for writing Deadpool comics, and while the story is much better than that resume would indicate, competency doesn't warrant applause. Aside from featuring a lot of black people, the story is strictly post-Chinatown boilerplate. Luke Cage as presented here is a generic amateur dick without any personality or swagger. Willis Stryker and Billy Bob Rackham are so far removed from who they were in old Hero for Hire comics, it seems like the script came first and determining analogues happened on the assistant editor's office. The Spider-Man villain Tombstone, a perfect potential foil for Cage, gets his resemblance in this story from the colorist leaving him white rather than anything out of the script. There are two major "twists" in the story, one of which relies upon prior knowledge of the character. This negates the argument that the story was meant to stand on its own, but more importantly, the entire plot is built around teasing the twists and ladling out cliche in every other aspect of the story.

I read this book months ago, and kept putting off reviewing it. The story isn't outright bad, just pedestrian, failing to live up to the potential the concept suggests. It didn't have to be great, but it did need more than just being "there." The old "Elseworlds" were fun because they kept the basics of the characters with a simple but effective shift in perspective, while "Imaginary Stories" tended to be bizarre and "What Ifs" were often pure schadenfreude. This was simply a faceless screenplay for a late '70s b-movie with some Marvel trademarks grafted on.

Mutant Genesis Ad (August, 1991)

2011-11-07T00:00:00.000-06:00

I've been digging through my boxes of loose crap lately, and figured it was time to revive Smelly Brown Paper (Scans of Yore) as a more regular feature. This piece seems especially appropriate, since my original is literally smelly, brown, and, um, yorey. Good thing there's digital contrasting to clean it up. This ad was torn out of an issue of Advance Comics after I realized that I didn't want to keep hauling ten years worth of two different retailer catalogs from place to place and recycled that shit. It was used to promote the launch of Chris Claremont, Jim Lee and Scott William's X-Men #1, as well as the new art team of Whilce Portacio and Art Thibert on Uncanny X-Men. For some reason, I clipped out the part of the ad with the X-Men credits, so I trimmed out the Uncanny ones from the scan. Claremont of course was drummed off both books, and I don't think that either of these line-ups ever came into being. I ran a check for this art online, and couldn't find it, but please drop a comment if you can direct me to better scans (re: any.)

Wednesday Is Leftovers For All I Care #125

2011-11-04T13:56:00.002-05:00

Ghostbusters #1 (2011)
Near Death #1
Pilot Season Declassified 2011 #1

Ghostbusters #1 (IDW, 2011, $3.99)
This was a cute story that I think would appeal to fans of The Real Ghostbusters. Good character designs, introductions to all, and callbacks to the movies. The story worked well as the initial chapter in a serial, and there's some solid extras in the back.

Near Death #1 (Image, 2011, $2.99)
In a text afterword, writer Jay Faerber acknowledges the influence of television writer Stephen J. Cannell and crime novelist Robert B. Parker. That sounds about right. I caught the pilot for J.J. Abrams' Person of Interest a few weeks back, and it had a similar feel. A hitman has a near death experience, and decides to start saving instead of taking lives. Since his revelation and new mission begins in this issue, a lot of ground has to be covered in a short span of time, so that first job is given short shrift. Markham seems like an alright protagonist, and is already building a supporting cast. Artist Simone Guglielmini reminds me of a cross between Lee Weeks and Jorge Zaffino, which means it's almost too good for the episodic, slightly gimmicky material. Still, it's a solid start, and I enjoyed what I read. Perhaps a trade paperback with a nice low introductory price would get me to buy more.

Pilot Season 2011: Declassified #1 (Image, 2011, $1.00)
I want to say that I've done this before. Buying a book because it's a dollar, even though it is only slim, stupid, stiff interviews Newsarama would pass on and the types of "bonus material" packaged with the Previews catalog I order crap like this out of. In other words, this was pointless and tedious. Therefore, I will now review the concepts being put forth in this circular at face value while planning not to buy a single goddamned issue.

The Test: Sounds just like the movie The Signal, and we're promised shocks on every page. There's an eight page preview, and there's nothing shocking from what I can tell. Also, the writer fellates the artist, but he only looks worth a handjob, at best.
City of Refuge: Something about cops in a pacifistic society taking drugs to be violent enough to fight crime, which sounds pretty boring. The writer has some association with I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry, while the artist was one of the reasons I blew off Shooter's Dark Horse Valiant books.
The Beauty: Attractiveness as some sort of communicable disease with adverse consequences. Written by a guy who writes for Top Cow, and drawn by a guy I ain't never heard nothing about.
Fleshdigger: One of the more interesting concepts, since it's basically a Bronze Age Marvel hero-monster premise like Werewolf By Night, but with a zombie. There's also design sketches, which are way less worthless than uncolored/unlettered preview pages.
Theory of Everything: Kind of like the last one, with the sketches and an okay premise, except this one involves poor man's sci-fi instead of discount horror.
Misdirection: It's about a race car driver, and is written by a Top Cow editor. Sounds like bad comics to me.
Anonymous: The phrases "elite Special Forces soldier" and "black ops" are in the first sentence, and "Wet work" starts the second. The only way this could get worse is if "wanted out" and "Screenwriter Alan McElroy" were in succeeding sentences, and they are. But wait, the concept is only being executed by a hired hand, as the creator is another fucking Top Cow exec and there's no artist assigned yet.
Seraph: Easily my favorite portion. The concept by All Pro football player Lance Briggs is at essence Spawn. Facilitating writer Phil Hester does his best to try to conceal this fact and elevate the material, but Briggs keeps chiming in that no, no, it's really really Spawny, but with more of the preachy. They also plug Lance's Comic World, a glorified blog that went from April through mid-September without any updates, and that update was art for Seraph unseen in the preview book.

A Frank Review of "Phantasm: OblIVion" (1998)

2011-10-31T14:15:00.001-05:00

The Short Version? Phantasm 4. See Phantasm 1-3.
What Is It? Horror.
Who Is In It? The Phantasm guys.
Should I See It? No.

Phantasm IV is the least effective film of the series for a variety of reasons. Newer characters from the previous installment Tim and Rocky are dumped without further reference. Mike is flung off on a solitary drive after the troubling revelations of the previous installment, and Reggie left to meander, unaffected by his recent experiences and without clear purpose to pursue. There are sequences revealing the origins of the Phantasm universe, but they are barely informative and not terribly imaginative. Character development feels stalled, and there are some turnabout that don't really ring true. Folks are really starting to wear their ages, especially Angus Scrimm, whose Tall Man is looking to need a tall walker from Walgreens. It's hard not to notice, because a good chunk of the running time is devoted to repurposing unused footage from the first movie. These undeleted scenes have more vitality than the new material, even if they are confusing with regard to the always shaky continuity of the series. Since the footage is tied to reflections of the characters in their current situations, the film feels less horrific than melancholic, wistful for better days and the financing to produce better films.

Speaking of which, the most likely culprit for IV's lackadaisical vibe is "Phantasm 1999 A.D.," a post-apocalyptic version of part 4 written by Pulp Fiction's Roger Avery. The script was well received by franchise founder Don Coscarelli, but the financing never materialized, so this was filmed as some sort of stopgap. The necessary spinning of wheels is obvious, and drains the life out of this picture as surely as the film itself left the series stranded in Death Valley, living up to the oblivion in the title. There are a few strained new uses for the phantasm balls, some scenes worth visiting, and a snail's progress in the characters' journeys. Still, this installment feels pointless, beyond perhaps setting up a reboot/continuation down the line with Mike replacing Scrimm as The Child Actor Who Aged Creepily.

Spawn: The Armageddon Collection Part 2 (2007)

2011-10-30T02:29:00.001-05:00

This collection of Spawn #156-164 is an examination of how thoroughly a ball can be dropped. It opens with a child having brutally murdered their sibling, while Spawn begins his battle with the Hindu goddess Kali. Both of these situations carried over directly from the previous volume, and both reach temporary resolutions of a satisfying nature. The book returns to the mad warrior angel Zera as she slaughters the less faithful, as well as to the Man of Miracles, whose nature is further differentiated from Marvelman/Miracleman. Each of these characters are built up through sacrilege, so the religiously sensitive should damned well already know to keep their distance from a book about the Hellspawn. Unfortunately, both characters are also sold out to a large degree by the demands of the megaplot, which really kicks in two issues into the collection.

Fonzie, meet shark. In the annals of genre tropes, there are few more hoary than the big reveal seen here. "It was just a dream" is probably the worse, and guess what, it kind of comes into play by the end, as well. I can't lambast this development as thoroughly as it deserves to be without spoiling the book to a degree I'm not comfortable with. Suffice to say at one point, Jesus H. Christ makes a guest appearance, and even M.Night Shyamalan might be inclined to groan. The "Armageddon" in the title is taken literally, but in place of the affective foreboding of part 1, this edition descends into TBN Megiddo: The Omega Code 2 level bullshit.

There are a few attempts at "aw man, that's messed up," but they're wimpy compared to the earlier stuff. The really interesting revisions to Spawn's powers and nature(s) are written out. There's a lot of video game logic where characters who at one point destroyed Spawn turn pussy as he gains dubious level-ups. None of the curious, novel asides are present here, with one major through story of middling interest and a single cypher of a protagonist. Basically, everything that's ever been wrong with Spawn is in full effect here, from the overheated melodrama to the tone deaf characterization to the meandering pace to the lack of stakes or repercussions. How do you manage to make the Biblical day of judgment so tedious? How can such heavy theological themes be rendered as a retarded WWE smackdown, complete with homoerotic imagery?

The best part is the book's coda, which absolutely comes out of nowhere. Fourteen straight issues of a widescreen Warren Ellis take on Tales From The Crypt of Pat Robertson, and the wrap-up run head first into Lifetime: Television for Women's special presentation of Todd McFarlane's Spawn, starring Viola Davis as Wanda and Blair Underwood as Terry Fitzgerald. What could have been a defining moment for Al Simmons is delivered with all the subtlety of a falcon punch, which strikes with such force as to render any prior good will insta-borted. It's so bad, you'll wish Superboy-Prime would jab his way into the Toddverse.

Wednesday Is A Buck BOOM! For All I Care #124

2011-10-27T01:14:00.000-05:00

Doctor Who Volume 2 #1 (2011)
Planet of the Apes #5 (2011)
The Rinse #1
Wormwood Gentleman Corpse #1 (2006)

Hundred Penny Press: Doctor Who Volume 2 #1 (IDW, 2011, $1.00)
My first girlfriend was a Whovian, and so is my father, but I managed not to watch a single episode until a few years ago. It was the one about the guy who forms a band with Moaning Myrtle, and while I understand the episode received mixed reviews, I liked it pretty well. I've caught a few more since then with David Tennet and Matt Smith, and for a geeky sci-fi show, it's pretty corny and goofy in the good way. Based on my limited exposure, this comic seems to capture that feeling of the show, although it also has that distinct comic book disregard for budgets and a bit of stilted pacing. Some of that comes from the likenesses, which unlike that Buffy comic from last week are so spot on I have to figure some referencing chicanery is going on. There's also a bit of cognitive dissonance when I look from a lovingly rendered Amy Pond to a villain that resembles Danny Trejo as drawn by Mort Drucker. Tony Lee and Andrew Currie coast along on easy charm for this pleasant little done in one.

Hundred Penny Press: Wormwood Gentleman Corpse #1 (IDW, 2011, $1.00)
I hate the art style of Ben Templesmith, and all of his clones. I get fucking sick of pages and pages of brown. I also find his painterly eccentricities are used to bury plain old bad work consisting of plain figures, oversized panels, the general absence of backgrounds and chickenscratch. He's basically the Rob Liefeld of the art house scene. His writing is solid enough though on this quirky tale, which held me interest right up until the plague of our times, decompression, saw the book end right as I was starting to get into it. Admittedly, the quirks are largely secondhand, but for seriocomic gothic adventure, it was surprisingly decent.

Planet of the Apes #5 (BOOM!, 2011, $1.00)
How thoroughly must a director shit the bad on a franchise when you make hundreds of millions of dollars on a remake and the studio still doesn't bother with a sequel. Poor Dark Horse had the license for Tim Burton's version of POTA, and I figure Adventure Comics got more mileage out of their take on the original movies fifteen years after they had stopped being produced. BOOM! hedged their bets by also hewing to the old movies, despite a second reboot being a top film this year. Probably for the best, since Rise of the Planet of the Apes didn't establish enough lore to spin a comic series out of, and the old stuff remains meaty material.

For instance, the assumption of political undertones in the franchise means updating the property is as simple as following modern day politics. There's terror bombings, union strikes, underclass labor, extraordinary rendition, martyrdom... bridging the world we know and a time before the first Apes movie. BOOM! likes to do this thing where they offer a dollar issue the same month as a trade collection of the issues that preceded it. I wonder if anyone ever buys the one issue on its own? I don't imagine it would make a lot of sense, but it soundly continues Daryl Gregory's dense plot. Unfortunately, it also continues flat, uninvolving characters that are moved about his chess board. Carlos Magno's rich art seemed too busy to me at first, but I've grown to like it and his ability to convey the humanity the script does not. The guy has a lot of potential to go far, and he's well served by the coloring of Nolan Woodard.

The Rinse #1 (BOOM!, 2011, $1.00)
People gnash their teeth and rend their clothes over the death of most genres in comic books beyond super-heroes. I think they forget that television started bleeding the audience from comic in the 1950s, and the medium's steady death march across decades has never truly abated. People buy super-hero comics because it's the only thing about comic books that hasn't been adopted and bettered by video games, motion pictures and the like. Of course, now that super-hero comics are written like a single hour of television spread out across five issues, even the one thing the industry can still call its own is losing its unique appeal.

What does all of this have to do with a comic about an expert money launderer? Because it reads like an old time television show, from back when they were all based on short prose stories, plays, and radio dramas. I guess someplace like AMC or HBO might could pull off a project like this as a cable show, but it strikes me that reaching back in this way is something comics are ideally suited for. It might work better as a graphic novel than a floppy, since I doubt the story can keep its moment in monthly installments. It isn't that Gary Phillips story is any sort of revelation, but it's okay, and the art of Marc Laming and colorist Darrin Moore make it better. Basically, as prose, this would be nothing special, but transitioned to the comics medium with the right collaborators, it turns out a bit better than the usual fare from either discipline.

Spawn: The Armageddon Collection Part 1 (2006)

2011-10-25T00:00:00.001-05:00

I've spoken at length in the past about how Spawn should be the most popular African-American, multi-platform, superhuman badass in an action/horror milieu (with apologies to Blade, whose franchise was entirely dependent on Wesley Snipes, who is now over.) Instead, Spawn is an emo bitch who somehow managed to spin his wheels and shed his tears for 150 issues before making any really progress in the story department. To summarize those fifteen or so years, Spawn fought a whole lot of non-threatening demons who made for silly looking action figures that were supposedly articulate, but sculpted in such a way that you could only stand them just so without their falling over and breaking. Spawn built up a pretty solid supporting cast, but around his ex-wife rather than himself, so that Wanda acted as the anchor around the guy's neck. Lose the chick, which after 100 issues of mooning was a desperate need, and you lose Terry, Cyan, Grandma, the twins, etc. Spawn did kill his big bad Malebolgia, but that just opened the door for a bunch of weaker retreads.

At the start of this trade, one such Malebolgia Lite (who looked just like another deceased antagonist, Jason Wynn) called Mammon had wiped Spawn's memory, and he was predictably being a tittybaby about it. He picked a fight with an angel, got ripped to pieces, and then those pieces got stolen by demons. Spawn was sewn back together, absent his heart, so that he could be tortured by Mammon. Meanwhile, Spawn's heart became a little white kid named Christopher, who is sent on a quest by not-Marvelman/Miracleman, because Neil Gaiman sued that character into the Phantom Stranger. Fucking Billy Kincaid shows up, the child killer Alan Moore created that will not go away, despite just begging for another lawsuit to cause even more of the Spawn library to become radioactive. Some signs of the apocalypse and a greatest hits collection of lame super-villains later, the anniversary issue wraps.

After that busy, confusing, yet still somewhat plodding start, the run of incoming creative team David Hine and Billy Tan starts in earnest. The story of Christopher brings to the fore the EC Comics influence that has always been one of the redeeming qualities of the series, and establishes the potential for Spawn to become a one-man anthology series along the lines of (amusingly enough) Neil Gaiman's The Sandman. For about the first time ever, the cartoonish grisliness of the series is worked into legitimately horrifying imagery that disturbs the senses. The Spawn supporting cast, including Sam and Twitch, are used very effectively. Building in the background is an end of days epic that, while leaning heavily on the usual Judeo-Christian plagues, is smart enough to also delve into world myth, beginning with Kali.

There is more energy and story potential in the six issues collected here than large swaths of the previous 149. Phillip Tan is clearly not as polished an artist as McFarlane, Capullo or Medina, but he's able to shift gears from the usual over the top shtick to more varied storytelling modes. Functionally, this is much better than his later, more stylized work. Rather than the whining associated with Spawn as a character, David Hine elicits real pathos through the tragedies and existential dread of his characters. My only complaint is that once all the balls are in the air, this collection ends exactly when and where you would least want it to. On to part 2, then.

A Frank Review of "Phantasm III: Lord of the Dead" (1994)

2011-10-21T00:00:00.000-05:00

The Short Version? The Balls Are Back, as well as half the first film's cast after a skipped chapter.
What Is It? Horror Action Comedy.
Who Is In It? The Phantasm cast.
Should I See It? Yes.

A fun aspect of the Phantasm movies is that they are so plainly products of their time, begging for direct comparisons since they always involve flashbacks to previous episodes. Even more hilariously, we've got the character of Mike originated by A. Michael Baldwin, who was replaced by James LeGros for a sequel, but Baldwin resumes the role five minutes after LeGros' in-story exit but seventeen years since he first filmed it as a teenager. Suffice to say, not only is there no similarity whatsoever between Baldwin and LeGros, but Baldwin is barely even recognizable as himself nearly doubled in age. Similarly, Bill Thornbury returns as brother Jody after the same duration of absence, except Jody died in 1977, has been supernaturally revived after a fashion, and still manages to be a dumpy middle aged dude. Meanwhile, Reggie Bannister somehow keeps chugging along, just a bit grayer. Director/writer/creator Don Coscarelli sure chose his protagonist well.

As mentioned, this film once again tries to pick up right after the previous installment, despite a lapse of about six years and casting changes. A primary character from the first sequel gets thrown under the bus as a result, and I guess they must have also been ground under the wheels and gummed up in the trans-axle, by the look of things. Not unaware of the strain this puts on the narrative and suspension of disbelief, Coscarelli tries to distract from the problem by throwing a slew of plot tangents at the screen until he can see what sticks. Not to get deep into details, but besides the two original cast members returned to intermittently reprise their roles, Reggie is joined in Tall Man hunting by two entirely new soldiers of types generally frowned upon by the stereotypical horror fan. However, they're both very capable (sometimes to the point of being Mary Sues,) and interact well with Reggie in their pursuit of becoming America's Next 3rd Tier Franchise Players.

Coscarelli is clever in balancing the comfortingly familiar with entirely left field elements. There's his signature shot of a sleeping passenger coming to and being greeted by a new/returning cast member, sphere POVs, the crawl through ghost towns, trips past the forks, and creeping through the mausoleums. On the other hand, old characters are put through bizarre paces under radically altered circumstances, the new characters are unexpected and offer different dynamics, while the series' mythology is advanced without burdening it with full, entirely lucid explanations. A defining characteristic of this series is dream logic, so that last bit is important.

Despite a total of four original cast members, Lord of the Dead feels more like the successor to Phantasm II than the original. The action is shot in a similar fashion, the influence of Sam Raimi's brand of comedic action-gore is still keenly felt, and it seems like a lot of the developments with Mike were necessitated to explain why the status quo from II had to be altered to accommodate the return of A. Michael Baldwin. While not as strong as its predecessors, Phantasm III has its own quirky charms, and its inventive contributions to the series should not be discounted. While Angus Scrimm's Tall Man remains the iconic face of the franchise, the familial qualities of the cast and unpredictable turns remain at the heart of the series.

Wednesday Is Numerically Ordered For All I Care #123

2011-10-19T00:00:00.001-05:00

Buffy The Vampire Slayer Season Nine #1
The Strange Talent of Luther Strode #1
Ultimate X-Men #1 (2011)

Buffy The Vampire Slayer Season 9 #1 (Dark Horse, 2011, $2.99)
This was kind of a cotton candy issue. It was made for people who followed all of the previous volume, but at the same time it's something of a sitcomy one-off for new readers. I'm not sure who would get the most out of it. Old fans probably wanted something more intense and involved while establishing the new status quo, as seen in Angel & Faith. Casual readers may wonder who the hell these people are, and why they should care about some chick getting sloshed at a party. I think George Jeanty is a good artist, and I'm glad they've got a guy drawing the book with some life in him. The downside is that very few of these characters are positively identified by name, and not a single one resembles the actor who played them, so eyepatches and the colorist have to save the day. This is also written for the trade, which I won't be buying, so that's that.

The Strange Talent of Luther Strode #1 (Image, 2011, $2.99)
This was maybe one quarter of a good comic. It has a spiffy premise, the archetypical characters are established quickly, and the high school nerd revenge fantasy is a winner. The art is strong and meshes perfectly with both the domestic and gorehound portions of the story. It's just that like most modern comics, there's a bunch of silent panels with storyboarded action that lazy film producers should love if they come calling with an option. I'm sure it'll make for a rad flick. As a comic though, it means I'm done and left wanting more in the sense of eating three potato chips or a tiny juice box. It's not "hey, that was so swell I got's to get me more of this," but "you want two dollars for a doughnut hole on a stick?"

Ultimate X-Men #1 (Marvel, 2011, $3.99)
I'm straight, white, male, my zits are under control, I'm comfortable around women, and I can't remember having gotten beaten up since junior high. The X-Men don't really resonate with me anymore. I'm also not a parent, which was why I dug the ending to The Mist, where an encumbered acquaintance felt that it didn't make sense at the level of the mammal. I expect he'd call bullshit on this book's opening twist, as well. All this is to say I won't continue reading this series, but if this is the kind of comic you like, you may well like this comic. Nick Spencer's script is better than this deathless title deserves, and I like the art of Paco Medina okay, though I miss his days as an Humberto Ramos acolyte. It's got that disenfranchised, violently persecuted minority vibe of the best Roy Thomas and Chris Claremont material down pat. At the same time, it also has all the modern amenities, including maintaining the status quo of X-team memberships consisting of dogshit in recent years. I love Kitty Pryde as much as the next nerdy child of the '80s, but Iceman, the Human Torch and Digrassi Wolverine? That's so wretched it gives me a slight pang of sympathy at the burden of its readers, like liberal guilt during a screening of The Help.

A Frank Review of "Dawn of the Dead: European Version" (1978)

2011-10-17T00:00:00.002-05:00

A.K.A.:

Zombies: Dawn of the Dead
Zombi: L’alba dei Morti Viventi
Zombie: Le Crépuscule des Morts Vivants
Zombi: El Regreso de los Muertos Vivientes
Zombie: In De Greep van de Zombies
Zombie
Zombie: Rædslernes Morgen

The Short Version? Foreign Version of the Living Dead
What Is It? Action-Horror
Who Is In It? Vincent Parmelly, Angelo Fettucini, Marhalt and Becky Vickers
Should I See It? Maybe

Fair warning: this is not in the strictest sense a proper film review. George A. Romero's Dawn of the Dead is one of my favorite films, and this is a fanboy deconstruction of an aberrant version of that film.

When famed Italian director Dario Argento helped get the sequel to Night of the Living Dead made, he was due some concessions. One was the feature making extensive use of the music of Dario's rock band, Goblin. Another was that Argento would get final cut of the film in foreign markets. Now, director George A. Romero has created two films that could be debated as personal masterpieces, and both are significant to cinema as a whole. However, Romero has a rather spotty track record with regard to making good films, much less great ones. As in, there's the two great ones, with arguable competency on everything else. An intriguing premise would therefore be whether Argento could cut Romero's film better than Romero. The answer is no, and it isn't even close.

Another of my favorite films is Pulp Fiction. Imagine if Martin Scorsese had been given final cut of that picture, and decided it should run in chronological order with much of the Mia Wallace story cut out. Also, change the title sequence and drop most of the soundtrack in favor of more FM hits of the '70s. Pulp Fiction would still be a pretty good movie, but it would lose its mojo-- its special magic. It would smother your French fries in mayonnaise. That's what this is like.

Zombi drops seven minutes from the running time, trimming out virtually all of the humor and quirkiness out of the picture. Since most of the bloodletting occurs in the first act, the cut is so plot heavy that you're nearly an hour in before the characterization really kicks in. Even consequential stuff, like the lead characters planning their operations, hits the bricks. Goblin's score is relentless and often atonal, especially hair metal riffs the close the film over boring black credits. Argento doesn't seem to recognize the value of silence, and he has no use for any subtext or pretense. His cut is a straightforward action/horror popcorn flick with extreme gore, and it's unsettling for a die hard fan to watch. After watching three different versions of the film in a box set within 48 hours of buying it in 2004, I didn't mind the changes as much, because I enjoyed seeing the flick from different (and occasionally new) perspectives. In my first viewing of any version in something like two years, I found myself frustrated by the omissions and misguided alterations.

That's about all I have to offer anyone not already a fan of the movie. From here on out, it's strictly responsa amongst the devout. Turn away now if you are not so damned...

I don't really care for Argento's cut of the opening section. The actual credits are distractingly large. Opening with the score's best track not only leaves the movie nowhere to go but down musically; it also comes across as a silly "spooky sounds of Halloween" riff in this context. The dialogue is much more clear, but it vastly reduces the tension, and feels staged in comparison to Romero's Altmanesque cacophony. While likely shorter in length, the clarity and continuity of the exposition makes it seem like more of a drag.

I miss the cute scene transitions throughout Romero's movie, beginning with the switch from the TV studio to the police raid. The jazzy scoring muffles the sense of dread, playing more like a cornball action movie. I do like the chorus of moans laced in there, though. I also think Argento was smart to spend a bit more time with the unnamed African-American cop, instead of rushing his partner's suicide. Goblin's music nearly drowns out the priest's speech, both audibly and in effectiveness. I did enjoy it during the extended execution sequence of the basement zombies, though.

Argento chopped the hell out of the chopper base sequence. Peter's inclusion in the group was always rushed, but here the entire bunch seem thrown together and disconnected. I really missed this "getting to know each other" section, as well as the odd bits of comedy.

There's an interesting variation on the redneck country flyover in this edit. In Romero's version, the "'Cause I'm A Man" song baldly announces the outright satirical nature of his movie, which is both part of its charm and a turn-off for more serious-minded viewers. Argento still offers canned country music, but treats his subjects with more respect, and I do not miss the silly musical beat from the car explosion one bit. Argento takes better advantage at that "expensive" effect by lingering for production value.

Argento's cut of the abandoned airbase sequence makes improvements. The music is eerier, and the relatively rapid crosscutting tightens up what was one of the more exasperating Romero sections.

I could go on indefinitely. The point is, Argento renders a great film pretty good, throwing out genius with the flaws, and making a fun soundtrack grate on the nerves. It's novel for people like me who would watch as many different variations on a beloved flick as they could get their hands on, but I fear anyone introduced to the movie through this edit are getting sold short.

Extras?

Commentary with stars David Emge, Ken Foree, Scott H. Reiniger and Gaylen Ross This is a swell bunch of coworkers discussing their time making the picture. By extension, a lot more time is spent discussing expanding waistlines and thinning hair than the deeper themes of the picture. Still, it's cool when a fan gripes about the loss of the cigarettes scene and Gaylen Ross chimes in to back them up. There's also some criticism of where the remake failed to live up to the ambitions of this feature.
Trailers Surprisingly gory. An Italian version and two German numbers.
TV Spots A pair from the U.K.
Poster & Still Galleries Lots of fun stuff to scan through for the hard core fan. The photos get repetitive, though.
Soundtracks The art of the albums. Goblin looks like the '70s prog band you'd expect.
Video Covers So, so many. DVD, VHS, laserdisc. Some of these boxes are ever so tacky. I've owned a few of these over the years.
Dario Argento Biography Good stuff, for a text piece.
Menu The gun store "tribal" music and a partial skull with moving red eyes. The commentary set-up button doesn't work, so hit your audio buttons a few times.

A Frank Review of "Phantasm II" (1988)

2011-10-14T00:00:00.010-05:00

The Short Version? The Balls Are Back.
What Is It? Horror-comedy.
Who Is In It? The usuals, -2, +1.
Should I See It? Yes.

Okay, you've got a low budget movie filmed in 1977, released in '79, and you're planning a studio sequel for 1988 just as the horror boom begins to wane. Today, it would be a remake. If you got Don Coscarelli to do it, and they did, he opens five minutes later despite a studio-forced recasting of one of the leads featured in footage spliced right into the new one. Crazy motherfucker makes it work, so long as you don't look too closely.

The timeline eventually moves forward seven years, which helps gloss over James LeGros taking over as Mike. He's got that thing going on where he's kind of handsome, yet kind of ugly, and his many screen credits would lead you to think his line delivery would be better. Reggie Bannister's gotten a lot better at same in the intervening years, and he's great as the balding ex-ice cream man/monster hunter. It is very clear that Coscarelli had seen the Evil Dead pictures, including a brief shout to Sam Raimi by name, and the influence shows up repeatedly in this film. Few would call that a bad thing, and in fact many of the borrowed techniques are perfectly applied to the deadly spheres that are a trademark of the series. While this may have been one of the cheapest movies Universal Pictures ever released, what got spent is all on the screen. Quadruple-barreled sawed-off shotguns, much improved zombie dwarves, killer ball tricks, far higher quality full frontal nudity... it's a gonzo hillbilly delight.

Wednesday Is DC New 52y Fresh & Fruity For All I Care #122

2011-10-12T00:00:00.000-05:00

Action Comics #1 (2011)
Aquaman #1 (2011)
The Huntress #1 (2011)
Stormwatch #2 (2011)

Action Comics #1 (DC, 2011, $3.99)
Hello hype, my old foe. I like the art of Rags Morales, and since a Treasury Edition of Superman #1 was one of my first comics, I dig the return of a lower powered Man of Steel as social avenger. Still, folks giving this glowing reviews must be totally high off All-Star Superman, because fuck all actually happens. It's two action set pieces sandwiching a few pages of ~~Peter Parker~~ Clark Kent scraping by as a young turk reporter with a cell phone. Nice update, lots of potential, but don't you dare ask me four bucks a month for something so slight as this, especially when acting under the guise of working class heroism in a bitterly recessive economy.

Aquaman #1 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
Was this a comic book story? It had very pretty art by Ivan Reis that's the best the character has ever had. There were sequential panels, including a prologue and epilogue that foreshadow an upcoming story. In the middle was all this crap copied and pasted off a message board where trolls flamed and Aquaman just kept saying "nuh-uh." I think someone decided to turn a Newsarama interview into a visual narrative. That didn't work out so hot.

The Huntress #1 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
Paul Levitz wants to prove that you can teach an old dog new tricks. Decompression, silent action, sparse dialogue, the absence of thought balloons in favor of captions, light exposition, mature elements, and a hero who speaks casually of murder. What Levitz can't hide is a clear, conventional narrative and a reliance on action movie tropes. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, since a lot of these New 52 titles are so desperate to make an impact amidst like-minded books all fired off in the same month that they read like a desperate nerd at an orgy probing ears and nostrils in hopes of securing any possible avenue of entry. By comparison, The Huntress is so calm and assured, you just know it was being prepared months ago completely independent of the relaunch. I guess we'll know for sure once there's some clumsy references to Earth-2 shoehorned into the fifth issue.

Anyway, I've always had a great affection for the Huntress, and this book pushed all my favorite buttons with the character, so I'm hopelessly partial in my enjoyment. Helena [Last Name Withheld For Now, the fuckers] is a badass bitch covered head to toe in a reasonably practical costume with light body armor performing boss martial arts moves and shooting people with a crossbow. I love all that shit, so I'm in. There's some titillation, but it isn't at Helena's expense, which I greatly appreciate. The art by Marcus To is lovely, like the love child of Gary Frank and Sam Basri. He never sacrifices storytelling for money shots, every picture is pretty, his Huntress is athletic while still feminine, and he's great about referencing complex martial arts moves. I'm going to be pissed if he disappears after a couple of issues, because this is a perfect match of creators and character so far.

Stormwatch #2 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
I enjoyed this second issue well enough, in spite of the fact that it worsens the flaws of the debut, and in part because my expectations have been lowered since then.

I was a little put off by the newly DC exclusive artist Miguel Sepulveda's so plainly tracing/shopping from Mongolian Death Worm that DC had the pages redrawn for the second printing. I still like the basics of his style though, and since he mostly handles the monsters/alien landscape pages, he's in his element. However, the real surprise was supporting artist Al Barrionuevo. While I enjoyed the guy's work on the 2006 Martian Manhunter mini-series, he was still rough around the edges, and aping Bryan Hitch a little too hard. For that book, Barrionuevo insisted on long, narrow, "letterboxed" panels for a supposed "widescreen" effect, but it just made everything look like it was getting squashed in a compactor. Today, Barrionuevo has really opened up his page layouts so that they have more energy and variety. Barrionuevo clearly loves following in Hitch's footsteps on Stormwatch, but he's also picked up a strong Phil Jimenez influence which makes for a quite palatable union. The guy gets another shot at the Manhunter from Mars, and while this is also a deviation from the more familiar model, it's close enough to classic to please me much. I hope Barrionuevo sticks with the series, since he slides in very well with Sepulveda. He may not have quite the same razzmatazz, but he's a a better storyteller with more fluid figures, balancing each other's strengths and weaknesses.

The scripts are where I find my ambivalence toward this book. When it was announced that the title would be at the forefront of the Wildstorm integration into the DC Universe, I was concerned about it starring a bunch of Warren Ellis creations, new characters in a similar vein, and the one doofy DC 1950s sci-fi super-hero. I thought the Martian Manhunter might be the book's Jon Kavanaugh or Seth Bullock; a white knight corrupted by circumstance, or an inflexible objectivist on a morally subjective team. Instead, the Martian Manhunter is about the only pre-existing character who seems consistent. The Authority were a bunch of self-justifying puffed-up jackasses, but they were of the likeable John Constantine mode. The new Stormwatch, to date, has been more like a Justice League consisting of Triumph, Guy Gardner, Vibe, Orion and Maxima. In other words, they're a bunch of jerks, and I not only do not recognize them, instead finding them derivative of DC counterparts. Apollo is the isolated, unsure pre-Superman Clark Kent. Midnighter was pretty much always the very model of the ultraviolent Über-Batman, but now he's an extra-creepy Queerstalker to boot. I don't recall the Engineer being a backbiter, and the pleasant enough new characters from last issue are either abandoned or take a nasty turn this month. It's bad enough that the book is so new reader unfriendly, mired as it is in a complex backstory-in-development, but do the characters have to be so irritable as well?

That said, the new issue flowed pretty well, despite some backpedaling and pacing geared toward the trade. Paul Cornell's writing isn't inherently bad, so I'm hopeful that he'll eventually catch a breath and properly introduce Stormwatch to its readers. The threat is getting fleshed out, twists are promised for the next issue, and this is supposed to shape up into a lynchpin title. I can see the seeding for interesting events down the road, but I'm already impatient for the book I expect this to be, and I feel like I'm reading a second or third story arc instead of the first. Onward with fingers crossed, then...

By the way, since market analysis posts are very dry and niche, I thought I'd offer a bit on Stormwatch #1 at the tail end of this review. It was the 30th best selling book of the DC New 52 in September, placing it squarely at middling for the launch. Technically, that put it in a statistical dead heat with The Fury of Firestorm: The Nuclear Men #1 (hi Shag!) and behind such books as Red Hood and the Outlaws, Birds of Prey, The Savage Hawkman and Superboy. However, every single one of those comics was ordered with the knowledge that they would be 100% returnable for a full refund. Stormwatch was the ninth most popular non-returnable book of the launch, ordered with full awareness that retailers would have to eat unsold copies. That's a serious vote of confidence in my book, even if orders were only about a quarter of the best-seller of the month, Batman #1.

A Frank Review of "50/50" (2011)

2011-10-10T00:00:00.001-05:00

The Short Version? Got Cancer?
What Is It? Dramedy.
Who Is In It? The kid from 3rd Rock from the Sun, the dude from Knocked-Up, the chick from Up in the Air, Opie's daughter, and the mom from every Wes Anderson movie.
Should I See It? Yes.

Just to get it out of the way, this is a Lifetime movie for men. It's Pepsi Max. It's as simple as that. A protagonist that acts as a proxy for the audience is diagnosed with a potentially fatal disease and must deal with the emotional and material repercussions on his life. Since this is the version of that formula for guys, it also spends a lot of time figuring out how cancer will effect our lead's ability to get a nut, as well as the coping mechanisms preferred by men under such circumstances. Since this type of movie is rarely viewed from a perspective other than "the triumph of the spirit" or tearjerking pussified bullshit, it's actually affective and entertaining. Joseph Gordon-Levitt does a fantastic job of conveying his character's emotions as subtly as possible, maintaining a poker face and a tight lip. Men in life don't hug each other and weep together, nor do they offer overwrought monologues at pivotal moments. The movie is autobiographical, and the integrity of how men really deal with adversity is maintained throughout, making it something of a must see for women who'd like to better understand these things. For the record, my girlfriend cried through at least a full quarter of the running time.

The supporting cast is uniformly excellent. Seth Rogen essentially plays himself, a big-hearted lug who has difficulty expressing himself outside broage. Matt Frewer and Philip Baker Hall are completely real as fellow cancer patients with their own difficulties. Anjelica Huston is great as the overbearing mother who through her actions offers a peek at why the lead is as he is. Anna Kendrick and Bryce Dallas Howard are loveable even as their characters are the least developed and most transparently stock. As I said, this movie offers insight into the male psyche, but is as arch about the opposite sex as its y-deprived kindred. Well written, well directed, and a good soundtrack if you can forgive the use of "Yellow Ledbetter." See it with someone you love, probably bearing testicles.

A Frank Review of "Phantasm" (1979)

2011-10-06T12:00:00.001-05:00

The Short Version? Death is not the end, by a damned far sight.
What Is It? Horror.
Who Is In It? The guys who appear in Phantasm movies.
Should I See It? Yes.

There is a consistent hype machine to insure we never forget the likes of Jason, Freddy, or Michael Myers. Hell, even Chucky gets play. Who ever talks about the Tall Man, though? Like Hellraiser, there's a quiet little sequel to the weird Phantasm series every so many years that balances the cerebral, visceral and surreal in a way not meant for mass consumption. I'd be surprised if one didn't inspire the other, and part of Phantasm's particular charm is that it's a might too obtuse, rural and oddly naïve to capitalize on its iconography the way the later Pinhead did for Clive Barker.

Jody (Bill Thornbury) and Mike Pearson (A. Michael Baldwin) were already orphans trying to get by before a friend was murdered in the graveyard. Teenager Mike started noticing strange goings on in town, mostly revolving around a rather tall and creepy undertaker (Angus Scrimm.) Joined by their buddy Reggie Bannister, the brothers are drawn into the horrors of the mausoleum, including zombie Jawas and flying silver orbs. If that sounds peculiar, you don't know the half of it, which is why Phantasm remains a refreshing alternative franchise.

The acting is not spectacular, but it is sincere, giving the characters verisimilitude. The direction is solid, with some clever editing to revisit key moments without resorting to expository dialogue. While there are understandable reservations about Mike's initial cries of wolf, they aren't stretched out to the point of denial. Jody and Reggie accept that when things gets hairy, extreme actions might be necessary, and are taken. Point being, they're game, and that's always welcome in horror movies. There's a reason this is a cult classic, and you'll have to see it for yourself.

A Frank Review of "Retrospective: The Videos of Suzanne Vega" (2005)

2011-10-03T00:55:00.000-05:00

The Short Version? One of my best loved singer-songwriters on DVD.
What Is It? Music Video Compilation
Who Is In It? Suzanne Vega
Should I See It? Sure hope you do!

Marlene On the Wall: A solid, visually appealing video for 1985 by Leslie Liebman. As will prove uncommon later, this was the strongest possible single off Vega's eponymous debut. In the commentary track, Vega bitches about creative differences with her replacement director (after the first choice fell through) and her stylist. Yes, stylist.
Left Of Center: This was a soundtrack cut, so I'm surprised there wasn't a version of this featuring scenes from Pretty in Pink. Instead they dolled Vega up like Molly Ringwald, and it actually works. In the commentary, Vega discusses contemporary fashions again, a pattern I hope breaks soon. I expected more poet, less vogue.
Luka: One of Vega's biggest hits, and the one that made her name. Also, a sound video with good commentary.
Solitude Standing: Not a favorite album to begin with, and a terrible choice for a single. "Gypsy" was the most obvious potential follow-up hit on the album. This video was directed by Jonathan Demme, and decent enough thought was put into what is essentially a band playing in a room with a few distractions. Vega questions some choices made by Demme that I think worked, and I'm starting to get a control freak vibe off of her.
Book Of Dreams: Another song I'm not fond of, but I can easily see the logic of releasing it as a single. Those were the days of Wilson Phillips, after all. Very potent visuals from the same art designers used for album materials. Good commentary, too.
Men In A War: I could never resolve the incongruity of lyrics and music with this song, plus the latter kind of has that generic poppy sound of the time. The dissonance continues into the video, which matches the music and completely discounts the subject. Amusingly, Vega explains that the aspect that kept getting swept under the rug was exactly why this was never actually released as a single.
Tired Of Sleeping: This one was directed by Tarsem Singh, so of course it positively drips with pretension. According to Vega, Tarsem got his award-winning "Losing My Religion" gig on the strength of this video, and she dug it. For myself, I found that the word pictures Vega puts in your mind are so vibrant, and could have been so easily visualized, that I'm frustrated by Tarsem's flat art film bullshit. Instead of kids playing in pennies, there's just kids playing in slow-mo sepia tone. Instead of a quilted heart, here's an old man spilling milk on the floor. I will say that it looks fine with Vega's interesting commentary on instead.
Tom's Diner: Vega has lots to say about this video, but skips the most interesting part-- that the English duo DNA had stolen her song, remixed it, and were selling it as a bootleg. Vega got ahold of a copy, and liked it so much that she tracked the guys down and secured it a legal release, resulting in a worldwide hit. I don't think anything more came out of DNA, but they're responsible for my smiling at the bank over hearing the only Vega song still in rotation on overhead speakers and stations across the nation. As for the Gareth Roberts video itself, given that it was quickly cobbled together using recycled Vega footage and somewhat random visuals, it's very energetic and surprisingly evocative of the lyrics.
Blood Makes Noise: Vega's enthusiasm for this video is audible, and it's one of my favorites, as well. It's busy as fuck and oh so much a product of its time that you'd be forgiven for expecting C + C Music Factory to show up, but it sure enough grabs you by the eyeballs. Nico Beyer turns Vega into the intellectual's sexpot, and his propaganda poster come to life perfectly parallels the industrial tune.
In Liverpool: This one was apparently very expensive, and it shows. Almost too literal an interpretation, but it's lovely and it serves one of my favorite songs, so I won't be complaining. Excellent work by director Howard Greenhalgh.
99.9F°: Nico Beyer again. Awesome again. This one oozes an aloof, taboo sensuality that keeps you watching its entire... length.
When Heroes Go Down: This is something like the third video to feature one of Vega's significant others, but at least this time it was also the producer of her best two albums. Unfortunately, I never much liked the song, and the video is downright irritating. It's one of those "what were they thinking" affairs involving a colonoscope.
Caramel: Lovely, lush song with a video to matchby Charles Wittenmeier. Vega has an atomic age allure to suit the 50s pastiche. She does kind of snub Janeane Garofalo while referencing a film tie-in, though.
No Cheap Thrill: Another wonderful song with a perfect video that continues the retro aesthetic, although the flaring effect is oh so '90s. Props to director David Cameron. Madonna gets mentioned again, which I find an odd point of reference for a folkie.
Book And A Cover: A really nice song hidden on a non-U.S. greatest hits compilation. Vega plays up the creepiness of a shot involving an airplane and the World Trade Center, but the whole thing is rather tame. All the upside-downness wear on the nerves.
Last Year's Troubles: A cute song, but the terrible video was clearly shot for no budget. Nepotism may have played a part, but that aspect is largely critic-proofed thanks to a death in the family. Still, the whole thing looks run through a generic old-timey "film stock" filter that's probably bundled with the Nero suite. While they were in there, they could have just thrown together a slideshow of public domain Victorian photographs and ended up with a better result.

Extras?

Caramel (Alternate Version): There are some great shots in here, but also a lot of placeholding material involving Vega signing to her cat in black and white.
Days of Open Hand: A promotional video for the album that runs a bit long at six minutes, but has some good interview material and live performance footage.
99.9F°: Promo spot for the album release. A nice snippet of the video with a bit of TV commercial cheese thrown in.
Songs in Red and Gray Promo spot for the album, which is not only an appealing commercial, but offers a bit of representation here for the under-appreciated album.
Discography: Could be handy?
Rarities: This is neat. Cover art slideshow of singles and oddities.
Personal Playlist: A track selection menu to play the videos in any order you'd like. Random, no?
Menu: Noteworthy for being unusually well constructed, aside from the redundancy of the Special Features and Audio Options links that both go to the exact same sub-menu.

Wednesday Is Spelled "IDW" For All I Care #121

2011-09-29T00:00:00.003-05:00

Duke Nukem: Glorious Bastard #1
Hero Comics 2011
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #1 (2011)

Duke Nukem: Glorious Bastard #1 (IDW Publishing, 2011, $3.99)
Duke Nukem never did it for me. I appreciated that the guy was a sexist alpha male parody, and the games played okay, but I couldn't get involved. His stories were lame, and his personality consisted of regurgitated Ash/Jack Burton quotes (sometimes verbatim.) Decent premise, but weak, lazy execution.

This Duke Nukem comic is about as bad as the games, better in some respects, but far worse in others. It reminds me of how the Beastie Boys tried to make fun of the frat boys that came to their shows by mimicking them, went method by getting lost in a sea of beer and assholery, wound up hating themselves, and made Paul's Boutique. Nothing like that last part here, though. Not even a Some Old Bullshit.

Instead of lampooning, Duke Nukem reads like jocko homo literature; nothing but swagger and attempts at humor so base and tired that they make Larry the Cable Guy look like George Carlin. It isn't completely mindless, since the writer has clearly seen some classic war movies to emulate, and there's enough dialogue to keep you reading (time-wise) for a bit. I guess the production values are decent, overall. Still, this is a fine example of why asking $4 for a comic book just isn't sustainable across an industry. It only takes a few of these before you're twenty bucks poorer with nothing to show for it.

Hero Comics 2011 (IDW Publishing, 2011, $3.99)
Besides wishing to support a worthy cause, one of the reasons I tend to buy the Hero and Liberty Comics annuals is because they attract premium talent to the unreliable but sometimes rewarding anthology format. For too many years, publishers used the format to try out underripe creators, while veterans used them to draw a quick paycheck, giving anthologies a bad name. Knowing these charity books are more widely read and prestigious, contributors bring their "A" game, and in the case of Hero Comics, there's always a few autobiographical sob stories that win you over with veracity if craft fails. The book delivers, with one lengthy exception:

My Last Landlady by Neil Gaiman, Sam Kieth and Mike Dringenberg is the best story of the lot, straight out of the gate. It reads like a folk tale, and the impressionistic art paints emotions more than subjects.
This Is My Story by Christopher Ivy is another in a reliable series of one page stories about comic creators living in a van down by the river. I think I remember this guy as an inker, but his full art is quite good.
Chew is an indie hit that didn't really do it for me in long form, and his usual creators gain no traction in short, either. If you dig Layman & Guillory, you'll likely be pleased.
My Hero by Jason Craig is another single page autobiography with nice art, so it's golden.
Once Upon a Time is for Sam Kieth completists only. In his quasi-childlike style, Kieth turns quotes from his co-creators' emails during the slow production of "My Last Landlady" into something vaguely resembling a narrative. There's either too many pictures or too much text, depending on your interests, but it seems likely to frustrate both crowds.
Hero Initiative by Ralph Reese uses old-timey comic strip characters and a few super-heroes in a retirement home as mouthpieces for the charity. It works through novelty and brevity.
An Elephantmen story closes out the book, with lovely art by Dougie Braithwaite making up for Richard Starking's maudlin story.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #1 (IDW Publishing, 2011, $3.99)
I have a long, stupid, pointless history with TMNT. Like most readers, I first became aware of them through ads for comic book mail order shops that heralded their "hotness" and sold seemingly every available issue for an inflated price. I bought something like a seventh printing of the first issue at a shop in 1988 or so, but didn't "get it" get it. Growing up on Ambush Bug and Cracked, I was expecting it to actually be funny, instead of straight-faced satire-- if you can even call it that. Comic fans are asked to take a lot at face value, and plagiarism is a fact of life, so a Daredevil/Fantastic Four mash-up didn't come across as particularly askew. However, the cartoon came along surprisingly soon, which was the first (and still pretty much the only) time actual comic book creators got rewarded with all the riches of a multi-media sensation. The cartoon was surprisingly solid, and I bought a set of the Turtles in action figure form. I tried more issues of the original comics, the Archie adaptation, later projects by the creators, and the first feature film. Some of it was pleasant enough, but as a phenomenon, I couldn't wrap my brain around it.

I of course now realize some important truths. The first is that neither Kevin Eastman nor Peter Laird are especially good as creators, because they've had virtually no further creative or financial success, and never seemed to exactly beat away non-TMNT publishing offers. The second is that the only appreciable difference between the pair and their legions of imitators was that they got there first, and borrowed from better material, rather than having to replicate their own mediocre output. The third truth is that TMNT were part of a cultural zeitgeist that targeted children, and I wasn't a child. I loved the Muppets as a kid, and if I had any of my own, I might enjoy sharing that love by taking them to that new Muppets movie coming out. We could bond over comfort and my hope the kids could appreciate the new feature the way I had the original Muppets Movie. I never had that with TMNT, and I don't really have much use for the Muppets anymore either, so the pop culture circle of life ends there. Without nostalgia and/or target demographics, there isn't much to TMNT, so they might as well be anthropomorphic slap bracelets.

This brings me to the revisionist TMNT relaunch. Just like the many times DC Comics has done this thing (memory only has to go back to the last several shipping weeks,) there's a ton of superficial change for change's sake, characters introduced earlier to fit into a streamlined cosmology, but most importantly, decompression out the yah-yah. There is not a single story in this book, but instead a bunch of subplots that run for a number of pages each with the full expectations that readers are already versed in the franchise and committed to each issue or the trade collection. It's boring, plodding, forgettable, and poorly realized in text and visuals. It's a book that expects adults to take pizza eating reptiles with martial arts prowess very seriously, which again in the world of comics isn't too much to ask, but I've yet to be offered a compelling reason in nearly a quarter-century to do so. I can kind of understand why this exists and who it is for, but that person isn't me, and I simply expect better than this from even licensed product revolving around properties that mean nothing to me. It seems to me the only thing separating IDW from Dynamite is the veneer of prestige offered by quality reprints of other publisher's old material.

"Welcome To The Zone" by David Chelsea (1995)

2011-09-26T03:58:00.000-05:00

The follow-up to David Chelsea In Love is goddamned near critic proof. It was one of the last books to come out of Kitchen Sink Press before it collapsed under its own weight, has gone ignored by publishers and critics for sixteen years, can be had for a shiny penny plus shipping on amazon.com, and even its creator says "...I regard this one as a misfire on just about every level, right down to my choice of a square format..." This basically puts me in the position to either kick the shaggy dog with no legs, or point out that it has pretty eyes and a pleasant demeanor. I'll run contrary to my norm and choose the latter.

Don't get me wrong-- I didn't buy this book on purpose. It came in a heavily discount, sight unseen bundle I ordered in the late '90s, most of which has gone unread since I took it home. I uncovered it on my shelf months back, and finally read it in something like a dozen installments. That was a difficult thing to do, since there are no actual chapter breaks over its ninety-two pages, but I doubt anyone sober would be inclined to try to push through the thing in one sitting. The book is essentially a collection of interwoven semi-biographical slice of life pieces from the East Village bohemian scene of the late '80s. Of course, then the author substitutes giant slobbering hound dogs for window washing bums, an anthropomorphic duck for Donald Trump, flesh eating tentacle aliens for no reason in particular, and so forth. There are mutants and full frontals aplenty, robots, schemes, murder, celebrity cameos, and God help us all, no shortage of performance art. The book is willfully weird; coherent enough to be followed, but too surreal for it to be appreciated in its entirety. Regardless, the intricate tonal stippling makes it a visual feast worthy of the $9.95 cover price no one is likely to actually be asked to pay for decades to come. Give it a toss through if it crosses your path.

Wednesday Is Finally Retroactive For All I Care #120

2011-09-23T00:00:00.000-05:00

Justice League of America - The '80s #1
Justice League of America - The '90s #1
Wonder Woman - The '90s #1

DC Retroactive: Justice League of America - The 1980s #1 (DC, 2011, $4.99)
The Detroit era League was much derided during the couple of years that they ran their title aground. Yet, the beloved Justice League International never would have existed without DC attempting a third X-Men knock-off team, and the "Satellite League" wouldn't have been done away with if they were getting the job done. Finally, aside from the full-on "what were they thinking" inclusions of Gypsy and Vibe, the "New Justice League" wasn't objectively a bad team. Their stories were typical goofy Bronze Age fare at first, but as criticisms mounted and a small sales spike leveled off and dipped, they embraced "grim and gritty" relatively early and with a passion. Whether you enjoy the team for the kitsch factor of its instantly dated fad jumping or recognize that the team starred in several of the best story arcs ever featured in JLofA volume I, there seems to be enduring affection that keeps readers and creators coming back to revisit this team.

A shame then that creator Gerry Conway doesn't seem to share it anymore. Part of the joy of his early issues with the team was its unrelenting, meta-defensive optimism in the face of scrutiny in both the stories and the letter columns. Later writers even used that unmerited self-esteem as a means of generating poetic irony, these poor doomed fools believing they would someday earn a place among titans when most would instead die violently or fade into obscurity. Conway, in an about face, starts this story with the team unanimously agreeing that they suck and their incompetence was going to cost a bunch of innocent lives. Not only is that a downer, but in giving in after all these years, Conway seems as clueless about his team's retroactive appeal today as he was their complete unsuitability while he was writing them the first time.

Even setting that aside, the twenty-six page story only has ideas enough for eight. Beginning mise-en-scène, the reader is quickly brought up to speed on the team's predicament, only to enter a twelve page flashback that not only literally depicts what was already explained through exposition, but even repeats elements of dialogue. Another few pages are wasted reorienting the reader after the flashback, reiterating points made in the first two acts, and then racing to a foregone fart of a conclusion with additional wretched fourth wall fellatio. The characters aren't in character and their powers are downplayed to suit an unimpressive threat. I guess Zatanna is consistent at least, since Conway never wrote her worth a damn. I'll acknowledge Gypsy as well, since she had a few occasions of playing David-out-of-a-box to the Goliath of the month in the original series.

The bland art by Ron Randall doesn't do any favors, especially when the only thing keeping his Dale Gunn from being 100% Caucasian is someone failing to tell the colorist that this book would be printed on cheap stock. It was obviously meant for glossy, because the colors are uniformly murky.

The reprint, colored for newsprint, is so vibrant that it almost seems to hover over the page rather than be embedded in it. It also makes my point for me, as the opening pages have Superman, Wonder Woman and the Flash addressing their cocky replacements. Even Aquaman gets to grandstand, a rare treat. Mike Machlan inked the issue, which quashes a lot of penciler Chuck Patton's pizzazz, but it still looks nice and licensing friendly. The story closes out an ongoing subplot for the Vixen, with a violent finish that was the first clue of how dark the book would get at a time when that was still relatively new and exciting.

DC Retroactive: Justice League of America - The 1990s #1 (DC, 2011, $4.99)
The Giffen/DeMatteis/Maguire team responsible for that rare treat of a legitimately funny super-hero comic have tried to recapture the magic on a number of occasions to varying results. Their last major attempt at DC was the "Super Buddies" JLI reunion mini-series, which I enjoyed quite a bit for mixing in poignancy with the comedy, as well as the new dynamics necessitated by evolving and replacement characters. Following that, the troupe hit the road for similar attempts at other publishers. According to J.M. DeMatteis, this special will be their final reunion with the JLI characters. That seems for the best, since it reminded me more of the book's stale final year than anything else.

Set at some point after the formation of Justice League Europe and presumably before the departure of Adam Hughes, the JLI characters are locked into a specific place and time that wore out its welcome decades ago. The jokes are predictable, and worse, set up prequels to superior material already told. It's like explaining a joke you've already heard and laughed at. What's the point, beyond strangling your enjoyment retroactively? Worse still, the tale breaks the Injustice League's streak of comedy gold in their appearance, this being a total dud to add insult to the injury of most of these guys having been killed off over the years. These characters at this place are simply too familiar to surprise in any way, and the creators are forcing funny with all their might in a way that just makes me tired. Even the art is ruined by inappropriate coloring for the paper stock that is so dark the atmosphere is less Marx Brothers than Se7en. No more trips to this well, especially in light of the editorial ineptitude that reigns at DC these days.

As has become typical, the reprint far outshines the new story. The art reproduction isn't 100%, there's a typo, some lettering didn't reproduce well and a few bits of coloring don't work on the upgraded stock. Regardless, this was the final story of the classic JLI run by its initial creative team. Though mired in the aftermath of the unfortunate "Breakdowns" crossover art, there's still enough humor, character moments, and lovely art to please without context. It even reminds you of why they bothered to keep Rocket Red around, and it wasn't just recycled Yakov Smirnoff material...

DC Retroactive: Wonder Woman - The 1990s #1 (DC, 2011, $4.99)
William Messner-Loebs was the writer that made me stop liking Wonder Woman and start loving her. This isn't his first return to the character, and I feared this one might be as lackluster as his Legends of the DC Universe arc. The first few story pages, involving a woefully anachronistic He-Man Woman Haters Club, did not alleviate my trepidation. However, a quick flashback and an elevation in estrogen seemed to do the trick. While its place in continuity is established with a bit of dialogue, Loebs isn't here to touch on that one missed story or try to relive glory days with familiar characters. Instead, he tells a self-contained, positive, all-ages tale that sums up much of what was great about his work on the heroine and is sorely lacking in modern comics. It's goodhearted funny edutainment, and the coloring is blessedly plenty bright enough for the stock.

I was surprised to see Lee Moder on art, as he's been working on an Image project. Wonder Woman not only introduced Moder to comics, but actually promoted him as the second coming of Kevin Maguire. Moder simplified his style and never broke in a big way, but his art compliments Messner-Loebs' humanism better than any of his other partners on the series.

I went back to check the original solicitation, and sure enough, it was actually Paris Cullins announced as artist on the lead story. I can't remember the last time I saw him work on anything, and his art style on his brief run on Wonder Woman was quite a departure from his 1980s efforts. I was curious to see if he'd had another change-up, but I guess it wasn't meant to be. I have to admit that his effort on the 1990s reprint wasn't as palatable for myself as on, say, Blue Devil, but that was more about reflecting the times than any deficits on Cullins' part. Compared to how horrible Chris Marrinan was before him, or even the simple inappropriateness of Jill Thompson on a mainstream super-hero book, Cullins might as well have been Brian Bolland supplying interiors. While unnecessarily rough thanks to fashionable chickenscratch crosshatching, Cullins could still tell a story and provide attractive, dynamic figures.

The story, once again by Bill Loebs, was for me the true start of his run. Loebs may have been Perez's selection as his replacement, but the circumstances of his taking over the title were not the best, and he seemed to stumble in the early going. This issue was the beginning of both one of my favorite arcs of the entire series, "Noble Pyrates," as well as the overarching story of his three-year-plus run. It was here Loebs began moving away from the naive visitor Perez had nursed along over five years to a more worldly, amused yet suspicious foreigner from a society far removed from our own. This break, and the controversial twists that infuriated the Perez devotees, allowed Loebs to both make the book his own and the creative high point of the volume. It's a shame collections of the run only begin with the Deodato illustrated material, which while pretty was marred by an excess of cheesecake and a deficit of panels per page.

As for this first chapter on its own, there's a sense that the writer was in such a hurry to dispense with the set-up, that the plotting hangs off of the early pages like a bit of loose yarn on a sweater. It's naggingly obvious, but once Wonder Woman is actually in space, the pace slows and the characters warm up. There's a really sweet pay-off to an element from the set-up, which on its own makes you want to turn the page to chapter two, as frustratingly out of print as most of these Retroactive reprints.

Garth Ennis Chronicles of Wormwood TPB (2007)

2011-09-20T00:00:00.001-05:00

Like the comic book equivalent of a hipster, I was into Garth Ennis in his early days, but dropped him with disparaging remarks after a few years once he'd gone "mainstream." I made it through a couple of years worth of ~~True Romance~~ Preacher, which always felt like a Hellblazer spin-off before descending into some sort of sadistic situation comedy. Ennis struck me as a pandering legend in his own mind, not half as audacious as he was made out to be, and quite the indiscriminate work-for-hire whore besides. It's been a long time since I truly enjoyed anything associated with Ennis, but I have to say that I found this book an exception.

Chronicles of Wormwood seems to boil down everything Ennis tried to convey about his views on Christianity over five years in Preacher, without bungling the execution. Danny Wormwood is the Antichrist, which has its privileges and drawbacks. He's not really into it, and has even chosen Jesus Christ as his personal pal, which vexes father Lucifer and the Roman Catholic Church alike. Joined by Wormwood's sentient pet bunny, the trio decide on a road trip from heaven to hell, while others see an opportunity afoot. Given the monkey oversaturation of recent years, I must put forth that there is a sore lack of sarcastic bunnies that this series really drives home.

Artist Jacen Burrows has never seemed to even try to transition out of Avatar Press, and I don't think his style would work elsewhere, but he's perfect for the satirical bent of Avatar wares. His Satan is among the best I've seen, and he draws a fine jackrabbit. The book is rude, sometimes a bit too obvious, and I would be surprised if Ennis hadn't given Videodrome a spin at some point. Still, it's a fun story with likeable characters that's fucked-up when it needs to be while making its points well.

Stormwatch: Force of Nature (1999)

2011-09-17T00:00:00.000-05:00

The original Stormwatch series was begun in 1993 by schoolmates Jim Lee and Brandon Choi, joined by artist Scott Clark in his major debut. Those initial creators lasted maybe a year, and then the poor man's Alpha Flight got passed through a variety of hands for another two years. Stormwatch was one of nine books with a role in the 21 part "Fire From Heaven" crossover, Image Comics' closest attempt to recreate the widespread pointlessness of DC's Millennium. This seemed to be the title's breaking point, where they either had to get serious about producing something worth buying or else put the thing down. Alan Moore was leaving WildC.A.T.s around this time, taking a good deal of Wildstorm's cache with him. In the absence of another acclaimed British writer to take over that book, I suppose someone decided to at least give an up and coming limey carte blanche with that book's ugly sister.

After years of daring work on bottom rung Marvel titles, Ellis would finally began building his name in the industry with Stormwatch. Similarly, Tom Raney had several short stints on various Marvel and DC team books without any real impact, but would make a cult hit out of the title. For myself, I thought it was okay when it first came out, and I knew which customers it would appeal to, but it wasn't something I felt any compulsion to follow regularly. Reading the issues in full and in sequence, I find that the title's elevated reputation in some fan's eyes is, well, fuzzy rose-colored memories of the way it was.

The first issue under the new management saw a good deal of changes put into place and the introduction of new characters with some staying power like Jack Hawksmoor, Jenny Sparks, and Rose Tattoo. It was a decent set-up, with a throwaway villain battle besides. However, the next issue was a was a fairly bland, half-hearted police procedural with convenient deux ex machina tarted up in ultraviolence and anti-American banner waving. That last part doesn't bother me a bit, but isn't any more sophisticated than Red State nationalism.

A major problem I have with these stories is that they aren't stories, just premises. For instance, the third issue of the collection was played up using a timeframe jumping scheme that attempted to mask the information dumping needed to convey the premise. Without the device, one would be more likely to notice that beyond the exposition, the heroes simply battered one dimensional evil cops and jailed them, with no serious attempt at characterization or complication. The politics were hamfisted in the same way as a Judd Winick script, and most of the art that round was by a severely unripened Pete Woods.

The fourth issue town, involved a mutant producing dirty bomb and turning a small town into a variety of body horrors to make David Cronenberg proud. Most of the issue is just three characters wandering through the mess, with a mild twist toward the end. In several issues, Ellis displayed a nasty habit of dumping character flashbacks inappropriately into a narrative, instead of offering more organic character-centric narratives. This began to change in the fifth tale, whose first page announced Ellis' intention to write a Christine Trelane story. He surely did, but it seemed like he made that decision without actually coming up with a story. You pretty much immediately know the central antagonist is a creep, so the only mystery is where his deprivations would flow. A good artist could have sold that cinematically with mood, but the art by Michael Ryan was cartoonish amateur hour crap. It was also ill-considered, since Trelane has what was believed to be a unique and essential power to preserve the team, but she nearly gets herself killed on an unnecessary field mission without back-up.

The final tale was more of the same. Ellis must have decided that he was going to write a Fuji story, did lots of research about Japan, and then wrote a story about how his characters could spouted all that research that he had done almost verbatim like they were walking Wikipedia entries. Re-watched "Akira" as well, I'll assume. At least the book was attractive to look at again, with the return of Raney.

"Force of Nature" was the first collection of the Ellis material, and the book was still finding its legs. It's passable enough, but don't expect any material to help you win a fight amongst friends over best writers from the U.K.

nurghophonic jukebox: "Como Si No Nos Hubieramos Amado" by Laura Pausini

2011-09-15T04:41:00.003-05:00

Written By: Music-Daniel • Lyrics-Pausini, Cheope • Spanish adaptation- León Tristán
Released: 2004
Album: Escucha
Single?: #10 on Billboard's Hot Latin Songs/Tracks

Laura Pausini is a singer/songwriter whose global record sales are in the range of 50 million, but remains a virtual unknown in the English speaking world. Not so in Latin countries, as she simultaneously releases her albums in Italian and Spanish.

Lyrics:

Yo ayer he entendido que
desde hoy sin ti comienzo otra vez
y tú...aire ausente
casi como si yo fuese transparente
alejándome de todo
escapar de mi tormento.

Pero me quedo aquí
sin decir nada...sin poder despegarme de ti
y eliminar cada momento que nos trajo el viento y
poder vivir...
como si no nos hubiéramos amado.

Yo sobreviviré
no me preguntes cómo no lo sé
el tiempo cura todo y va a ayudarme
a sentirme diferente...
a que pueda olvidarte
aunque es un poco pronto

Me quedo inmóvil aquí
sin decir nada...sin poder aburrirme de ti
y eliminar cada momento que nos trajo el viento y
poder vivir...
como si no nos hubiéramos amado

...como si nunca te hubiera amado
como si no hubiese estado así...
...y quisiera huir de aquí, quisiera escaparme.

Pero me quedo otra vez, sin decir nada, sin gritarte:
-¨ven, no te vayas¨
no me abandones sola en la nada, amor...

...después, después, después viviré
como si no nos hubiéramos amado.

...como si nunca te hubiera amado

English Translation:

I have understood yesterday that
since today without you I start again
and you... absent air
almost as if I was transparent
getting far from everything
to scape from my torment.

But I stay here
without saying anything...without being able to get away from you
and eliminate each moment that the wind brought to us and
be able to live...
as if we have never loved each other.

I will survive
don't ask me how, I don't know
time cures everything and it will help me feel
different...
to be able to forget you
even though it's a little too soon

I stay still (not moving) here
without saying anything... without been able to get bored of you
and to eliminate each moment that the wind brought to us
and to be able to live....
as if we have never loved each other

...as if I have never loved you
as if I have never been this way
...and I would want to get away from here, I would want to scape

but I stay again, without saying anything, without screaming at you:
-"come, don't leave"
don't abandon me in the nothing, alone, darling

....and then, then, then I would live
as if we have never loved each other.

as if I have never loved you

Wednesday Is Rebooty For All I Care #119

2011-09-12T00:00:00.001-05:00

Angel & Faith #1
Flashpoint: The Outsider #3
Stormwatch #1 (2011)
The Ultimates #1 (2011)

Angel & Faith #1 (Dark Horse, 2011, $2.99)
Angel was the reason why I gave up on Buffy the Vampire Slayer after the second season. I know the heel turn was a big deal upon broadcast, but I caught it on DVD years later. The event itself was long spoiled, and the execution was nauseating. I caught a bunch of Buffy episodes before and after, plus one of two of Angel's spin-off show, but I would characterize myself as a casual watcher at best. I mention this because between the internet and an issue of the Buffy comic read here and there, I had no problems diving into this new book.

Once again, Angel pulled such a massive dick move, everybody hates him and I think he may have invalidated his entire run at IDW. Now he's got penance to pay and a much better story engine than that bullshit detective agency from the TV show. He's also massively traded up on sidekicks from Cordelia to Faith. The cool thing about that is I don't see a romance in the waiting, Faith is enough of a rebel to believably stick by him, she provides ties to the other slayers, and I would totally expect her to murderize Angelus if need be. Despite an awful lot of backstory baggage, writer Christos Gage manages to orient readers while setting up some plotlines and telling an enjoyable single issue tale besides. Rebekah Isaacs art is nice enough, but hurt by somewhat garish and flat coloring. Still, this was a good enough first issue to make me want to come back for more, a real feat for licensed product.

Flashpoint: The Outsider #3 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
I started reading comics years before Crisis On Infinite Earths, but by 1986 I had largely abandoned DC Comics not just as kid's stuff, but plain old bad more often than not. Knowing the mediocrity that came before, I was an easy convert to the Post-Crisis continuity, as some of the finest comic books every made came out of those years. However, if you go back and read Crisis, you'll find it an almost unbearable chore to slog through, with its dense-yet-haphazard storyline, flat characters vomiting exposition by the bucketful, and overabundance of melodrama. Looked at objectively, Flashpoint was the better story, since it was comparatively tight and self-contained, with real shocks and some thrills. A shame then that it felt irrelevant coming out of the gate, and its readability is at least in part down to the baneful decompressed storytelling of the modern era. Basically, it's easier to read because there's not much to it. For the most part, it was like one of those old double-sized Marvel Comics fantasies from the '80s: "What If... The Super Friends were Stupid Murderous A-Holes?"

We will never live in a Post-Flashpoint world, because nobody cared about Flashpoint as anything more than a means to an end. It's not like they killed the Flash, or Supergirl, or it was the first time DC rebooted its entire universe. This is the fourth by my count, and when was the last time anybody referenced Zero Hour? That said, The Outsider was a spin-off of a story that doesn't matter, although if anyone could make it slightly relevant, it would be the Outsider. A more successful Lex Luthor of India with overwhelming invulnerability and Metamorpho's complexion, the Outsider is so smart as to know that there are 52 worlds in the DC Universe and have access to them. If anyone was going to survive the brief flash in the pan that was Flashpoint continuity, it would be him. It wouldn't even contradict Dan Didio's decree that no one remember the "old" universe. Also, it makes me totally expect that in a future issue of Stormwatch, the Outsider will casually tell Nu-Manhunter "I killed one of you once already, so what's another?"

From what I can tell, most of the Flashpoint spin-offs were tasked with making use of all the stuff from the main series' story bible that wouldn't fit into the primary mini-series. That meant a lot of these books were heavy on flashbacks, with The Outsider being the flashbackiest. Much of the story takes place in 1985, which would be all well and good except J'Onn J'Onzz arrived on Earth in 1955. As a big fan of the character, I could go on for paragraphs about that alone, but suffice to say the thirty years left stewing on a plague-ridden Mars hopefully accounts for the Manhunter now being remarkably dumb. The Martian Manhunter is pretty routinely a jobber in DC stories, so taking him out is no big deal. It's just that this whole comic is about various people taking him out and keeping him captive over a span of decades with rudimentary tools. As the Outsider had already jobbed Black Adam, giving J'Onn J'Onzz the business seems quite a letdown comparatively, especially when their final battle comes down to pure muscle over brains, of which the Outsider has all of one and a good deal of the other besides. Essentially, the entire comic book is a build-up of continuity that is irrelevant and a fight that is one-sided to the point of being a foregone conclusion. Hitting par, James Robinson phones in the same purely work-made-for-hire story he's been telling since Rafferty stalked the Ultraverse in 1995. The art by Javi Fernandez is nice though, which when coupled by the coloring of the Hories reminds me of Al Barrionuevo.

Stormwatch #1 (DC, 2011, $2.99)
The first review of this book I read was Rich Johnston's scathing indictment at Bleeding Cool. It was a bit too rough, especially as I read through the rest of his seemingly very forgiving round-up of the first full week of DCnÜ releases. Johnston pushes back Alan Moore's old gray beard to suckle at his teet, and his employer serves at the pleasure of Warren Ellis and Garth Ennis, so I found it all rather suspect. Plus, I'm currently rereading the so-called glory days of Stormwatch, and like most things, it's reputation exceeds it.

The relaunched Stormwatch is thoroughly decent. If you don't have a prior emotional investment in at least some of these characters, you're liable to be confused and disinterested. Imagine reading JLA #1 without Wonder Woman, the Flash, Green Lantern, or Aquaman. Continue with an inexperienced violent Superman, a diminished role for Batman, and an enhanced role for Martian Manhunter. That's pretty much this book. The Wildstorm initiated will likely be peeved with the slightness of their characters' initial representation and the tweaks, especially to Apollo. Like Ellis' debut on the first volume of Stormwatch, writer Paul Cornell seems most interested in his own new creations, who get the best lines and moments of a very busy book. DC readers are "treated" to forced tie-ins to a Superman book that won't come out for two weeks and some arbitrary one panel guest cameos. As has been mentioned elsewhere, there is virtually no subtext at play here, but simply an effort to make previously successful counterculture super-humans function in the shinier corporate DC Universe.

On the plus side, I enjoyed all of the dialogue, and the new characters are fun in this initial outing. The slow burn of the plot seems to be establishing an epic scale to the first arc, and potentially the series as a whole. Taking a ~~page~~ chapter from Hickman's S.H.I.E.L.D., Stormwatch in some form now represents a centuries old order traced back to at least medieval times, which should hopefull open the door for lots of retro-adventures for Detective John Jones, Team One, and so forth. The book really does seem poised to be the gateway for Wildstorm's integration into the DC sphere. I enjoyed Martian Manhunter's role in the book, established as the bridge between his teammates in the super-heroic Justice League (who wants to bet he turns up in that book's opening arc after all?) and the nitty-gritty soldier/warriors of Stormwatch. Again, having reread the early Ellis issues, I think folks have forgotten how inconsistent Tom Raney's art was, not to mention the many not-read-for-primetime fill-ins on that book. Miguel Sepulveda continues to remind me of a young Mike McKone crossed with guys like David Roach and Barry Kitson. Unlike Johnston, I think Sepulveda is good at differentiating faces and allowing them to "act" without overacting. His figures are a bit stiff, but it's a fair trade for his ability to ground some fantastic visuals in a tangible realty, making them feel that much bigger. I like the book's look and tone very much, and plan to stick with it for the foreseeable future.

Ultimates #1 (Marvel, 2011, $3.99)
This book is about a bunch of problems all happening at once, and this book is itself a bunch of problems all happening at once.

This book comes in a white polybag with the exact same stock licensing Captain America shield as the one on the crotch of the Underoos my girlfriend bought for me last year. Cap is also on the cover of the book, and in ads within the book. His only role in the actual story is for Nick Fury to verbally reference his absence. My fuck is looking into a what.
I though these Ultimate Comics had cardstock covers to justify their pseudo-prestige and inflated cover price. Did they stop doing that? My copy's polybag concealed an upper corner bent to shit where cardstock might have provided a little protection.
Twenty story pages for four fucking dollars? I guess there's a six page preview of a book I'll also pay four bucks for without merit.
Three pages wasted on a two page spread of the book's title and credits. That's four utterances of the title between the bag, cover, and interior spread, plus four instances of creator credits. You people must stop sucking one another's dicks.
This same two page spread of font on white bread was in The Red Wing, so I officially have an ongoing problem with Jonathan Hickman being a pretentious twat.
They're not even good fonts. It's some cousin of Arial blown up to 72 points with some ink splatters.
The book actually starts off pretty decent, with Sam Jackson being a smart ass throughout the set-up, and some cute in-jokes for guys like me who have read way too many comics. Fun dialogue was saving this book, and then it started shitting silent panels and pages.all over the place.
The villains are black and white with simple geometric shapes on their costumes. I've read three different Hickman comics from two publishers, and it's already cliche.
A good writer could have fit this entire issue into a few pages, easy.
It's an Ultimate Nick Fury comic. Own that. There are already way to many Ultimates comics. Isn't this the third series this year?
Come to think of it, I'm pretty much over Ultimate Comics, period. I guess The Multicultural Spider-Men has some juice, but the rest of the line's purpose seems to be giving really slow artists the chance to draw mini-series with a loose schedule and finding assholes who'll pay an extra dollar for a baggie. Esad Ribic's art looks like it took some time, which was good of him. Throw us a bone, right?

Comic Reader Résumé: February, 1982

2011-09-09T00:00:00.000-05:00

ré·su·mé [rez-oo-mey, rez-oo-mey]
noun
1. a summing up; summary.
2. a brief written account of personal, educational, and professional qualifications and experience, as that prepared by an applicant for a job.

February, 1982 was my second month of collecting new comics off the newsstand. I claimed to have bought an entirely new selection for this round, but I have vague recollections of having owned The Brave and the Bold #186, in which Batman teamed-up with Hawkman against the Fadeaway Man. I liked all but one of these characters, so it's possible I bought it new, but the memory is so vague that I can't be sure. I doubt the story by Dan Mishkin and Gary Cohn left much of an impression, although the lame villain couldn't have helped. The only thing that really sticks with me are flashes of Jim Aparo panels, which likely would have been enough to bring me back for more.

While I vividly remember a great many of these books from DC in-house ads and as purchases years later, my actual, factual, confirmed purchases of this month were fairly slight. I still have my copy of The New Teen Titans #19, which was likely never swiped from me by neighborhood kids because it only just barely rates as a comic book anymore. The pages are so brown they qualify as a separate ethnic group in the U.S. census, and scraps of torn pages lie sideways with the intact portions bound by polybag. This may have been my introduction to a team that has stuck with me much of my reading life, and almost certainly my introduction to Marv Wolfman and George Perez (outside spot cover illustrations from the latter.) It's a fantastic looking book, especially Perez's Hawkman, in part due to the artist clearly providing much tighter pencils to resist the wet blanket that is Romeo Tanghal finishes. The story, involving Hindu gods, weirded me out as a kid, especially their rather graphic destruction in the end.

My other new comic of the month, out the same week, was The Saga of Swamp Thing #1 by Martin Pasko and Tom Yeates. I can't honestly state what possessed me to do so. It had a swell cover, and Tom Yeates was a really appealing artist, but the story by Martin Pasko and the heavy atmosphere was way over my head. This would not be the last time Swamp Thing would do this to me, because my only sweet spot with the character was reprints of the early '70s Wein/Wrightson stories. I tried Alan Moore too early at first, then too late as an adult, when his innovations had become tropes. There was also a Phantom Stranger back-up by Bruce Jones and Dan Spiegle. I'd already been introduced to the Stranger through a Jim Aparo Brave and the Bold, but this creepy yarn was a whole other matter. While the story of a black minister fleecing his own people stuck with me, I never really warmed to Spiegel's art elsewhere.

One more maybe before I sign off on this month, Super Goof #69. I know I owned at least one issue of this series, and though I thought it had him battling the Beagle Boys, the character featured here strikes me as reasonable facsimile to facilitate confusion. Funny animals were rarely my bag.

Project Superpowers Chapter One (2008)

2011-09-06T17:21:00.000-05:00

I was introduced to the Golden Age of Super-Heroes by a magazine article I read as a boy about how much more weird, daring and dark obscure characters like Daredevil, the Flame and their ilk were than the corporate branded types I was familiar with in the tail end of the Bronze Age. I wondered what became of that lot until I began frequenting comics shops in the early '90s, and turned up some of Bill Black's reprints at AC. Then Malibu tried to ride the coattails of their early publishing deal with Image by offering their own line of super-heroes based around a revival of old Centaur characters as The Protectors, which I followed for a time. I was put out by the great Jerry Bingham redesigns floating around in trade publications being interpreted by a rather green Thomas Derenick and lesser lights. Later still, I came to learn all of those characters and many more had lapsed into the public domain, available for use by anybody, although virtually nobody bothered. I thought that was both a shame and an opportunity, because they represented a ready made universe of characters with its own legitimate history that I would love to exploit my own self someday.

Unfortunately, both Nick Barrucci of Dynamic Forces and Erik Larson of Image decided at about the same time to steal my entirely unique idea for themselves! Sarcasm aside, I was very happy with the results. Larson oversaw The Next Issue Project, which added an issue to the numbering of several 1940s anthology titles by modern creators. The results were rather uneven, not only creatively, but in terms of an unreliable publication schedule that saw an issue released only once every few years (after long shipping delays on each.) As for Barrucci, well, we were all bowled over by the prospect of a painted Alex Ross project, especially after seeing his glorious first promotional piece. Then we learned he would once again be joined by co-plotter/scripter Jim Krueger, responsible for the interminable Earth X and painfully stupid Justice. At least JSA artist Stephen Sadowski would be on board, except only for part of a zero issue. Project Superpowers made sure to acquaint the reading public with Barrucci's now standard bait & switch method of operation. With the shamelessness that led to variant covers that simply processed the art on variant covers through basic image inversion filters, the final creative team was Krueger with unpolished unknown artist Carlos Paul. My plot to capitalize on those public domain characters remains safe, although not necessarily sound, with crap like this polluting the brand.

The main creative purpose of the project seems to be to serve as a ham-fisted criticism of the Bush Administration in its last year. The main commercial consideration would be to secure trademarks on a "minimal assembly required" super-hero line. It fails creatively because by 2008 everybody was already sick of Bush, and the conversation soon changed from the ethics of a war on terror to the economy. It fails commercially because beyond its immediately dated politics, the characters have no point of view or individual identities.

From its most basic premise, the use of Pandora's Box as a place where all super-heroes were stored from their Golden Age heyday until the present, the whole line is shot to hell. One modestly powered and clearly deluded super-hero managed to best every other one over the span of a few years. See, Marvel's heroes mostly retired after World War II, with Captain America and the Sub-Mariner mothballed individually by their major enemies in separate instances until their Silver Age revivals. The DC heroes were forced into inactivity by the House Committee on Un-American Activities, a real world bunch of bad guys, before being replaced by a whole new generation of more powerful super-heroes. The Dynamite characters however were all too stupid and weak to figure out one known kook amongst their number was taking them out one by one. Further, they sat around in limbo for sixty years before that same kook managed to release them with minimal difficulty. By comparison, the Justice Society of America were trapped in a repeating Ragnarok cycle from the late eighties to early nineties before teaming up with other heroes to secure their release. The Watchmen, a bunch of Charlton retreads, figured out the killer in their midst within days of a single murder, plus tell several complete stories in twelve issues. Right off the bat, all the Dynamite heroes are ineffectual pussies.

The second major problem, related to the first, is that the entire Superpowers line-up is Captain America. Every single one of them is a patriot who fought in the great war before disappearing for decades to reappear in a time unlike their own. They all have pre-war educations, unimpressive power sets, and silly costumes. Most importantly, they were the models from which scores of other heroes who have since evolved over time were derived. That makes them walking cliches, and all of a singular type. One method to overcome that sameness would be to embrace their retroactive natures to contrast their views on race, gender, nationalism, and so forth. Unfortunately, for the purposes of the story, they're all relatively mild-mannered Roosevelt democrats at odds with an oppressive government whose main crime seems to be some suppression of the media and war profiteering. As Big Brothers go, I'd take them over V For Vendetta's U.K. in a heartbeat.

The third major problem is an extension of the second, a lack of interesting characters in compelling circumstances. The fact is, hardly anyone has read about these characters in detail who isn't collecting social security, and because the creators felt the need to introduce dozens of them at once, there really isn't time to get to know anyone. Previous Ross/Krueger projects relied on familiar characters readers had an established relationship with, so that there was still emotional resonance amidst the painting of epics with broad strokes. The tribulations of Pyroman just don't touch me on an emotional level without some serious legwork. The only characters given real face time are still cyphers in service to a bland, unimaginative plot. Further, their enemies are reminiscent of the much panned "Burly Brawl" from the second Matrix movie. When the Superpowers aren't battling a host of identically dressed androids, they're fighting a literal army of Frankenstein Monsters. I can't get involved when I have no investment in either party after a couple of hundred pages of story that fails to reach any real resolution.

Many of my complaints have revolved around the project being too large and ambitious, but I have to stress the issue of incompetence among the responsible parties. I have yet to read a Jim Krueger script that involved me in his characters, or was not filled with gaping plotholes or circumstances in place of a story. The only arc in this first volume is the Fighting Yank finally realizing he was wrong in his actions, and trying to make amends. That arc is completed in the first preview story, but is constantly referenced and dragged out for the entire mini-series without much additional development. None of the other characters even have the start of an arc. They were in the '40s, now they're in the '00s, many of them have slightly altered abilities, and they're on the run from Big Government. That's all we get. The characters seem to be in the early stages of Alzheimer's, suffering from confusion, regressive behavior, and occasional temper tantrums, but still easily directed and kind enough to forget any initiated B- or C-plots until the next volume/spin-off mini-series.

The art by Carlos Paul is serviceable. The storytelling is okay and the layouts are usually clear, but it's all uninspired. I think it's reasonably tight pencils shot and digitally enhanced, but they still look vague and unfinished. Colors by Insight Studio and Debora Carita helps to firm things up, and are somehow evocative of Mark Texeira's painted art, despite the pencils being in no way similar. The art gets progressively looser and rushed, so the colorists have to be credited for the consistency of the volume, such as it is.

The story ends at an awkward point to act as a springboard for a slew of spin-off series, followed by forty-odd pages of preparatory design work. I'm sure Alex Ross had a lot of fun jazzing up these old characters visually, but after Kingdom Come and Earth X, even this area seems mired in tropes. The chest emblem as a light source, the hoods/cloaks, turning costume elements metallic, "borrowing" wholesale from other media-- it gets tiresome. Applying one artist's design aesthetic across an entire universe only emphasizes how insular, unimaginative and unnecessary it happens to be.

Project Superpowers is an exercise and an initiative, not a fully realized narrative. It takes dozens of super-heroes from separate companies and treats them all like team members of a low grade '70s Marvel super-team soaked in manufactured melodrama and "relevance."

Wednesday Is All Image & Pretty Vacant For All I Care #118

2011-09-01T00:00:00.013-05:00

The Infinite #1
Marksmen #1
The Red Wing #1

The Infinite #1 (Image, 2011, $2.99)
According to his editorial, Robert Kirkman was fourteen years old when seven of the hottest artists left Marvel to form Image Comics and prove to the world that not a single one of them was an exceptional writer or original thinker. Okay, I may have editorialized a bit there. Kirkman went on to point out how the comics of the early '90s were among his favorite and most influential, which explains why I am so consistently disappointed with his writing on anything but The Walking Dead. See, in the zombie book, Kirkman has to script mundane people under fantastic but very grounded circumstances where he gets to show that British people with writing credibility also influence his work. Meanwhile, Kirkman points out that he owns every single Rob Liefeld comic ever, and how he was the catalyst for the founding of Image at the ripe age of fourteen. Once again, Image hates editors at least as much as writers, or there might have been someone to catch that typo.

Kirkman was the first person who made their name as a writer to achieve "founder" status among what was left of the dudes that started the company, presumably because Image hates low sales even more than writers and editors. Seemingly part of the price Kirkman must pay is to co-create a book with each founder, of which only Haunt wasn't a complete turd. I would like to say that Kirkman is just hacking this stuff out in obligatory fashion, but I've been reading his older stuff lately, and it was always like this. The single most obvious influence on Kirman's writing is Erik Larsen, which explains the awkward phrasing, tongue in cheek grandiosity, sophomoric humor, and shock value twists. Probably the reason why The Walking Dead is good is because it forces Kirkman to rein in his excesses and work out the logical progression of people in an RV moving from place to place. In every other book by Kirkman I've read, he embraces the ridiculous and nonsensical, usually to the detriment of quality storytelling. Pairing with Rob Liefeld just brings out the very worst of his cancerous inclinations.

I can't really discuss the meat of The Infinite at length, because it is in total a few slices of Carl Budding. To say it is much better than most Rob Liefeld projects is to state that dysentery is more pleasant in the hospital setting than a jungle hooch. To say that it is about as bad as the worst Kirkman material is a given. People you do not and will never care about die violently. Facial features are largely identical. Shortcuts like an army wearing helmets that could be drawn with a compass or guns traced around a sideways eraser are constant. The first half of the book is a fight scene with only the bare minimum storytelling amidst the spreads and partial splashes. Pants and jackets look like rubber tubing. Every character is a hardbodied gym rat. Fuck physics. Fuck dimensions. Fuck anatomy. The lead characters are a slightly younger Cable and a much younger Cable, and they will battle Jack Kirby's OMAC and possibly the least visually interesting Image villain ever. That last bit is an unfortunate accomplishment of considerable malignancy on a par with the great atrocities of the medium.

This book is Hermann Esser in digital color with nice lettering. Not Hitler or Himmler or Goebbels or Eichmann or Göring or Göth or Mengele or any of the truly great evils of der Reich. It's just a negligible shit weasel that looks the part and steps mit der goose. Liefeld bailed on it for a Hawk and Dove series. Let that sink in.

Marksmen #1 (Image, 2011, $1.00)
There were zombie books before The Walking Dead and even more after. In film, the zombie renaissance had already begun, so bandwagon jumping was a given, but quality bears out. The post-apocalyptic future as a genre has yet to see such a resurgence, but in our current environment, it seems inevitable. Marksmen seems to want to get ahead of the game, mashing up The Road Warrior, A Boy and His Dog, Megaforce and more low budget dreck. The trick is to elevate the influences, and when I read the inside front cover exposition, I knew that wouldn't be happening here. See, the entire world collapses into feudal warfare, setting most countries back centuries, due to a massive recession. A recession is a widespread economic slowdown, usually as part of a natural correction or in reaction to the bursting of a sector bubble. When your entire premise is based on the misunderstanding of a term that you probably pulled out of somebody's talking point, you're most likely too stupid to elevate a genre. Once you add in San Diego being about the last bastion of civilization on the West Coast thanks to its being rebuilt by Navy SEALs, your best hope is be so overwhelmingly dumb as to be unintentionally amusing.

That doesn't pan out, either. Some cypher in armor battles cannibalistic rednecks inadequately, necessitating the help of good non-cannibal rednecks. These fine folks are from Lone Star, the only functional city in the south, which has been enveloped by fundamentalism and a need to steal Cali's renewable resources as their Texas tea runs dry. Yes, they do all ride horses and wear cowboy hats, as an invading army makes its way to San Diego, forewarned by the small band of conscientious objectors.

At thirty-two pages with no ads, the book feels like a long, involved read. There are tons of scenes and several different action set pieces. A lot of ground gets covered, so it's kind of amazing that not a single likeable character is introduced and the reader is still not invested in the plot to the slightest degree by the end of the issue. The art by Javier Aranda is attractive, with old school storytelling sensibilities. It's reminiscent of all the guys from Valiant's glory days, from Bart Sears to Sean Chen to Rags Morales. From the coloring on down, the book looks professional, and the dollar entry price point couldn't have come cheap. All indications then are that Michael Benaroya of Benaroya Publishing LLC had plenty of bank for a vanity project to display his hopelessly journeyman writing. Not a scene or piece of dialogue from this thing indicates skill beyond direct to DVD sci-fi crap of the most by-the-numbers flavor.

The Red Wing #1 (Image, 2011, $3.50)
Full disclosure: I met artist Nick Pitarra at a convention this year, and he's a super nice guy who clearly enjoys his work. He did a great commission for me, and his portfolio made it clear that he will be a big star someday. I've been looking forward to this book for months, because it was to be early exposure to the acclaimed writing of Jonathan Hickman, and I knew what Pitarra could do. I certainly have no interest in slagging the book.

Of course, if I did, I would have to point out that it was some pretentious Heavy Metal reject bullshit with the same daddy issues as Hickman's Fantastic Four that wasted four nearly blank fucking pages on a typeset "title sequence" and ejaculates so prematurely as to not even become unsheathed from its tighty whities. Hopefully the Hickman brand will give the talented artists some exposure, at least.

A Frank Review of "Rise of the Planet of the Apes" (2011)

2011-08-29T02:20:00.001-05:00

The Short Version? Man vs. Ape in the Bay Area.
What Is It? Science Fiction.
Who Is In It? Gollum, Harry Osborn, Dick Solomon, Hannibal Lecter v1.0
Should I See It? Yes.

For thirty-eight years, there were no good movies released in the Planet of the Apes franchise. Battle was a cheap, pointless cash grab billed as the "final chapter" of the series. It technically ended with the second movie, but for an Ouroboros timeline. The 2001 reboot was a prefabricated blockbuster no one especially liked that was long on spectacular practical effects but short on much else. Rise of the Planet of the Apes marks a long awaited return, if not to greatness, at least to goodness and relevance to modern audiences.

Rise begins a new continuity tasked with explaining in believable terms how apes could gain the intelligence to inherit the earth from an increasingly rare humanity. Now that terms like "mutually assured destruction" have fallen into disuse, the pseudoscientific vehicle has been updated. An Alzheimer's disease researcher breaches ethics in pursuit of a cure for his rapidly deteriorating father. The cure proves worse than the disease, as testing leads to ape subjects attaining full sentience and turning to violence in order to be afforded basic rights as thinking, feeling beings. Eldest among them is Caesar, the lone survivor of the original tests. Raised among humans, Caesar is forced to choose between being an inferior amongst homo sapiens, or helping to raise his fellow apes in the face of human cruelty and subjugation.

James Franco plays a rather disinterested and not especially credible scientist version of James Franco in semi-stoned douche mode. Freida Pinto plays a really hot looking chick whose take on a veterinarian is of only slightly greater believability than Denise Richards as a nuclear physicist. Brian Cox plays the evil dude he plays in every second or third movie. Tom Felton plays a washed up Kentucky Fried Draco Malfoy, still dependent on a wand to represent the sum of his manhood. David Oyelowo's character is only interested in making money, while Jamie Harris is a sensitive but uselessly weak animal handler. David Hewlett is an asshole neighbor who is never not an asshole, while Tyler Labine is adequate in a perfunctory role. Unlike most movies, the cumulative effect of all of these threadbare characters and/or lackluster performances is not a bad movie, but the highly desirable effect of leading audiences to actively root against their own species.

The actual stars of the picture are the fantastic digital effects team of Weta Digital and their motion capture performance artists. It's funny that Freida Pinto is in this movie, because her previous greatest success was Slumdog Millionaire. That was ¾ of a great foreign language film sold to the masses through its corny one quarter English portion featuring Pinto. The same trick is pulled here, except instead of Indian children speaking Hindi with subtitles, it's apes with sign language. Both movies endear audiences through the Dickensian indignities suffered by the downtrodden protagonists as they struggle in an uncaring world.

Andy Serkis' Caesar progresses from wide eyed apelet to angsty adolescent to a confused adult in a world he's never known. It's a magnificent performance made all the more admirable by Serkis' ability to convey layered emotions and complex reasoning entirely through facial expression and body language. Caesar ends up being a more sympathetic, cunning, and inspirational figure than Benicio del Toro over the 4½ hour running time of Che. Then again, so was Roddy McDowall in the '70s, but he lacked the benefit of Weta's gorgeous CGI. Also benefiting are Terry Notary as Caesar's mother Bright Eyes, Richard Ridings as the gorilla strong arm Buck, and Chris Gordon as Caesar's dark reflection, Koba. Deserving special note is Karin Konoval as Maurice, an orangutan who reflects that species' role both in name and action as related to the prior series, and serves as Caesar's worthy lieutenant.

Of the humans on screen, only John Lithgow warrants singling out in his portrayal of an Alzheimer's sufferer who makes a lasting impression on Caesar. Not only is his character the individual most responsible for Caesar's nobility, but his progression through the film parallels and informs Caesar's. The film's script is often emotionally manipulative and grasps at the low hanging fruits, especially in relation to almost vulgarly obvious nods to the franchise's history. However, the relationship between Caesar and his "grandfather," when buoyed by the performances, marks high water marks in both the story and the marriage between life & CGI. Once Lithgow is shuffled off, it's all on the backs of the apes, and the weight of the production is carried admirably.

Ultimately, I would place Rise of the Planet of the Apes fourth in terms of overall quality within the franchise. The original remains untouched as a cultural landmark; a perfect storm of acting, directing, music, effects, set design, script, statement and concept. Escape has the most affective acting and sweet charm, while Conquest is the most politically charged and emotionally brutal. Rise's primary claim to the series' sociopolitical commentary is its exploration of the ethical treatment of animals and the absolute self-possession of man even against the good of mankind. Solid enough, and a good deal more meaty than the limp science fantasy of the previous two installments, but lacking the visceral punch of reflecting race relations in the midst of the civil rights movement. As impressive as the apes are, none are as memorable as characters like Cornelius, Zira and Dr. Zaius. With the exception of MacDonald, the human characters in these films have never been of such negligible value. Still, Rise remains impressive, appealing, and sets the stage for exciting sequels to come.

Wednesday Is Retroactive For All I Care #117

2011-08-25T01:21:00.000-05:00

Justice League of America - The '70s #1
Wonder Woman - The '70s #1
Wonder Woman - The '80s #1

DC Retroactive: Justice League of America - The '70s #1 (DC, 2011, $4.99)
Confession? I bought this book purely out of geek completist imperative. I knew the Detroit League and JLI would be covered in successive editions, and I love those guys, so I went ahead and bought this. The truth is, I think the Satellite Era of the League was fucking shit, with boring ass Dick Dillin art and a revolving door of mostly crap writers. Basically, those books weren't fit to lick the boots of the contemporaneous Avengers. I didn't figure I'd like this affectionate look back, and I fuckin' called it.

The lead story is written by Cary Bates, whose work I generally enjoyed in the '80s, so this was completely hopeless. Unfortunately, not only does this read like the product of the regrettable era rather than Bates' better work, but it's also very much like a lost edition of those cheesy Julius Schwartz tribute books from years back following his death. The Andy Smith pages look okay, although he inks himself to look more like a Neal Adams knock-off, and by that I mean he seems to be aiming for the look of dudes like Rich Buckler. The Gordon Purcell pages remind you why he's best known for well starched licensed product from before Dark Horse pointed out that you could apply artistry to such ventures. The reprint features one half of a dreadful self-insertion yarn where Bates was joined by Elliot S! Maggin. The printing quality makes clear why that shit should have remained on browning newsprint.

DC Retroactive: Wonder Woman - The '70s #1 (DC, 2011, $4.99)
I've always liked Wonder Woman, but certain runs of the character made me outright love her, and Mike Sekowsky's Diana Prince stories was one of them. Denny O'Neil contributed to that period, and took over entirely upon Sekowsky's departure, but his stuff was never as good. His politics, gender and otherwise, were rather screwy, and he's on record as apologizing for many aspects of his work there. I suspected his writing this special would see an attempt at contrition, and so it does, but in such an obtuse manner that it's hard to tell. The story starts off in a late Silver Age fashion recalling the pre-Prince period, until a psychedelic adversary transforms the Amazing Amazon into the mod adventuress. From there, the story runs as equal parts Silver Age flavor, O'Neil specific Bronze Age touches, and then the ambiguity of O'Neil's eighties work. It is an uneasy and not entirely satisfying blend, exacerbated by the unusual art by J. Bone. Typically, the artist works in a sunny animated style, but here seems to attempt channeling the coarseness of Sekowsky. It's interesting to see him work in a more realistic style, with the obvious intent of evoking the period, but that doesn't keep it from feeling off and indulgently experimental. The result isn't necessarily bad, just sort of funky, in the bleu cheese rather than chicken sense.

The back-up reprint is another kooky but decidedly more conventional tale from the early '70s, supported fantastically by lovely Dick Giordano art in full Adams-aping mode. It's a lot of fun, with a mystery guest villain in peculiar disguise, and the only major complaint a tire-screeching incomplete ending.

DC Retroactive: Wonder Woman - The '80s #1 (DC, 2011, $4.99)
First, a few little things:

I love the 1980s Retroactive logo, as it perfectly captures the decade.
The blurbs are a sweet blast from the past, so why the lame digital type for the price and issue number?
Roy Thomas debuted "The Sensational New Wonder Woman" in 1981 alongside Gene Colan with a fresh logo and the devising of the Whataburger double-w chest symbol to replace the fifty year old eagle.It was actually one of Wondy's better logos, so it seems a shame they used one of the late '80s variations on the Perez era Post-Crisis logo instead. I always found that font blah.
While it's fun to tease some continuity "to come" in a story explicitly set in 1983, there were some anachronistic elements that kicked me right out of the story (specifically the "Wonder Woman 2.0" line.)

The new lead story starts out pretty well. Rich Buckler was a fairly popular Bronze Age artist, although his legacy is one of infamy, given that his already Neal Adams derivative style was often employed for the most egregious swiping of other artists of his day. In retrospect, especially compared to Rob Liefeld or Greg Land, Buckler's lifts were relatively benign. Anyway, joined by all-star inker Joe Rubinstein, the unusually ripped Wonder Woman looks hard core. There are some swell nods to the era, and the mystery villain is fantastically rendered for a few panels. Thomas' script is cute, and draws on plot threads left over from his run, including a rather final finale that takes advantage of its setting in the days prior to Crisis on Infinite Earths. Unfortunately, the good artists ditch on page fourteen with five(!) seriously cruddy replacements in the second half. If fact, the art is so terrible, I suspect Thomas had to rewrite those pages, because the story quality seems to deteriorate around the same point into a dunderheaded slugfest. The grim coda is jarring, in part because Rubenstein returns to own those last two pages.

I very much preferred the reprint back-up, Wonder Woman (1st series) #288. For starters, it was from the days when DC seemed like a professional operation, instead of an art project thrown together over the weekend for college credit. I'm not typically a fan of Romeo Tanghal's heavy handed inks, but I think Gene Colan's usual moody style needed the conventional polish to perk it up on an assignment like this. Tanghal necessarily tarts up the super-heroine, but is wise enough to get out of Colan's way where it counts. Thomas' plot is nice and dense, recapping a sixteen page preview comic in two pages, advancing subplots left over from the previous creative team, and still working out his own material.

I'd never read Silver Swan's debut, but happened to buy the original comic a few months back, and really appreciate the vastly improved printing quality. It's much easier to sell silver coloring when your paper stock isn't brown. Swan was much more interesting in this first incarnation, even if the ugly duckling aspect of the character is as believable as the hawt geek girl from '80s movies, with her big blue eyes, lush lips, and "blemishes" that more resemble freckles. Silver Swan as I've known her since 1988 has been a bore. This story not only gives her the ol' ominous foreshadowing, but follows it with a well thought out origin that provides the character with strong motivation and a hook perfect for a Wonder Woman adversary. It also reminded me how much more effective a foe Swan could be when the Amazing Amazon is grounded. Since Wonder Woman can't just fly herself, you get a great display of physicality as she relies on acrobatics and her lasso as she's forced to adapt. It's fun hearing her trash talk, as well.

Reading this story makes me realize what a huge mistake ditching the Diana Prince identity and divorcing her from the military were. I'm sorry, but "peaceful ambassador from an island nation" isn't the best story engine. Wonder Woman was far more iconic and motivated while managing a dual identity as an agent of military intelligence working out of the Pentagon than hanging out with a widow and her daughter in Boston. I don't fault Perez for shaking up a tired status quo, but I do fault all the writers that followed him for not restoring some of the elements once Perez's angle grew stale. Steve Trevor's spy games and General Darnell's sexual harassment really draw a reader into the soap opera. I must say though that based on this one story, Diana Prince is the worst secret agent ever. She leaves top secret documents in a trash can, blows off Steve in the hospital to fuck off to Paradise Island for a random battle, returns to visit Steve, has a team-up with Silver Swan, is actually surprised when the documents go missing, and then, upon retrieving them, decided to take a shower straight away while they sit in her living room.

The reprint makes the book a good buy. I really enjoyed how much information was packed into 26 pages, and that's before the cliffhanger that reintroduced one of Wonder Woman's best villains after a fifteen year absence. Good show!

A Frank Review of "Fright Night" (2011)

2011-08-23T11:01:00.000-05:00

The Short Version? Not Another '80s Movie Remake.
What Is It?Horror-Comedy.
Who Is In It? Chekov 2.0, Bullseye, McLovin, the older sister from 28 Weeks Later and the Mommy State of Tara.
Should I See It? Yes.

An excellent rule of thumb in filmmaking is to never remake a good movie, much less a great one. You're just setting yourself up for unfair comparison, unrealistic expectations, and resistance from the fans. A few directors have managed to buck the trend and improve on the original, but usually a remake stands as a blemish on a resume.

Craig Gillespie hasn't been associated with any stellar pictures, and in the case of Mr. Woodcock, one so wretched co-stars Seann William Scott and Billy Bob Thornton reportedly feared it would end their careers while they were making it. This likely led to the unenviable position of remaking the second highest grossing horror film of 1985, a cult classic that spawned a comic book series, video game, and a sequel. However, not only was Fright Night no great film, but I've been arguing it wasn't even an especially good one since seeing it on VHS in the late '80s. Solid premise, likeable cast, swell poster, decent script, but for me the chemistry was never there.

I feel a lot of the original's appeal was its outreach to the nerd core; the first feature length fan wank love letter to all the losers who grew up on Zacherley, The Munsters, Hammer horror and early Stephen King. Charley Brewster was the hero who could be them, paired off with their favorite Saturday late night horror host against the kinds of vampires they read about in some monster compendium, stalking their own suburban neighborhood. The Lost Boys scored big with the same premise a couple of years later, and now this sort of 4th wall handjob is a cliché unto itself. Fright Night was an okay flick, but it was never a favorite of mine, and its few pioneering aspects were improved upon by those who followed. As a result, Craig Gillespie had an opportunity to make that rare superior remake, and in partnership with screenwriter Marti Noxon, did just that.

In the oldest horror movies, audiences were educated alongside the ignorant peasants onscreen exactly what type of monster wrecked havoc in the dark of the night. Remember, tropes like killing a werewolf with a silver bullet were actually invented for the silver screen. Both parties accepted what they were told about the supernatural. They just needed a gypsy or some such to lay it down for them. As film horror shifted away from isolated European villages centuries gone, the delaying tactic to fill screen time between monster attacks in more modern settings was denial that such foolish, superstitious notions could relate to any calamity faced. However, as audiences became more sophisticated, it was increasingly annoying to know that they were seeing a monster movie, but everyone on screen (but perhaps a true believer or two) dismissed the obvious until the final reel. Fright Night was among the last of those frustrating features where our hero figures out a vampire has moved into the neighborhood in act one, and spends ninety minutes on cat and mouse games of implausible length while trying to convince anyone else of the nature of his problem. However, it was also at the vanguard of a media aware generation of characters who would reference other films explicitly to determine a favorable course of action. This would progress to the Scream franchise, where the accumulated lore of other horror movies and their connoisseur's awareness of same would make the viewer a party to their thought process. These characters would speak out of both sides of their mouth, mocking the established conventions in anticipation of their viewer's criticism, yet still making bonehead mistakes so that they could die by the rules they espoused.

Fright Night 2011 is part of a new breed of horror written by learned fans whose characters unapologetically accept the supernatural when presented with convincing evidence, and seek remedy with the conviction of 1930s Universal villagers. They don't crack jokes about how if they were in a horror movie, they'd be killed for going into the basement, before getting killed like the smug assholes they are in the basement. Instead, when their acquaintances start turning up missing and their neighbor casts no reflection in a mirror, they sharpen stakes and prepare to do battle with the forces of Satan. Who wants to waste their time watching Charlie Brewster whine that nobody will believe him about the scary monsters? The viewers want characters who will react as they would in the same circumstances, so that they can see how that would play out while potentially being surprised by the outcomes. Charlie Brewster, despite being "one of us," is smart and heroic enough to hold a vampire at bay. Said vampire still plays some games, but is legitimately stymied by the hero's actions, so that he doesn't look like an overconfident tool in the final act. It's a lot more satisfying than shouting options at the screen to deaf, dumb characters.

A lot of current movies remain slaves to outdated storytelling techniques. For instance, if I'm in a car with a couple of friends, all of us will be carrying a cell phone, which offers three methods of contacting any one of us at any given time. You must therefore either incorporate this accessibility into a script, or come up with a convincing excuse for why none of the three cell phones work. Marti Noxon's clever script is practically built on this rule. Rather than a hindrance, Fright Night uses an iPhone as a tool to advance the story, correcting past errors. Instead of explaining contrivances, her characters can leap frog past obvious obstacles into ones that would try any of us. When the characters act as we would, with all of our expected resources, failure and tragedy impact on us because we would be just as flummoxed as the protagonists. In the new telling, we're not wishing Charlie Brewster well, but trailing behind him in trying to figure out a way out of this mess.

I'm fond of William Ragsdale, and Charley Brewster was one of his signature roles, but Anton Yelchin is more believable, entertaining and compelling. Colin Farrell's take on the vampire is one of his best performances to date; sexy, slithery and decidedly menacing. Twenty-seven year old Amanda Bearse was never remotely believable as a teenager, and her character was pretty much strictly an inexplicable object of desire. Imogen Poots is vastly more appealing in every way, including as a stronger heroine, even if she ultimately remains a distressed damsel. Toni Collette has quality good scenes as Brewster's mom, and unlike Dorothy Fielding's role in the original, she's more than just a minor plot device.

On the negative side, while it was obviously necessary to update the Peter Vincent character, David Tennant's take hasn't a fraction of the charm or weight of Roddy McDowall in the part. Stephen Geoffreys' "Evil Ed" was one of the '80s most memorable horror characters, and while Christopher Mintz-Plasse gives it his best, he's still McLovin the vampire arriving late to the game. Aside from the amusingly foul-mouthed Sandra Vergara as Ginger and a surprisingly strong turn by Emily Montague as Doris, most of the other new characters are unnecessary in the extreme.

Fright Night isn't just a remake, but a reinvigoration. It's clearly written by a fan who is as faithful to the original as is reasonable, but recognizes quarter century old tropes won't work any more. The director then follows through with superior casting, editing and effects, so that audiences new and familiar can be equally excited by the finished product. Fright Night is great fun, doing justice to the original while improving upon it, and comes wholeheartedly recommended.

A Frank Review of "Doctor Strange" (2007)

2011-08-18T00:00:00.001-05:00

The Short Version? A Doctor Strange cartoon wanting desperately to be anything but a Dr. Strange cartoon
What Is It? Cartoon Comic Adaptation
Who Is In It? Nobody.
Should I See It? No.

When I saw Captain America: The First Avenger the first time, I went with three friends. One was a former customer I was touching base with after many years, so our post-film bullshit session veered into a broader discussion of comic adaptations in the 21st century. We agreed that Marvel had really raised the standard in live action, but DC was still easily the tops in animation. Features like the direct-to-DVD Dr. Strange cartoon bear that out. I've watched the show several times... not repetitively, but rather through becoming so bored and irritated that I would dismiss it before continuing where I left off days and even weeks later. It took me a month or so just to finish the goddamned thing. It's a major step backward to the days when Hollywood lacked any faith in the material that it was licensing, taking only surface elements and taking them onto a standard Tinseltown formula. As was the the case for much of the 20th century, the end result is to produce a movie that fails to meet fan expectations and serves the uninitiated the same old shit with unnecessary comic book associations.

A Hollywood pitch version for Dr. Strange movie would be "Gregory House training under Dumbledore to battle Cthulu as directed by Darren Aronofsky." This flick, likely taking cues from a widely and justifiably ignored J. Michael Straczynski mini-series, was more like "The Matrix in the House of Flying Daggers." Stephen Strange is supposed to be a windbag asshole, but he's also possessed of a quiet cool and an acceptable degree of pollution. He may stand upright and even seem a bit uptight, but he's less Mr. Anderson than Don Draper. The man has imbibed, he's fucked around with girls half his age, he's done hash in the Village. If Robert Downey Junior hadn't already stuck the landing on Tony Stark, he could have downshifted a bit for Stephen Strange. A stick up the ass penitent with a seriously generic hero voice trying to snatch the pebble from sensei's palm ain't gonna fuckin' cut it.

Less than two minutes into the movie, it's already fucked. Mordo leads a team of kung-fu warriors with glowing energy tattoos who use magic to produce swords for chopping on giant cat monsters. Despite enlisting actual Asian actors, the flick still earns major demerits for the thick stereotypical "flied lice" accents. Strange encounters the group by chance, and his ability to see through their mystical camouflage pegs him as a person of interest by his eventual mentor, Wong, who has a full head of graying hairs. Aside from the names, none of this bears the slightest resemblance to the source material

In the comics, Strange was a prick disinterested in the thanks of a grateful patient, preferring money, booze and fast cars. In the movie, he turns away the needy and comatose children because he's soul dead after failing to save his diseased kid sister when he began practicing medicine. Again, the similarity between the two stories is slight, and the difference between entertaining cockiness and a desire to pummel the protagonist is immense. The parallels are much closer after Strange's crippling accident and vain attempts at full recovery, but in the books, you miss the shitheel, where the movie Strange is so dull and rotten, you root for his degradation. It's worth noting that one of the filmmakers comments on how the original comic origin spanned only a handful of panel, and that there was an entire movie to be made between them. My thinking is that the creators recognized that such details were better left to the imagination, rather than spelled out over fifty fucking drag-assed minutes of screen time so wretchedly derivative as to reference It's A Wonderful Life with Charlie Chan in the Clarence role. Further, a far superior extended origin was available to adapt, but as there is no indication the filmmakers actually read a single solitary Dr. Strange comic, it's no wonder they missed that fact.

Besides the hoary Asian (India inclusive) stereotypes, tired character designs, and liberal borrowing from cheesy Saturday morning martial arts films, the clearest indication that the filmmakers have no idea of what they're doing is when Dr. Strange and company travel to another dimension. In the sixties, Steve Ditko created surreal Daliesque worldscapes where the laws of physics could not apply. They were so bizarre, readers assumed he dropped acid, and comics have continued to copy them for fifty years. With all the potential of animation, the movie renders these dimensions as caverns. Gray, rocky caverns. Period. Dormammu? Just animated fire with a horned skull silhouette in the center, voiced by some douchebag talking into a fan. It's as big a disappointment as the Galactus and Parallax of the movies.

In the comics, Dr. Strange's spells were a visual tour de force, but he was not above engaging in physical combat with a metaphysical twist. In the movie, Strange stands around with his dandy New Romantic looks catching other guys swords (*ahem*) and casting energy blasts. The coolest creatures he combats are green CGI piranha bats, which admittedly is kind of cool, but the exception proves the rule. Their impact is muted by virtually all the threats in the movie being legions of animalistic creatures. These include wolves made of shadows and more rampaging giant cat things, which could have easily been improved upon with Mindless Ones, but the film's infidelity is only outmatched by its lack of imagination. The final insult is comic images playing during the credits that strain to find the least visually interesting images from the sixties, and still manage to outshine the flick. In one and one quarter hour, anything cool about Dr. Strange is rendered banal.

Extras?

Marvel Video Game Cinematics What it says. Thirteen cut scenes without context from two games and a music video "best of" compilation. Still better than the actual movie.
The Origin of Doctor Strange Often the best part of comic adaptation DVDs are the behind the scenes interviews with the creators of the books over the years. While this is no exception, thirteen minutes is an exceptionally short running time, especially when half of it is shared with filmmakers trying to validate their going far astray from the seminal works being discussed. Stan Lee, Steve Englehart and J.M. DeMatteis are charming, animated, and informative. Combined with the art on display, they do an excellent job of informing the viewer of how ineptly their stories were translated to animation. To accentuate that point, the filmmakers are all stiff, semi-monotonal fucktards who name drop creators without a exhibiting a hint of their influence in the finished product. Hopefully, the first six minutes will get reused in a more worthwhile venue if the proposed Dr. Strange live action movie arrives in 2013.
A First Look At: Avengers Reborn Kid progeny of the Avengers in a dystopic future. I've seen worse designs, but this is all talking head interviews.
Doctor Strange Concept Art Not really. Just animatics.
Trailer Gallery Nothing signals a quality production like opening with the trailer to Delta Farce starring Larry the Cable Guy. Also, The Dresden Files, Ultimate Avengers: The Movie, Ultimate Avengers 2, & The Invincible Iron Man.

Wednesday Is Any Day For All I Care #116

2011-08-15T00:25:00.000-05:00

Joss Whedon's Dollhouse #1
Flashpoint #3 (2011)
Ghost Rider: Fear Itself #1 (2011)
Roger Langridge's Snarked! #0

Dollhouse: Epitaphs #1 (Dark Horse, 2011, $3.50)
With the exception of Firefly/Serenity, Joss Whedon product is good enough to entertain me in brief chunks (2-3 hour spans max,) but then I'm ready to move on. The least of his efforts that I've been exposed to (with the exception of Alien: Resurrection,) was the television series Dollhouse. The show struck me as Alias without the charisma laboring under a quasi-feminist exploration of the institutional misogyny of the spy genre. In other words, it was rather boring without offering near the unnerving twists that it would like to have believed it could deliver. Unaware that the series wrapped on an apocalyptic note, Epitaphs was not what I was expecting, which isn't the same as being interesting. We've got a grade school Neo trained by Alan Tudyk and a bunch of people who have been brainwashed into believing that they're the same person fighting legions of ~~zombies~~ the crazies. Okay story and art, but the premium pricing doesn't help me feel better about supporting inoffensive mediocrity.

Flashpoint #3 (DC, 2011, $3.99)
This was a mistake on my part. Three of the five issues of this mini-series were offered to me at a dollar each, but I knew after the first and the events to follow that I did not want. I accidentally ordered this anyway, so it behooves me to poop on it some more. Seven of the first eight pages are devoted to saying "psyche" on the stupid shock ending to the previous installment, but I guess with fifteen friggin' spin-off books the actual world building and general scope is done elsewhere. There's a two page prelude to one of those books, then another six pages to forming a super-team that was supposed to have gotten together in the first issue, were it not for Bat-dickery. The final ten pages were spent rescuing a character so that he could appear in another tie-in mini, plus a totally limp cliffhanger. Oh my gosh, a bunch of red shirts have laser scopes targeting our super-heroes! However will they esca--zzzzzzzzzz. Your extra dollar supports a cardstock cover, decompressed story pages (i.e. more half-&-whole splashes,) plus four weak character sketch pages.

Ghost Rider (Marvel, 2011, $3.99)
Marvel Comics has a program wherein retailers can send stripped covers from Flashpoint tie-in books to them in exchange for a Fear Itself variant cover. This is based on the premise that the books are not very good, were ordered in excessive quantities, and have been undercut by the "New 52" making the Elseworld doubly irrelevant. This comic is the glass house shipping address for those covers.

Under a mark of shame Kubert Brother cover are two of the worst Ghost Rider stories I've ever read in his already less than illustrious career. After a first page of grating first person exposition, there's a two page spread of GR villains where physics are damned, there's an awful lot of negative space between goofy looking characters, and I'm pretty sure someone gave the artist the wrong reference for Lilith. Following that is a badly constructed title page, and then story pages that prove Keith Giffen was totally doing uncredited layouts on Doom Patrol, because Matthew Clark's storytelling leaves something to be desired. A couple of early Danny Ketch period foes turn up, both of whom I thought were already dead, to be killed by a new Ghost Rider with breasts. They struck me as being out of character anyway, but it still sucks to throw a couple of decent bad guys under the bus after having already illustrated how lousy the Ghost Rider rogues gallery was, all in the name of the worst designed Ghost Rider ever. So many inglorious landmarks in this one book.

Of all the many things people have gotten wrong with the character in the past, the avoidance of adding chesticles and a corseted waistline to a flaming skeleton wasn't among them. Neither was carrying the handle of a motorcycle like a lightsaber until it was called upon to manifest a motorcycle. This bowdlerizing of Morrisonian mad ideas just amounts to an opportunity for the artist to draw a motorcycle in as few panels as possible in a book whose lead character counts riding a motorcycle as 50% of the appeal. After twenty pages of the thinnest and dumbest event tie-in possible (people punching people from that other mini-series,) we're "treated" to the origin of the new Ghost Rider with ovaries afire. She's some sort of Nicaraguan warrior monk chosen to be the new spirit of vengeance by a mysterious mystic. Again, the only reason people bought Ghost Rider comics ever was because he's a flaming skeletal biker who smacks people with a chain and rides a boss hog. Save the hoodoo for Dr. Strange. Even on its established terms, this book is garbage, but it's doubly useless when it's supposed to be Harley porn but reads like a rice rocket brochure.

Snarked #0 (kaboom!, 2011, $1.00)
My firm belief is that the printed comic book is a dying art form that has choked itself with its increasing insularity while alienated women, children, and general audiences. Like cigarettes, this is a habit best started young, so a kid's comic by the acclaimed writer of The Muppet Show, influenced by the timeless work of Lewis Carroll, should serve as an ideal gateway to new readers of all ages. Too bad this fucking piece of shit chokes on a goddamned meaty cock. The characters, truncated story and gags are all dog shit. Eight pages into this motherfucker and the anorexic story cuts out, leading to a premature letters page, a sketch gallery of Langridge's unimpressive art, a pair of diary pages from a barely introduced character, a three page poem from the 19th century, a faux newspaper page, two more pages of Victorian poetry, a couple of fun & games activity pages, and a wanted poster. This is like the Black Dossier of kids comics, and I mean that in only the most derisive, creator-up-his-own-asshole, molesting the target audience with artistic pretense way. For my dollar, I demand the opportunity to roll up my copy of Snarked #0 and beat Roger Langridge about the face and neck for being such a cunt.

Comic Reader Résumé: January, 1982

2011-08-12T00:00:00.001-05:00

I don't believe I'll ever know for sure exactly when I became a comic book fan, most likely because I had a comic collecting uncle in the house in the early years of my life. I had plenty of stuff that stayed in print throughout the '70s, like Power Records and several Whitman coloring books (Captain America, Superman: "World without Water!" I saw Superman: The Motion Picture in the theater, and I can't recall there ever being a time when comic books weren't around. They were certainly always on my short list for purchases at garage sales and flea markets, as well. However, while working on a project, I visited the justifiably named Mike's Amazing World of DC Comics to take advantage of his "Time Machine." Mike took it upon himself to begin offering a chronological listing of every DC book by actual and cover dated availability. What's more, he's recently expanded his Amazing Worlds to include Marvel, Gold Key, and Charlton comics, with all of their assorted monthly titles available on a virtual "newsstand." This has allowed me to determine ground zero for the beginning of my collecting new comics by schlepping down to the 7-11 with my own pocket change: January, 1982.

I can't say for certain that I bought the given issues upon their release, and I'm not sure Mike's dates are ironclad, either. That said, there's a very good chance my first brand new purchase was The Amazing Spider-Man #227 by Roger Stern, John Romita, Jr. and Jim Mooney. It was a fun Black Cat story, and while Mooney's inks weren't choice, it was still a good looking book. I still have my original copy stewing in a polybag, the brown pages surely acidic as all hell and unrestrained by a cover or the first/last pages.

According to Mike, my second comic would be The Flash #308. It was kind of a neat story by the usually swell and highly underrated Cary Bates where the Scarlet Speedster's battle with a mummy was paralleled by some children at play. It may be heretical, but if there's one classic artist I never developed an appreciation for, it's Carmine Infantino. I hate his stuff to this day, as well as many of the people he influenced. However, the reason I bought the book was the embellishment of Dennis Jensen, who did a magnificent job of making Infantino look pretty. Yet, I suspect that despite the solid plot and inks, this would also be the beginning of a lifelong dislike of super speed characters. I could never get into Runs-Fast-Man, in any costume or at any company. The Dr. Fate back-up strip by Martin Pasko, Keith Giffen and Larry Mahlstedt makes a liar out of me, because I could have sworn my introduction to the character was through the Super Powers Collection. I have no recollection of this story, except perhaps the vaguest impression of a half splash to start it off.

Since the Flash was undated, I can't be positive The Brave and the Bold #185 was my third comic. I parted company with the first book quickly, but that Batman, Robin and Green Arrow team-up was in my comic pile next to my grandmother's couch for years. I'd already been turned on to the O'Neill/Adams stuff, and after that Rich Buckler cover, I found the interiors by Adrian Gonzales and Mike DeCarlo quite disappointing. Gonzales mostly stuck to Arak and war comics, which helps explain why your first question was probably "who the hell is Adrian Gonzales?" Writer Don Karr had an even less impressive record, and his story probably helped drive me toward Marvel Comics for most of the '80s. It was just one of the overwhelming majority of Penguin stories that are underwhelming, involving giant bird cages and Ollie not getting his eyes clawed out, damn it.

I suspect that I had a copy of Captain Carrot and His Amazing Zoo Crew #2, but my memory is too hazy to comment, if that was in fact the case. Not too bad of a month for my first as a certified collector, but not enough to make my bona fides, since I didn't stick with any of them going into February. That's a tale for another time, though.

How about yourself, dear reader? Any memories from your first month of collecting comics, or January, 1982 specifically?

A Frank Review of "Cruel Intentions 3" (2004)

2011-08-08T00:00:00.002-05:00

The Short Version? Teens fucking over one another over fucking one another.
What Is It? Soap Opera.
Who Is In It? Some guy from Dawson's Creek and tight chicks you won't see naked.
Should I See It? No.

Cruel Intentions isn't even a reputable franchise, much less an esteemed one, but the third edition somehow manages to be a pale shadow of even the barely adequate prequel. Fairly reeking of direct-to-DVD, it features Kristina Anapau as the cousin of original series bad girl Kathryn Merteuil, who idolizes her kin's wickedness but clearly lacks her cunning. Kerr Smith plays the guy who wants to fuck her, but is not her stepbrother, and Nathan Wetherington plays a guy who does fuck her, and is certainly good looking enough to do so, but we're all supposed to pretend he's an ugly dork. Dude, at least put on some glasses and get a more repressed hairstyle, like the "nerd girls" in teen movies.

What made the first movie better than Dangerous Liaisons for the CW set was that it was witty and naughty in how it went about its business, while this trash operates strictly on porno logic. Every action ends in sex, and it's such a direct through line that every bit of dialogue is just a clumsy means to an end. It's all about as subtle as ordering pizza in a neglige. Unlike an actual porno though, the sex scenes are bereft of any fluids, especially blood. They're short, dull, light on skin and feel as forced as inserts.

On the plus side, there is a decent soundtrack of songs from artists no one has ever heard of, so at least this one sort of sounds like the first. Also, the film stock and cinematography are much closer to the original, so it doesn't look cheap. Unfortunately, this one takes a mean-spirited turn that's much too far beyond propriety to go down. The fun is in the seduction, whether of the innocent or their adulteration of the diabolic. This is simply too tasteless to know how to get to either place effectively, and crass enough to make sure to stay open-ended for a fourth run.

USPS > UPS

2011-08-06T18:42:00.001-05:00

The United States Postal Service is one of many essential American institutions targeted for downsizing thanks to ongoing porkbarrel politics, and some even look forward to its demise. There are plenty of great reasons to defend USPS, but I'll make my argument in the simplest, briefest, and most self-centered terms.

I get my new comics by mail order in one monthly shipment. The USPS recently decided that because of advertisements, comics do not qualify for media mail rates. That jumped my shipping costs from less than five dollars to less than nine dollars, comparable with the rates UPS has been charging for a decade. Besides the $60 a year I saved over UPS when USPS had the lower price, the latter also delivers on Saturdays. I could have had my books this weekend through USPS, or Monday at the latest. Since I accidentally shipped through UPS this month, my books will arrive Tuesday at the earliest.

Support the USPS. Brown is #2, and vice versa.

Wednesday is a Hundred Penny Reprint For All I Care #115

2011-08-04T00:00:00.005-05:00

Dracula: The Company of Monsters #1 (2010/2011)
Fantastic Four MGC #570 (2009/2011)
Incorruptible #1/Irredeemable #1 (2009/2011)
The Rocketeer: Hundred Penny Press Edition (1988/2011)

Dracula: The Company of Monsters #1 Boom! Blast Edition (Boom! Studios, 2011, $1.00)
There was a time years ago when I would read an Advance Comics or Diamond Previews catalog cover to cover on a monthly basis. I'd spend a whole weekend going through it entry by entry, and this was years before I did it professionally. Well, we have the glorious internet now, which means I get to write as much as read, and I otherwise have better shit to do with my trek toward middle age. I still toss through each page, but I managed to be completely oblivious to the fact that this series is still being published. I thought it was a mini-series, but they're on the eleventh issue with a different creative team. I guess they're doing something right.

Writer Kurt Busiek manages to build up the absent Dracula through flashbacks, while also getting the reader involved in the book's human protagonists. It occurs to me that the first I ever liked a Busiek story was Vampirella: Morning in America, and I just might have to pick up Dynamite's upcoming reprint. Both stories remind me of Marv Wolfman's Tomb of Dracula, and I wonder if Busiek, like Wolfman, is known for super-heroes but better suited for horror. There was a lot more to interest me here than Kirby: Genesis, for instance.

Wait a minute! Son of a bitch! Busiek is only credited with "story," kind of like the starfucking Virgin Comics did a few years back. Daryl Gregory is the guy who actually turned this into a script, so maybe that's why I like it better. Plus, Gregory and artist Scott Godlewski, who has a passing resemblance to Tony Moore, are still on the book. Might be worth checking out...

Fantastic Four MGC #570 (Marvel, 2011, $1.00)
Here's a reprint of the first issue of Jonathan Hickman and Dale Eaglesham's run on the book, and possibly the first story I've ever read by the writer. My, but it's derivative. It starts out with a flashback to Reed Richards' daddy issues, and then we get the mise-en-scène super battle where the brainy writer gets to use his cute idea to jazz up a minor villain without being bothered to plot an actual story for them from beginning to end. Grant Morrision's great at that kind of thing, in part because he's better at mad ideas than plot anyway, but also because he gets in and out so quickly, like in a Bond movie. Hickman spends half an issue on it, so that by the time he started in on his actual story, it felt like an afterthought.

There's some forced "levity" with Ben and Johnny, and some presumed leftover business from Millar's run, but Hickman's heart seems to be with Mister Fantastic. Hickman tries to outdo Rip Hunter's chalkboard from 52, and then dives headfirst into Alan Moore's Supreme, essentially deifying the one iconic Marvel hero no one has never found interesting enough to give his own series. For the record, everyone at Marvel has had their own series but Mr. Fantastic, even his own school-aged son. That's fantastically boring.

It's funny, because Iron Man has been flagellated ever since Secret Invasion, and Hank Pym got free of it through Skrull impersonation and a dead wife, but nobody seems to call Reed Richards on the carpet for being the Karl Rove/Dick Cheney of the Marvel Universe. Nothing says republican elite like determining the person who is the most brilliant and knows what's best for the entire universe is yourself, so the most effective sounding board would be hundreds of duplicates of yourself to echo your every opinion. It's not like I ever loved Reed, but Hickman may get credit for actually inspiring me to deeply dislike Mister Fantastic. Congratulations on that, I guess.

The art is nice, even if Eaglesham continues to draw everyone as stiff hardbodied Adonises and Adonnas, or whatever. Reed Richards with Miami Vice stubble and rock hard abs only accentuates the right wing fantasy path the character is on. I wonder if Steve Ditko reads any Marvel comics, because if he does, I bet he's sad that it's one of Kirby's characters that ended up the standard bearer for Ayn Rand?

Incorruptible #1/Irredeemable #1 Boom! Blast Edition (Boom! Studios, 2011, $1.00)
In my review of the trade paperback, I already pointed out how unnecessary a long form telling of evil Superman was, since this year we celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of 1986, and mourn a quarter century of depressing anti-heroic deconstruction. I'll only add of Irredeemable that taken on its own, what a shitty first issue it had. Seven pages of the Plutonian killing a family, eight pages of flashback to the guy meeting some other heroes at a baseball game, and eight pages of other heroes explaining that a pissed off immoral Superman is a bad thing.

Incorruptible is also pretty slight, but is amusing in a Bronze Age kind of clunkyness. Max Damage was a bad dude supervillain who had a heavy experience with the psycho Plutonian (explored next issue?) that turned him into a hardline born again type. Max refuses to feed the meat pipe to his underage girlfriend, named Jailbait and heavily reenforced through dialogue, because artist Jean Diaz draws her as a standard issue adult super-heroine. Max teams up with the cops to bring down his old gang. Max takes a flamethrower to his millions of dollars worth of dirty money, rather than launder it through charity, to emphasize that Damage is in his own way just as big of an asshole wackjob as the Plutonian. Truth to tell, the whole purpose of Incorruptible is to be the uglier, dumber sister title to Irredeemable, balancing the scales of a hero gone bad with a villain made good. Shame the same can't be said about either title and their role in the direct market, as they're both lame enough to be published for a buck cheaper at DC.

The Rocketeer: Hundred Penny Press Edition (IDW, 2011, $1.00)
This comic reprints Comico's 1988 The Rocketeer Adventure Magazine #1, which as I recall was itself a reprint of serialized short stories first published in 1982 by Pacific. Dave Stevens was an outstanding and highly influential illustrator, but the guy was the Anti-Prolific Equation when it came to serialized storytelling. I don't think this tale wrapped until the third issue was published in 1993, by Dark Horse, two years after the movie adaptation came out. It's a gorgeous book, especially with the quality of printing, but the story is as lightweight as the adventure serials that inspired it.

Cliff Secord is kind of a jerk with highly questionable motivations. His personality basically consists of being selfish and jealous enough to steal government property ahead of World War II to hold on to his girlfriend. Admittedly, that girl is Bettie Page, and Stevens' depiction had a lot to do with her now being an inspirational, iconic figure, but that doesn't translate much into a character as scripted. I think this is a classic example of people reading into the book what they want, because it's so damn pretty, but pretty vacant. The Rocketeer never mattered to me before, and nothing here will change that.

A Frank Review of "Captain America: The First Avenger 3D" (2011)

2011-08-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

The Short Version? When Captain America throws his mighty shield, all those who chose to oppose his shield must yield. If he’s led to a fight and a duel is due, then the red and white and the blue’ll come through.
What Is It? Period Super Hero Origin Story
Who Is In It? Lucas Lee, Aliena, Agent K, Agent Smith,
Should I See It? Yes.

I love Captain America. I had the "1966" coloring book with Batroc that probably came out in 1975. Cap was to the best of my knowledge my first favorite super-hero, and is disputably still my favorite, although there were many others between now and then. His was one of the first series I collected by trucking down to the 7-11 with my own coin, and you know I had the Secret Wars action figure with the lame lenticular animation shield. Heck, it's one of the few toys from my childhood I've since reacquired as an adult. I watched the cartoons and the lousy TV movies as a kid, and subjected myself to the 1990 "theatrical" film that wasn't good enough to be released in the United States, home of American Ninja and the career of Frank Stallone.

I tell you all of this because despite my usual hypercritical tone in these reviews, it is impossible for me to be unbiased in discussing a Captain America motion picture.That's why I was so filled with hate at the disappointing teaser trailer and then posted an apology with the much improved international trailer. I've only ever reviewed trailers a few times here, much less two for the same movie. That is my love for Captain America.

This should explain why I sat through most of The First Avenger's running time with a big stupid grin on my face. Despite early indications and a lifetime of disappointments, someone finally got a Captain America movie right. It's earnest, patriotic, cornball, unsophisticated, goofy, innocent, and in summary, delightful. No one tried to "fix" Cap by making him sarcastic or blowing G.I.s to gory bits or having him show up to liberate Buchenwald. He's a simple, inspiring comic book icon in a movie to match. They did tone down a costume that was never going to translate to film and offer up some logical tweaks to satisfy modern audiences, but for the most part, there is a clear adoration and knowledge of the source material that is manifested as a love letter to fans. I would imagine any kid who bought Captain America Comics #1 in 1940 who survived to this point will be happy with this film, and as a fairly polluted cat from better than half a century after that, I dug it too. Captain America is not and never should be The Dark Knight, and for my money, is the more entertaining movie for it.

For reasons I don't fully understand, the movie begins in 1943, three years after his comic book career began as a guy punching Hitler before the U.S. were even involved in World War II. For reasons I totally get, Cap never actually fights the ancestors of the current Japanese or German ticket buying audience, preferring the faceless leatherboy terrorist gimps of Hydra. If the movie has any fault, it's that divorced from Nazi atrocities, the Red Skull is just kind of an asshole who wants to blow shit up with cosmic lasers for no discernible purpose. It kind of balances out though, since Captain America is motivated by innate goodness and a desire to contribute to society as a man. File under "Keep It Simple, Stupid."

Chris Evans is pretty nearly the Christopher Reeve of Captain Americas. I watched Frank Miller's Gucci cologne ad with Evans, and it struck me how badly Cap needed to shave and treat Evan Rachael Wood a little more delicately. Evans fits Cap so well, there's a real danger of his getting typecast again, because his previous screen persona as the cocky smart ass now seems like a total put-on. As another voice in the chorus, the Steve Rogers special effects are flawless, but it's worth noting that Evans' mannerisms helped sell himself as a runty kid from Brooklyn. His stiffness in trailers as Captain America can be chalked up to bad editing, since he's typically quite fluid in the uniform.

Hayley Atwell sets Peggy Carter at "austere" and rarely varies, but after the almost too game Natalie Portman in Thor, it's nice to see a female lead with reserve and concerns outside of "will they or won't they." Tommy Lee Jones gets to play all the salty attitude of Sgt. Nick Fury without any of the physical effort, but they named him Colonel Phillips to avoid confusion with Sam Jackson's role. Stanley Tucci humanizes Dr. Erskine while still using him as a means of selling Steve Rogers to the audience. Dominic Cooper is fun as a less sexy Stark, and Sebastian Stan does what needs doing as a doomed sidekick. No one is bad in the movie, but almost everyone's role is stock, so they play their hand as dealt. This includes Hugo Weaving's Red Skull, Toby Jones as ~~Toht~~ Arnim Zola, and all of the unnamed Howling Commandos. They know their role, and this is Captain America's movie, so that is that. It's hard not to miss the eccentricity of a Micky Rourke performance in the mix, though, and there's something missing when you hate Obadiah Stane far more than the Red Skull.

There are a few twists along the way, and I'm sure a greater degree of unfamiliarity with the character could lead to more. I don't believe this movie was shot in 3D, but for a post-conversion, I think it plays well. Unlike most 3D films, I didn't forget about the process while watching, or take notice when the studios does so. There are scenes that are relatively flat, but when there's a call for 3D, particularly in a mildly claustrophobic train sequence, the depth is there. The action is a bit overblown at times, but I dearly love seeing bad guys get whacked with that shield.

Objectively, this is a better film than Thor and many other Marvel movies, but unlike the Iron Man and X-Men franchises, I don't know that it's built to reach out beyond the fans of this type of character. The movie certainly handles the continuity machine building up to The Avengers next summer better than most, even if the post-credits teaser isn't worth the wait. Probably because of its setting, it incorporates a lot of Marvel mythology without sagging from the baggage, at least until the abrupt ending. In fact, The First Avengers is three-quarters of a rock solid bit of self-contained entertainment, and only goes off track because of its obligation to other movies. After the first Captain America mission, there's a montage covering the rest of the war, and then Cap and Skull have to hit all their marks for a lackluster final showdown. I'd have much preferred leaving it to the Avengers movie to explain Cap's connection to modernity, and leave the door open for more 1940s fun. That said, the movie had built up plenty enough good will up to the last reel to see me through to the denouement. I finally got a Captain America movie to thoroughly enjoy, with a lead actor I expect will be able to stand up to major thespian competition next year.

My Monkey's Name is Jennifer (2003)

2011-07-28T01:37:00.000-05:00

In the early '90s, Evan Dorkin turned a wedge of cheese and a carton of milk who became anthropomorphic sociopathic pop culture critics into such a hit (by post-B&W boom standards,) that it put tiny publisher Slave Labor Graphics on the map. Years later, Jhonen Vasquez created a series about a homicidal maniac that went over with the goth kids at Hot Topic by actually being sold there, and surely helped SLG land some Disney licenses.

Taking these two things into account, it makes sense that Slave Labor publisher Dan Vado would take a good long look at a book about a little girl with a pet ape that she dresses in doll clothes, and which is filled with murderous rage at the world around it. The girl has surreal misadventures, and the monkey thinks about biting peoples' testicles off. There's also random quirky shit like skeletons wearing suits and pirates and mad scientists attempting to weaponize childhood glee. Also, toss in full color back cover pin-ups by comic book luminaries, which helped Madman make Kitchen Sink Press some dough, and you might have something.

I'm certain the process wasn't as cynical as I make it sound, but the end result is still an unfunny, repetitive book with surface similarities to very successful predecessors without the insight or talent to deliver on a deeper level than pale imitation. The stories seem geared toward children, but a bit too nonlinear and heavy in coarse elements to play to the younger crowd. Adults might appreciate their matter-of-fact weirdness, but be frustrated by how arbitrary and familiar the diversions are, as well as the basic lack of craft on display. The book just doesn't look or read particularly well, and is too soft or too hard for any given readership. I didn't feel a strong compulsion to finish the thing beyond grist for the review mill, but the final pages switch format to 1-2 page stories that prove much more charming and palatable.

Ken Knudsten does seem to really believe in what he's doing, and he has his fans, so perhaps instead of taking my word for it, you'll check out his blog for lots of free pages.

A Frank Review of "Dead and Gone" (2008)

2011-07-25T00:00:00.000-05:00

The Short Version? Bad things happen at that run down cabin...
What Is It? "Horror"
Who Is In It? Angela from "Sleepaway Camp," Veronica from "Clerks," Kage from "Tenacious D," and the guy who shouted on the first Evanescence album in celebrity cameos.
Should I See It? No.

Short and sweet: Hollywood British boy toy loses his aging producer meal ticket to a liposuction accident. Hides out in a Nevada shack with his wife of convenience on life support until he can find a way to squeeze a few more dollars out of a bad situation. Rednecks cause problems, there's a dalliance with a ridiculous but hot police officer, and things break down. It's The Shining meets Evil Dead meets mental retardation. Slow, cheap, boring, derivative, pointless, with the intentional gags usually falling well short. When Kyle Gass is listed on the box as a co-star after maybe five minutes of screen time because you need the audience draw, enjoy your stay in the dollar bin. I'll give the movie this: there's some nice gender-bending, and even if it plods, I've seen much worse.

Extras?

Gone With The Dead: The Making of Dead and Gone Someone was paid to edit a half hour documentary for a quarter-assed movie. Everyone seemed to have a lot of fun making a bad picture.
Deleted Scenes Most of the movie should have been deleted down to an unmemorable thirty minute show, so the actual deleted scenes are like stabbing yourself in the brain with a spoon. Why would you do such a thing to yourself. Just stop. Don't.
Outtakes Cute. Ish. And brief. Brief is important.
Trailers Lionsgate isn't exactly known for its discriminating taste, and especially on horror movies they'll sprinkle in piss with the punch on even their best-selling DVDs, but this one showcases nothing but turd after turd. "Clearly you're only watching the main feature on a dare, as part of a drinking game, or what have you, so here are some future OMFG releases for your peculiar group activities."

Wednesday Is Slim Pickings For All I Care #114

2011-07-21T00:00:00.000-05:00

Conan: Island of No Return #1
Empowered "Ten Questions for the Maidman"

This column gets leaner and more sporadic the less I buy floppies, but on the plus side, there will be more time for Dirty Traders, since I have both new collections and stacks of unread ones to get through.

Conan Island of No Return #1 (Dark Horse, 2011, $3.50)
I grew up on Conan, and especially enjoyed the early Barry Windsor-Smith material that Bart Sears conjures up through a return to the "costume" used in those issues. Writer Ron Marz also teases that era, with Conan as a sneak thief and philanderer teaming up with whoever decided to bring him in on a job. However, those '70s stories were really great done-in-ones that usually condensed original Robert E. Howard stories to a sweet fuck'n'run. This is an entirely new work by a couple of creators past their prime that still has all the failings of modern comics. Conan is pursued for a crime for seven pages, spends three pages negotiating his next heist, eleven pages physically negotiating the terrain toward the spoils, and a final splash setting up the first fight with a creature. The back stories of two new characters are discussed along the way, but otherwise, this was maybe five pages of an old school Conan comic. Sears has panels that rock, but a lot more where he hacks out rubber people with no eyes and dubious anatomy. Colorist Mark Roberts does a good job of covering for the inconsistency, but the contrast between good work and bad is hard to miss. I still prefer Sears to a lot of the guys currently working, especially when he's in storytelling mode, as he is here. Too often, he'd rather inflict a design scheme meant to maximize the resell value of pages while actively sabotaging the narrative (see: Captain America and the Falcon.) The story is boilerplate Conan, enjoyable more for the nostalgia than any inherent worth. It's okay for a modern Conan mini-series, but not something I feel any urge to continue with.

Empowered Special #2 (Dark Horse, 2011, $3.50)
As I've stated in my reviews of every one of the Empowered trades and the other special, this series is among the best on the market, which is why I'm so bitter when an edition is less than great. This was less than great. It's another reasonably priced introduction for theoretical new readers, this time using color and guest artist Emily Warren as an added draw. This is not a cheat, since Adam Warren not only writes the whole thing, but draws fifteen B&W pages to insure those who take the dive into trades know what to expect. Unlike the prior special, there is a fair amount of continuity recap here, setting the tale sometime during or after volume six, with some series spoilers of volume 5. Aside from the recappery, this feels more like a standard Emp story, and so a better taste of the flavor of a full volume. Also, it's a nice Maidman spotlight, who rocks by the way, as possibly the greatest transvestite super-hero ever (apologies to Madam Fatal.)

A Frank Review of "St. Ives" (1976)

2011-07-18T00:00:00.059-05:00

The Short Version? He's clean. He's lean. He's the go-between.
What Is It? Crime dramedy.
Who Is In It? Paul Kersey and oodles of character actors.
Should I See It? Nope.

St. Ives is a lame, lazy movie. Raymond St. Ives is a laid back guy who rarely hurries and never seems especially invested in anything. He's a former crime beat reporter who was supposed to retire to write a novel, but since he never did, he takes the occasional job as a bag man. He's supposed to be a high stakes gambler, but the movie drops that joke fairly early on, and only one obnoxious character keeps bringing up St. Ives' unfinished book. There's only one real action sequence, involving the very young Jeff Goldblum and Robert Englund as muggers. Bronson was clearly too old to do much heavy action, and in fact one wonders if he didn't pull something vital in this scene that forced him to take things easy for the rest of the production. Pretty much the whole movie is St. Ives stumbling upon fresh bodies, getting questioned by police, and then questioning other people. St. Ives knows all the hoods in town, so if anything happens, a crook is invented to provide the necessary exposition for the next scene. Since there are only a handful of returning characters, it's a simple matter to figure out into which slot everyone will fit by the final act. In terms of quality of execution, it feels like a failed TV pilot to a totally watchable yet totally missable show. Everybody is just phoning it in, but their obvious disinterest lends a certain bemusement to the proceedings. "Why am I here? How much above scale am I getting for this? What was my line, again?" The best parts are Bronson's pained deadpan delivery that'll have you trying to find a cue card in the frame somewhere, and a cast of dozens of familiar faces from period crap. If you decide to make a drinking game out of spotting them, lightweights should select Elisha Cook Jr., while the bingers should pound 'em back to Harry Guardino. Sadly, Michael Lerner and his rarely seen quasi jewfro are only in the one scene.

Extras?

Bronson St. Ives CheeZY promotional puff piece fluffing Chuck's peen furiously.
Theatrical Trailer He is not mean. No one puts enough effort into this thing to qualify as mean.

Wednesday is Foreign For All I Care #113

2011-07-14T00:00:00.000-05:00

Alpha Flight: Fear Itself #1 (2011)
Daomu #5 (2011)

Alpha Flight #1 (Marvel, 2011, $3.99)
You’ll pardon me for being a tad hyperbolic, but I think Alpha Flight is a fine example of everything that’s wrong with comics. Let me explain. The Sub-Mariner was one of the first comic book superstars, but he got cancelled along with most everybody else in the Post-World War II bust. I think he had a brief revival in the ‘50s, and he definitely helped usher in the Marvel Age in the 1960s. Thing is though, I don’t understand how sailor fucks mermaid equals immortal scion of the seven seas, or whatever the fuck Namor’s tagline was. Over in the X-Men book, they had another somewhat eleven foreigner asshole with a rage-on against humanity in the 1960s named Quicksilver. Pietro was never a fraction as popular as Namor, but he was still the 1960s model of the type, so maybe one or the other needed to shuffle off by the 1980s. Instead, we got Northstar, who never to my knowledge actively pursued widescale death of homo sapiens, but otherwise looked exactly like a young Namor with all the douchiness of Quicksilver. His only distinctions were that his powers were slightly different than Quicksilver’s, he had a crazy sister, the least awful of the trio’s costumes, he’s Canadian, and he’s queer. That means we now have three of the exact same guy in the same universe, none of them are going anywhere, and Northstar is one of the least useless members of Alpha Flight.

John Byrne was an extremely popular creator in the 1980s, which I guess is why Alpha Flight #1 came into existence, and I bought the thing. Byrne was an okay writer if you were a kid reader, but even by his standards (a.k.a. “this comic is so pretty that it makes up for the tepid script,”) the title was pretty stinky. The characters were all very polite and somewhat more diverse rip-offs of other Marvel characters who in the ensuing years have all been killed off at least one (usually many more, though) with no one much caring except people who believe being the only Canadian super-heroes of note earns them more respect, a sentiment not always shared by actual Canadians. They’ve got Wolverine and a strong claim to Superman, so why should they give a fuck about Snowbird? I’m sure Alpha Flight is at least a little embarrassing, eh?

So anyway, Alpha Flight managed to eke out an existence as the only alternative X-Men spin-off book to New Mutants for a while, but as the X-Factors and X-Forces and such piled up, the Alphans only reason for existence was wiped out. Marvel has repeatedly tried to relaunch the series based on the shaky premise that there’s nostalgia and inherent conceptual value in Alpha Flight, and this latest mini-series has actually enlisted solid talent, tied the book in with a big event, and restored the “iconic” team after a bout with mass deadness. I will say that this is a solidly okay effort, although after three years distance from the Bush Administration, it’s hard not to think a Canadian retread of their politics feels like old news. The big bad conservative brother to the north has turned on the nation’s wimpy ass heroes, and even the quippage of the writers behind Incredible Hercules can’t make the individual members matter to anyone. Alpha Flight has never been worth a damn, and the longer the industry carries this kind of obsolete baggage on its back, the more apparent corporate comics themselves being antiques becomes. Kill Alpha Flight, kill Quicksilver, consider killing Sub-Mariner, and then figure out what the Namor-type of the twenty-teens should be like.

An aside: a sketchbook and an interview? Not worth an extra dollar. Hold the line, bitches.

Daomu #5 (Image, 2011, $2.99)
The inside front cover of this book featured brief character bios for all the major players in this story. I think it's great when publishers make that kind of effort to reach out to potential new readers. Unfortunately, there isn't a basic plot synopsis offered, so all those bios might as well be written in a fucking foreign language for all their content meant to me. This must be what it's like for normal people when some inarticulate geek starts rambling a bunch of insider bullshit at them. I don't even understand whether some of the nouns mentioned are people, places, or things, it's so goddamned obtuse, and I've had motherfucking decades of experience reading this kind of shit. So screw it, I had to read the actual story pretty near blind, and I didn't give a queef about most of it.

A bunch of Asian people (to narrow it down: not East Indians, but that's the best I got) are involved in some organization. Two of them do some tomb raiding. One's a heroic type, and the other is a two-faced fat asshole. They kill a mummy, and their friends find them in time for the tomb to try to revenge up their asses. Everybody escapes, but the action is really muddy, so I had trouble deducing the means by which that escape occurs. Also the dialogue is b-movie shit, but there's all these pretentious "Confucius say" caption boxes throughout. The art isn't great, and the story is either really flat or impenetrable, because I only catch pieces of what's going on.

Oh wait, the plot synopsis was on the back cover. That makes everything better. Highest possible recommendation.

A Frank Review of "Super 8" (2011)

2011-07-11T03:45:00.002-05:00

The Short Version? Stand By mE.T.
What Is It? Sci-Fi Dramedy.
Who Is In It? That guy from that show and that guy from that other show and that girl who's the sister of Dakota Fanning.
Should I See It? Yeah.

My girlfriend asked if I wanted to see this movie, which was her way of telling me that we were going to see it, unless I was going to ruin her fun by making a stink. I said that I didn't not want to see this movie. I wouldn't make a point of seeing it, but I wasn't opposed to it, either, and so I did. It wasn't super great (Gene Shalit R.I.P., whenever you get around to dying already,) but it was totally okay, and I'm fine with that. If you expect better from J.J. Abrams, you're a fucking sucker, so I'm just happy this film exceeded the low bar he's set.

Most of the trailers were real mysterious like, and the movie has not a little of the cliché about it, so why spoil the fun in a review? You'll enjoy it better the less you know. It's Spielberg, so there are going to be aliens, suspense, and a bit of childlike wonder℠. It's J.J. Abrams, so there will be elements of conspiracy and a quality of television smallness. A train will derail while some kids are trying to make a zombie movie on the kind of film you had to develop at a Kodak center. It's set in 1979, although not a version I find 100% authentic, but close enough for secondhand nostalgia. I figure Abrams is a child of the '80s trying to mythologize an era the way his fore-bearers did with shit like The Wonder Years, but even Generation X lacks the full-blooded egocentricity that only the Baby Boomers could conjure up as the sheltered spawn of The Greatest Generation.

The script is dumb and full of conveniences without logic. There's a Paul W.S. Anderson level lack of regard for linear transition at times, and the flick is atonal as fuck. The adult characters are all assholes, and despite much effort, they never really redeem themselves in a way that resonates. It doesn't matter, because the kids are alright, and we all fall in love with Elle Fanning like we're supposed to (purely platonic, or Hanson sic balls.) You can spend the entire movie pointing out the obvious, arch influence of other movies, but it's still very well shot and nicely directed. It's a shaggy dog that's tough to hate and easier to like, so let's just do that.

The Walking Dead Volume 14: No Way Out (2011)

2011-07-07T00:00:00.001-05:00

You're Robert Kirkman, and you've already seen far more success with a fucking zombie comic than anybody would ever have dreamed possible. You've passed the three-quarters of a hunnerd mark, and you don't know if that (cable) network mini-series (season my ass) is going to go over. Understandably, you might feel pressure to simultaneously offer a major(ly hyped) story arc to capitalize on what might end up being the greatest visibility of your career. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I understand, and I forgive, but "No Way Out" was just okay.

As usual, we had out slow build volume or two, and this was supposed to be the pay-off. There's a couple of "oh fuck" splashes. One either didn't sell itself properly, or is just so common at this point as to have no impact. I think a two-page spread might have been in order, but that came later with the only real slap in the face offered. Unfortunately, I had that spoiled by a Tucker Stone review, so my response was "so that's where that happened." It's kind of telegraphed, so I like to think I would have seen it coming.

Without ruining it for anyone, it should come as no surprise that zombies overcome obstacles to get to innocent people. That's happened once or twice before, per volume, minimum, so no surprises there. Nothing clever comes out of dealing with it. Fucked up shit happens to characters that had already outlived their usefulness. I won't say whether or not we lose another long lived cast member, but unless you're some kind of serious sissy, don't expect to shed any tears. Rick continues to test the outer limits of his being a sympathetic protagonist, but at this point he's already my least favorite old timer, so I'd be fine if he finally crossed the point of no return. Most of the people I like better had at least one strong character moment to dig on, and Carl got several. There's a twist or two, including the big resolution, but this one is really business as usual. Someone's saving the serious shit for the centennial, or we're in a holding pattern while Kirkman gives all those interviews for the TV show. Don't go forgettin' where ya come from, boy...

A Frank Review of "Eyes Without a Face" (1960)

2011-07-04T00:00:00.000-05:00

The Short Version? I lost mine, so we'll take yours.
What Is It? Moody Horror.
Who Is In It? French people (and an Italian.)
Should I See It? No.

Twice in the 1980s I checked a large hardcover book out of a public library which offered a critical analysis of the hundred or so greatest horror movies up to that point. While I've never made a concerted effort to track down most of the flicks, I have this mental checklist that I've gone through over the years when opportunities to see movies from that list have presented themselves. I can finally mark off "Les Yeux Sans Visage," whose objective worth I can see, but like many of those movies, subjectively was found wanting.

The film opens with a female assistant (Alida Valli) dumping the nude corpse of a disfigured young woman in a river, so you can't accuse it of lallygagging like many old horror movies. The dead girl was the victim of Doctor Génessier (Pierre Brasseur,) a master control freak and plastic surgeon driven to recover the face of his daughter. Christiane Génessier (Edith Scob) has been wasting away in seclusion since her features were mangled in a car accident, for which her father was responsible. To atone, the doctor has taken to grafting the beautiful faces of other, unwilling women over his daughter's. However, the grafts tend not to take, so Christiane spends most of her time wearing an unnerving, featureless mask.

As mentioned previously, the film cuts to the chase, laying out all the grisly details in the first reel. There's no stalling, red herrings, or other irritants common of the time. Unfortunately, there's also nowhere for the movie to go beyond its premise. Instead, the film sort of loiters in the Génessiers' world, depicting Christiane's mental breakdown, her father's frustration, and the machinations of their accomplice in procuring women for the experiments. As a result, the movie has a complete absence of sympathetic characters, instead relying on a host of villains who operate on pure text. Everyone's motivation is clear, so there's no ambiguity as they go through the expected motions. In that sense, it's something of a precursor to American Psycho, disturbing for its time, and not an experience one would rush to repeat. The difference is that Eyes Without A Face is terribly earnest, without the pleasure of satire.

The special effects are well ahead of their time, and I was surprised by the level of graphic detail in the heterograft operation that sees a young woman's face removed. The score can be amusingly off, and the tone of the film is rather bleak. At the same time, there's a clinical flatness to the proceedings, so that the audience is more likely to register disgust than terror. The final act gets into surreal territory, with some memorable imagery that recalls German impressionism, but the emotional blankness mutes its potential effect. I ended my viewing thinking about how potent a remake could be, with more capable artists employing virtually the same materials, just more effectively. In fact, there are any number of places where Eyes' influence can be felt, from '60s mod Wonder Woman comics to Halloween's Michael Myers to Vanilla Sky, all of them better realized than the source. I find it funny this was a scorned film upon release, embraced as a lost classic in modern times. I suspect that once again, critics' assumptions of the "simple" lives of earlier generations and lowered expectations play into retroactively making a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

nurghophonic jukebox: "Home" by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros

2011-07-02T01:24:00.002-05:00

Written By: Jade Castrinos & Alex Ebert
Released: 2009
Album: Up from Below
Single?: #28 on Billboard Alternative Songs

Lyrics:

[Her:]
Alabama, Arkansas,
I do love my ma and pa,
Not the way that I do love you.

[Him:]
Holy, Moley, me, oh my,
You're the apple of my eye,
Girl I've never loved one like you.

[Her:]
Man oh man you're my best friend,
I scream it to the nothingness,
There ain't nothing that I need.

[Him:]
Well, hot and heavy, pumpkin pie,
Chocolate candy, Jesus Christ,
Ain't nothing please me more than you.

[Both:]
Ahh Home. Let me come home
Home is wherever I'm with you.
Ahh Home. Let me go ho-oh-ome.
Home is wherever I'm with you.

La, la, la, la, take me home.
Mother, I'm coming home.

[Him:]
I'll follow you into the park,
Through the jungle through the dark,
Girl I never loved one like you.

[Her:]
Moats and boats and waterfalls,
Alley-ways and pay phone calls,
I've been everywhere with you.

[Him:]
We laugh until we think well die,
Barefoot on a summer night
Nothin new is sweeter than with you

[Her:]
And in the streets you run afree,
Like it's only you and me,
Geeze, you're something to see.

[Both:]
Ahh Home. Let me go home.
Home is wherever I'm with you.
Ahh Home. Let me go ho-oh-ome.
Home is wherever I'm with you.

La, la, la, la, take me home.
Daddy, I'm coming home.

(Talking)
Him: Jade
Her: Alexander
Him: Do you remember that day you fell outta my window?
Her: I sure do, you came jumping out after me.
Him: Well, you fell on the concrete, nearly broke your ass, you were bleeding all over the place and I rushed you out to the hospital, you remember that?
Her: Yes I do.
Him: Well there's something I never told you about that night.
Her: What didn't you tell me?
Him: While you were sitting in the backseat smoking a cigarette you thought was gonna be your last, I was falling deep, deeply in love with you, and I never told you til just now.

[Both:]
Ahh Home. Let me go home.
Home is wherever I'm with you.
Ahh Home. Let me go ho-oh-ome.
Home is where I'm alone with you.

[Him:]
Home. Let me come home.
Home is wherever I'm with you.

[Her:]
Ahh home. Yes I am ho-oh-ome.
Home is when I'm alone with you.

[Her:]
Alabama, Arkansas,
I do love my ma and pa...
Moats and boats and waterfalls,
Alley-ways and pay phone calls...

[Both:]
Ahh Home. Let me go home.
Home is wherever I'm with you.
Ahh Home. Let me go ho-oh-ome.
Home is where I'm alone with you...

28 Days Later: London Calling (2010)

2011-06-28T00:00:00.001-05:00

28 Days Later... was a major force in taking zombies mainstream after decades on the fringe, for which it deserves much credit and blame. It was essentially a greatest hits collection of moments from the Romero films mashed up with Lifeforce, which often irked me, but was quite good at times. Robert Kirkman's The Walking Dead straight up ripped off 28...'s opening, and I'm sure machete swinging Selena had a lot to do with the creation of katana-wielding Michonne. I guess 28 Days Later... expected payback for one of its few original spins, and decided to bring Selena to Dead's medium.

The first issue with translation is that Danny Boyle's film sold out Selena in the third act, turning her into a damsel in distress to be rescued by Jim as part of his heroic arc. Michonne has never been compromised, even during her rape and torture, so she remains the more fearsome and intriguing character. Second, sequelitis strikes. The comic alludes to events from the first film, and the assumption is that the film's other survivors aren't back for a reason that goes unrevealed. Maybe tragic, maybe mundane, but you can't help wondering where Newt and Hicks are. Third, as referenced, Selena is less herself and more Ellen Ripley. The pragmatist that would chop up her own friends once infected seems to have as her motivation for returning to England a lost love and need for psychological closure. I'm just not buying that. It would have been easy to carry on in England with the film's survivors, since there was room in the conclusion for such elaboration. While I think it's great to have a black woman as the lead figure in an action-horror franchise, I cannot buy into the premise that Selena would willingly put herself back in such a harrowing situation, especially given the stakes and slight resources displayed here.

The scenario put forth is that Selena has been hired as a veteran contributing to an unauthorized investigative party led by a war correspondent looking for the truth about the situation in the U.K. The party consists of barely realized stereotypes: the naive bleeding heart unprepared for the horrors to come, the dismissive tough guy who can't follow the little lady's orders, the member with a personal grudge against our heroine, and the intrepid reporter who puts principles above practicality. You know these fuckers are going to be ground up like the meat they are in short order, and the emotional impact is about the same as prepping a hamburger. Selena has plenty of opportunity to be the know-it-all badass, and she looks especially cool when the light catches the lens on her face mask just so, but it's strictly tropes around here.

By the end of the first trade, which collects four issues for ten bucks, all the pieces are in place to do a long form return visit to the physical journey of the first film. The hurdles of characterization and logic have been overcome so that one of the same characters can do the same stuff again. A desired status quo is restored. If you want your zombie comics to feel like super-hero or action vehicles, the creators do a serviceable job of providing. If you want to supplement The Walking Dead with more conventional writing and art on glossy paper in full color, here you go. The covers by Tim Bradstreet and Sean Phillips are also rather nice. Just don't expect to feel anything while going through the motions.