Sunday, June 25, 2006

Black And Blue And Green All Over

Since my last post, I read a couple more of those Blauwbloezen (Blueshirts) books I bought, alongside this week’s new comic book releases (a whopping 10 issues, it would’ve been 11 if the store had had a copy of Robin, but not a week goes by without Diamond “forgetting” to ship them something, so no luck for me, which benefited DC, since I picked up the first issue of the new Flash series in its stead, like the total dope I am). What’s meant to follow is some quick thoughts on my reads, but odds on me being concise are rather against me, I fear!

In “Black Face”, Blutch and Chesterfield are saddled with a sticky assignment: as the only able cavalry soldiers, they are to escort one of the black men of the Northern army (a gravedigger, because “that’s all they’re good for”, or so he feels) behind the southern lines, where the so-called Black Face (named thus when he registered in the army) is to incite riots among his fellow blacks, to undermine the opposing troops. It’s a nasty scheme, which is only underscored by the bleak gallows humour used throughout the issue. There is a real sense of menace and doom when Black Face, instead of following orders, decides that it’d be much better for American blacks to not only raise arms against the southerners, but against all whites, because they are being used as cheap labourers on either side of the border anyway. Posing as doctors in the enemy camp, Blutch and Chesterfield are witness to the rage of the oppressed slaves, which burns with a fire much brighter than they had anticipated, both figuratively and quite literally.

When Black Face crosses the border to start his mayhem anew, general Alexander orders a bunch of soldiers who had been imprisoned for murdering some of their own men (particularly black men) to cut down the rioters before they can cause any real damage. To make matters worse, they are dressed in grey uniforms so that the chiefs of staff don’t have to deal with riots in their own camp when the gravediggers have to go bury the bodies. Chesterfield, prodded by the ever-conscientious Blutch, attempts to prevent the coming bloodbath, but Black Face will not listen and decides to take the killer troops to hell with him when he shoots a crate of gun powder, with explosive results. Our two leads are able to thwart the general’s twisted plot though, by removing all the uniforms from the dead, which puts them in a tight spot when they are found out. Luckily, they receive aid from an unexpected corner, resulting in everything being back as it used to be, with the corporal and sergeant as part of Stark’s cavalry, but with much heavier consciences.

As far as I’m concerned, this is one of the most serious issues they’ve ever done, without the quirkiness that permeates other stories. The pacing is rapid and the art is fluid and action-packed as ever. Despite his generic name, Black Face is a complex character who makes one think about the role of black men and women during not only the “barbaric” times of the Civil War, but during the many decades to follow as well. The notion of such blatant inequality in a country where “all men are created equal” remains a fascinating one, no matter what the time period. Cauvin’s ability to infuse humour in a plot that’s so genuinely dark is testament to his highly developed skills. That same talent can be found in “Rumberley”, which deals with the heavily wounded cavalry troops being left in the small town of Rumberley, which unfortunately turns out to be on the side of the South. Even though the town is inhabited only by the old men, women and children—as all able-bodied men are at the frontlines—Blutch (who is not amongst the wounded, having stayed out of the battle like he always does) has to deal with a large number of angry civilians who revile the soldiers abruptly left in their care. Unwilling as they are to share their water with the cavalry troops, the inhabitants of Rumberley are consigning them to a gloomy fate. Even worse, they have alerted the Southern Army, and imprisonment can only lead to a painful demise.

Blutch and Chesterfield are unwilling to give up without a fight though, even if they have to fight the southern cavalry troops all by their lonesome, with results that are both riveting and hilarious. Help arrives in the form of an ailing cavalry, the wounded barely keeping themselves together, followed by a mêlée which begins to endanger the continued survival of the town. Cooler heads prevail and a stop is put to the fires that are erupting everywhere, but alas, the cruelty of war knows no boundaries when a nearby battle spills over into Rumberley, which ends up being destroyed by stray mortar shells. No matter the often amusing interaction between Blutch, Chesterfield and their superiors or opponents, Cauvin and Lambil do not hide from their audience that war is a truly ugly affair, both unforgiving and unforgivable, without having to resort to blood and gore like certain superhero comic book writers are wont to do. It’s a genuine shame these aren’t being produced in English, as far as I know.

Out of the comics I bought, I’m picking just the one, the Giant-Size Hulk special, which wasn’t so special because of its two original stories by former writer Peter David and current Planet Hulk scribe Greg Pak, although both these tales had their moments and were helped by artists who were firing on all cilinders (Juan Santacruz and Aaron Lopresti, respectively). What made it my best buy this week was the reprint of PAD and Dale Keown’s “Hulk: The End” story, a one-shot published a few years ago which chronicled, as billed, the final Hulk story. Peter David was the very best choice for such a story due to his long attachment to the character, having written him for over a decade until internal politics forced him to leave the series (which is a true shame because those politics ended up fizzling out soon afterwards, depriving us from a wild ride towards the never-seen #500). Dale Keown was one of the most popular artists ever to grace the pages of the Hulk, but he had left many moons before to do some creator-owned stuff (which amounted to virtually nothing, so it’s a shame Keown left before doing #400, although on the plus side, that did give us an early glimpse of what Chris Bachalo would have in store for us soon after). Put them both together and you get a classic creative team for a blockbuster story, showing us a Bruce Banner struggling to live life as the last human on Earth after nuclear war broke out. Most men would’ve been driven mad by the sheer loneliness, not to mention being hunted down by the long-foretold inheritors of Earth, but the Hulk’s continued desire to walk the planet despite Banner’s protests is what makes for the most interesting conflict, despite the visual gross-out treat we get when the Hulk is torn to pieces time and again by mutates cockroaches, having to reassemble himself with his accelerated healing factor.

It’s a simple, straightforward story: after all these years of being trapped inside him, the Hulk truly hates “puny Banner”, while Banner will do anything to stop the Hulk from gaining control. I was unlucky enough to miss out on this psychodrama back when it was first published, so I am very grateful that Marvel reprinted it in an affordable format which throws us some extra bones in the form of the Planet Hulk tie-in and the charming little Champions vs. Hulk story. I may complain on and on about them in certain respects (you would not believe the disdain I feel for them having the temerity to write Peter Parker like an absolute dope, bowing to peer pressure as if he’s a skinny shy teenager all over again), but they do some nice things on regular occasion, and this is one of those nice things. Whether it makes up for an unending string of bad JMS-penned melodrama over in Amazing Spider-Man, is another matter entirely! “The Last Titan” is not only a can’t-miss for any Hulk fan, but might also be of note to anyone with even a passing interest in the character due to the impressive, evocative art (although Keown was much, much better when inked by Mark Farmer back in the day) and the chilling writing. After reading this though, it’s all the more disappointing, truth be told, that David’s return to the Hulk last year petered out so quickly, if you’ll pardon the horrible (if appropriate, all things considered) pun, because this story boldly stresses why PAD and the Hulk were a pretty perfect match. Much like the Hulk Flashback issue, this one-shot epic ends with a final page that is just perfect, making my spine tingle—and simply put, that’s some good comics writing right there, and well worth it for a mere five bucks!

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Looking In On The Blueshirts

When going to the toy store today to see whether the new Batman legos were available yet (only the Batwing/Joker combination so far, not cheap enough for my tastes so I’m holding off on it for now), I noticed that you could get 3 strips for the price of 2, so I splurged and spent 21 euros on 6 issues of “De Blauwbloezen”, which literally translates into English as “The Blueshirts”. It’s a nice deal, only 3 bucks 50 an issue, with each issue 46 pages long. Considering the quality in art and writing, coupled with high rereadibility, it becomes a very nice deal indeed. Best of all, it’s a series that focuses on two soldiers in the American Civil War, one of the eras in history that fascinates me the most. Their names are corporal Blutch and sergeant Chesterfield, the former a cowardly hero who constantly tries to desert while the latter is his blustering superior who gets them in trouble without fail in his eagerness to please.


Now, unlike American comics, European strips aren’t produced on a monthly basis, so there are only 49 issues of this particular series so far, despite the characters having been conceived nearly 40 (!) years ago. Also unlike many American comics, older issues are kept available to a new audience through consistent, quality reprints, enabling me to purchase #8, 15, 20, 27, 28 and 48 without a problem. On the bus drive home from work, I read #8, which was built around the use of hot air balloons during the Civil War. What’s really nice about these stories is that they are without a doubt all-ages fun, full of humour, action and adventure, but they have a dark edge to them because of the pretty gruesome setting. After all, the Civil War was one of the bloodiest conflicts in human history—which is why it bothers me to see Marvel referring to it with their current event mini, without actually doing anything remotely close to what happened in those days when a once proud union was torn to pieces. But I shall refrain from ranting about that (for now! :p)


Each and every issue of the series is a completely self-contained story, which often cleverly refers to previous tales without becoming burdened by its own continuity, much like the Simpsons manage. The central dynamic always revolves around Chesterfield’s zealous principles and Blutch’s unabashed lack of respect for his commanding officer. Despite their frequent violent (yet funny) clashes, deep down they are friends, who will always try to help the other out of a pickle, even if soon after the cycle of spiteful resentment starts all over again.


Most stories will take a historical fact and spin a fantastic little tale around it, like the hot air balloons to observe the enemy in this one, or the use of camels in the yankee army in another. Moreover, the stories are suitable for young and old, with different layers of comedy, ranging from the visually farcical to the verbally witty. Best of all, the seriousness of the war is contrasted starkly with the many moments of humour sprinkled throughout the series. It’s often rather jarring to witness a big panel full of death and pain, followed swiftly by another Blutch-inspired prank, but in a good way though. The fanciful yarns by plotter/scripter Cauvin are infused with a life of their own thanks to artist Lambil’s inspired work: the balance between realism (found in the use of anatomy for both humans and horses, and the background detail) and cartoony action (evidenced in the cover or in the panel below, for instance) is just about perfect.


I imagine this would be a delightful series to read with one’s children, if you’re prepared to explain some of the questions that might pop up (like simply “why are the blue ones fighting the grey ones”, come to think of it, not so easy to answer...) Blutch’s incessant attempts to flee the army, followed by Chesterfield’s unrelenting struggles to drag him back whenever the escape attempt is actually successful, are hilarious enough in their own right, but the use of existing generals who have to deal with their incompetent bravery is worth several cherries on top. Add in a supporting character in the form of cavalry lieutenant Stark who’s a bit weird in the head (all too eager to lead his men into a battle they won’t return from) and several fleshed out antagonists in the course of the series, and you get can’t-miss story after must-have saga.


This particular one about the “Flyers of the Cavalry” is actually one of the best ones I’ve read so far, and they’re always of a high standard. The concept is sufficiently madcap, while rooted firmly in reality, urging me to read up more on the Civil War yet again (which is made much easier by my darling girlfriend, who’s providing me with ample reading material to keep me happy :D) I laughed out loud several times, in public, which is always a boon when reading a funny-book. I’ve always enjoyed a mixture of dangerous adventure and slapstick comedy, which is something that Belgian, Dutch and French strips are rather adept at, if I do say so myself :)

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Ten Reasons Why I Loved Wonder Woman #1

I’d say they’re in no particular order, but they are actually in the order of the story pages themselves, so spoilers aplenty! Here they come:

1. Donna Troy’s new outfit looks, well, wonderful, like an amazonian battle armor instead of an old-fashioned go-go-America bathing suit. When she went “My name is Donna Troy...”, I added “...the most wondrous woman alive” à la Flash :)

2. Donna’s internal monologue sounds realistic and fulfills a proper function within the story, both as exposition and as motivation. Okay, sometimes it’s still as clumsy as ever, but that’s par for the course in comics not written by Alan Moore, I think ;)

3. Steve Trevor is being held hostage (and I guessed he’s be in this issue), boo-yah!

4. The Cheetah is fully human again and looking incredible in the Dodsons’ full-page splash. Simply fantastic, menace-filled eye candy.

5. A giant foot in a Wonder Woman comic can mean only one thing: GIGANTA! Double boo-yah!! (and her saying “Wonder Woman is BOUND to show herself” cracked me up, I’m betting it was meant to, as well, considering the bondage themes of old WW stories :p)

6. Enjoyable banter between Donna and Steve while Giganta is trying to stomp them. Fun!

7. Another scrumptious splash page when the “real” Wonder Woman shows up to stop the Cheetah from killing Donna. More for how delicious Barbara Minerva looks than for that bathing suit WW is sporting though ;) Go Dodsons!

8. Whoa, clash of the Wonder Women! With bloody results! Leading to yet another splash page which looks absolutely stunning, featuring three of Diana’s most classic foes. All we need now is an appearance of Egg Fu!

9. Allan Heinberg going all “gotcha!”, revealing that Steve Trevor is not at all what or who he seemed.

10. Which brings us to the final, brilliant splash page, featuring another old staple of Wonder Woman comics, back when they completely retooled her in the seventies: secret agent Diana Prince in a hot white jump-suit, triple boo-yah!!! Now all we need is I Ching and I’ll squeal like a girl, really I will!

I’m frankly amazed that I liked this issue so much, because it is a rather stock, rote plot, yet the art and writing are both bubbly fun, like a nice action movie, so I didn’t even mind that seven whole pages were splashes (5 full-page and 1 double-page at the beginning), because the Dodsons sell it with ease. Compliments must go to colorist Alex Sinclair as well, who did a lovely job on the entire issue, with the final page being literally outstanding. The only minor negatives are the relatively generic cover, and the very first page which has the camera focusing on different parts of Donna’s body before revealing her fully, that didn’t work for me. I’m also still left scratching my head why it’s bad for a warrior princess to kill her enemies though. Especially when said enemies are obviously murderers (and Diana’s done it from the very start of her previous series when she killed Phobos, or was it Deimos, in v2 #6, ages ago). I blame it on liberalism, heh.

And a final downside is that between Allan Heinberg and the Dodsons, I can’t possibly see this being a monthly. A bimonthly if we’re lucky. On the upside, I hope that it’ll mean a complete run of Dodson art instead of fill-ins by #3, like they’re doing with Checkmate and Blue Beetle. Terry and Rachel are a perfect match for Wonder Woman with their cheesecake art, but they’re a delight in all other areas as well, so I have absolutely no complaints there, while Heinberg seems to rather know what he’s doing, so I’ve got faith in future issues being just as enjoyable, if not timely. All in all though, I'm happy as pie. Mmmm, pie ;)

Friday, June 16, 2006

One Blah

In the massacred version of U2's "One", Mary J Blige sings "Did I disappoint you, or leave a bad taste in your mouth?"

I can only answer that with a resounding "Yes!"

"One" being one of my favorite songs by U2, it galls me that Bono felt it necessary to see it butchered like this (he's definitely culpable since he doesn't even properly sound like himself in it, talk about phoning it in).

In my imagination, Scott Summers and Cocoon-Woman had *this* yucky version playing at their sham of a wedding. Ah, being mean on a weblog and involve comics somehow, for no reason other than I can. I love it :)

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Civil War Inanity

Just a quick thought on the arguments people are having about Marvel's Civil War, in particular about what kicked it off, the supposed "criminal negligence" of the New Warriors. I read the following comment somewhere:

"When you provoke a fight in a populated area that results in collateral damage, yeah, you better answer for your actions."

Why, I wonder, is this person reading superhero comics? The very concept is based around vigilantism, about provoking fights, about destroying property. Grab any given Marvel back issue, be it one written by Stan Lee, Roy Thomas, Gerry Conway, David Michelinie, Roger Stern, John Byrne, Chris Claremont, Fabian Nicieza, Peter David, Brian Michael Bendis or Mark Millar (just trying to cover a whole chunk of history here, there's dozens more, naturally), and you'll see property being destroyed and, yes, civilians endangered.

While it always bugged me that the X-Men were particularly callous when Claremont wrote them, not giving a hand after destroying a town after a vicious fight with the Juggernaut, for instance, there are apparently a great deal of people out there, including Marvel's own writers, who cannot see that violence and destruction is one of the solid tropes of the genre.

By the above logic, every single hero should be incarcerated, even Captain America (an icon) and Thor (a god!). When Spider-Man engaged Doctor Octopus in battle and indirectly caused George Stacy's death by dodging Ock's blows, did that make him criminally negligent?

I understand that the New Warriors were doing their reality show bit, but come on, you've got established villains, you've got seasoned heroes, why can't they do what they've been doing since Acts Of Vengeance and kick some supervillain butt? What's suddenly different, other than the typical Millar plot-hammering?

Nitro is the one who decided to blow up Stamford. He's the actual criminal. Speedball and the others are just superheroes doing what they always do: fight, and fight, and fight (and actually save lives in the process, imagine that).

On a world where Washington DC was obliterated by Kang the Conqueror, not a dream, not a hoax, it was gone, destroyed, all the citizens dead, it seems weak that this Stamford tragedy is the so-called tipping point to suddenly go after all superheroes and hate their guts. You'd think the logical response would be going after the super-powered criminals and then eliminate them, something the heroes have always been loath to do. That is a moral dilemma, because either the heroes stop the government from killing villains left and right but by doing so allow murderers to make more victims, or they help them and become accessories to murder themselves.

Right now we get a meek retread of the selfsame Super Power Registration Act that was doled out back in the late 80s during the very Acts Of Vengeance storyline that originated the New Warriors. If there were any inkling that the creators at Marvel are aware of their own past stories, and would use them as a foundation for the current storyline, that'd be something, at least. But all I'm sensing is a bunch of amateurs trying to be politically relevant, being supported by either a great deal of newbie fanboys who don't know much about Marvel before Quesada came along, or possibly old-timers who have become disdainful of the genre and like seeing it shaken up and tossed about.

I just find it hard to fathom that anyone who's enjoyed Marvel for what it originally stood for, i.e. superhero punching meets high (melo)drama, telling a compelling story in the process that made you care about not just the heroes but the villains as well (even more so, in some ways, because antagonistsdo make a character), would be a fan of the recurring deconstruction of the core elements, trying to apply "real life" to situations that are meant to be fantastic.

And if you think I'm ranting now, while they're just playing around with revealing identities and some same-old persecuting of the good guys (when applying that same "real life", obviously registering is the only decent thing to do though, when you've got the power to blow people to atoms by sneezing, so to speak, so the entire argument is moot anyway), just wait until they start mucking about with Spider-Man's marriage. AGAIN.

Hmm, using a weblog for ranting, I should do it more :p

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Rapid Fire Reviews #2 - Releases since May 24th

It’s been a while since I’ve done any reviews, so I’ll randomly pick issues I’ve bought and read since the last time I did this.

While FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD SPIDER-MAN #9 mainly focused on the 2211 characters (last and only seen in the Spider-Man 2099 Meets Spider-Man special, one I haven’t yet read, nor knew of until the appearance of Hobgoblin 2211), I thought it was largely entertaining, in no small part due to Wieringo’s smooth, fun pencils. It’s nothing to write home about, but at least I didn’t feel like I wasted my money as I did with the Masks two-parter in #6-7. Lots of cute bits, which is par for the course with Peter David, but I appreciate how solidly set in the Marvel Universe his stories are. This title is painfully slow in gathering steam though, which is a bit of a let-down when one considers it combines my two favorite Peters in comics (Parker and David), not to mention that some of my favorite Spidey stories from the days of old were penned by PAD. This was pretty good, but could and should still be better. Still, he's bringing back Mysterio soon, I'm all thrilled about that. Because I'm a sucker, you see ;)

I haven’t yet read INCREDIBLE HULK #95, the final part of the first arc of the Planet Hulk saga, but I just wanted to mention that I simply adore the cover where gladiator-Hulk and the Savage Surfer go at it. Simply smashing, if you pardon the particularly lame pun :) I flipped through it though and I actually rather like the exaggerated art. Seeing a few pages of Marshall Rogers penciling the Surfer is always a treat as well. One of the rare cases where I feel I already got my 3 bucks’ worth just for the cover alone. I do have to wonder whether anyone at Marvel realizes they've exiled the Hulk before, and that it was Doctor Strange who was responsible for it (the same Doctor Strange who got all miffed about the very notion this time around, because Bendis wrote him like a stupid mook in the Illuminati one-shot, bah). Mmm, I liked those exiled Hulk stories, pretty Sal Buscema and Mike Mignola (!) art with wonderful finishes by Gerry Talaoc. Those were the days, but then along came Byrne... (memory lane in comics is one hell of a walk!) Anyway...

When I reviewed the opening chapter of Brubaker’s BOOKS OF DOOM, lo these many moons ago, I was hoping there’d be some interesting twists, rather than just a straight retelling of Lee and Kirby’s original origin tale from the second FF annual, only stretched over 6 monthly issues instead of just the one-shot they created. Even though in the end this added nothing to the mythos, it was at least respectful of the source material, I thought, and crafted well enough. The highlight is Pablo Raimondi’s art, which was great throughout, with some particularly beautiful pages in this final issue (one of my favorites is when Doom dons his awesome cloak for the very first time after taking it off Latveria’s monarch, whom he had just killed with his not-so-bare hands). Seeing that silly little crown on his armored head in the next scene made me laugh out loud though, can’t imagine that was the intended effect. In any case, between Paolo Rivera’s neat-looking covers and the inside art, I can’t complain too much, but for 18 bucks I would’ve liked some more meat. I’m sure it’ll be a nice-looking trade paperback though, worth picking up if you’re craving yourself some Doom, depending on your knowledge of him.

IRON MAN: THE INEVITABLE (which in Tony Stark's case could refer to taxes just as well, heh) was a mini-series that I think got put on the schedule simply because Iron Man fans weren’t getting to see his own ongoing, slow as molasses (and highly overrated) as Avi Granov was, so this was a way to tide them over. Over the course of these past six issues, Joe Casey mucked about with a new Spymaster and an updated Ghost, while bringing back the Living Laser (only to apparently remove him from the scene again at the end, bah), so by today’s standards, it was pretty packed with classic villainy. Interestingly, Frazer Irving provided the art, which is very sparse, which somehow works for this story. You’d expect his esoteric, self-colored work to be more suitable for a spookier environment (as was the case on Seven Soldiers: Klarion), while the highly technological world of Tony Stark asks for more detail, but for me it was highly pleasing to look at. I did feel a certain disconnect, while reading it in monthly instalments, but I’m looking forward to rereading it as a whole, so I’m mildly recommending it, at least for Iron Man fans (of which there might not be many left, I’m figuring...)

Renato Guedes is another one of those self-coloring artists, whose latest work in ACTION COMICS #839 I didn’t like as much as I had hoped. I’ve been more fond of Pete Woods’s work on other parts of this “Up, Up, And Away!” arc. That is not to say I disliked it, because there were several pages which were simply awe-inspiring, but a bunch of others seemed “off” somehow, a bit unfinished in the faces sometimes, I’m not quite sure how to define it. I was particularly happy though with the splash page where Superman looms over the gathered villains and the page where he hovers over Metropolis. Both are inspiring images with quality coloring, so they deserve a mention. Writing-wise, I was dismayed to see Clark returning to the old “faking weakness to go play Superman” routine, but I dare hope that Busiek and Johns are planning for a new twist with Perry finally looking into this strange behavior after a year of Clark being a class act. Luthor’s artefact/weapon isn’t setting my imagination on fire either, but maybe the next chapter will change that. Compared to the kick-off point, this was pretty middling.

Even though “Parental Guidance” is in the middle of the arc as well, things are coming to a nice boil over in the pages of RUNAWAYS #16, with the teen drama escalating (pleasantly so!) and the machinations of the bad guys spelling certain doom for our young heroes (trying to stay vague here so I don’t spoil anything for Sequoia, whose last issue was #8 or so, I think, so she has to catch up as soon as she gets here!) The dialogue is as sparkling as ever and of course the art by Alphona, Yeung and Strain remains unique and compelling thanks to its expressive nature and unusual color palette. It’s a crying shame not more people are reading this, but I’m happy Marvel’s seen fit to already give us 34 issues with hopefully many more to come. The only disappointment is the cover, because I loved Jo Chen’s work and even though I’m generally a fan of Marcos Martin, this just doesn’t really work for the Runaways. When this series was first announced, 3 or 4 years ago now, I scoffed at the notion of a book about kids of supervillains, but after trying out the first issue, I rapidly became a fan of its realistic depiction of super-powered youngsters who are trying to deal with the dangerous, exciting situations they find themselves embroiled in. Pretty much excellent.

Sadly, I cannot say the same for JSA #86, the penultimate issue of the current series. Upon first hearing about Paul Levitz writing a Gentleman Ghost arc, penciled by both Rags Morales and Luke Ross, I was excited. I don’t know if it’s the Ordway guest art that made the weaknesses stand out (I usually like his work though) but this issue felt decidedly weak. Usually any story featuring my favorite oddball DC villain will automatically get a pass, so when I feel let down by said story, something’s seriously amiss. It comes across as the decidedly glorified fill-in story it is, only stretched over five issues instead of the usual one. I’m also less than appreciative of DC’s tendency to ignore its own (recent!) continuity. Geoff Johns, aided and abetted by James Robinson, came up with an origin for Gentleman Jim Craddock’s ghostly existence only a few years ago, which ties him closely to Carter Hall, the once and future Hawkman. My knowledge of that story, which I rather liked, seriously hampers my enjoyment here, Superboy punches be damned. All in all, this series is hobbling to a sad demise, but it won’t stop me from picking up the retitled and renumbered JSA ongoing in a few months. So I guess DC still wins ;)

Speaking of continuity, the new SPECTRE mini-series by Will Pfeifer and Cliff Chiang doesn’t appear to adhere to it either, which irks me to no end, despite the really nice art. Over in the pages of Infinite Crisis, it was clearly shown that the Spectre was already merged with Crispus Allen (and still as hell-bent on unholy vengeance as he ever was). In this opening chapter, he instead gives Allen an offer to think about it for a year, acting all calm and sedate. Editor Matt Idelson should be ashamed of himself for not coordinating this better just so it can fit in the “One Year Later” mold (which isn’t even shown on the cover, so I don’t see why they couldn’t just run with it as set up in IC). This feels painfully generic, with writer and editor alike evidently not having a clear grasp of the character, as there is no reason given for why the Spectre would need or want Allen as a host at all (on the contrary, both recent and older stories have shown the Spectre preferring to be hostless) or why he would lay low for an entire year just so the dead cop can make his long-delayed decision. The art is the redeeming element, as Chiang is highly talented, although once again I’m left wondering why on earth the Wrath of God would wear green boy-shorts. I can dig the cloak and gloves, but the shorts are just silly. Not to mention the goatee! Although I guess it did get established during Ostrander's run that the Spectre takes the appearance (somewhat) of his host body. But still!

I’ve got quite a few more to do, so I’ll just put these up already and tackle the rest later today (hopefully, with me you never know :p)

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Day Of The Doctor!

I just finished watching the concluding chapter of a pretty darn fun Doctor Who two-parter and felt like quickly reminding the world at large why this is a show worth watching (other than nostalgia). Even though David Tennant and Billie Piper overact and chew the scenery like a pair of starving maniacs in this particular epic, their performances are highly entertaining taken in the context of the Doctor’s madcap approach to life, love and the universe. Moreover, it is exactly because of their outrageous glee throughout their space- and time-hopping that the quiet scenes where they are faced with potentially losing one another become so distinctly poignant. These scenes are immeasurably helped by the musical score, which trickles down from its bombastic barrage of sound and fury during the climactic moments to a subtle, contemplative, mournful violin piece when appropriate, without any jarring shifts at all.

In this particular tale, the Doctor and Rose become trapped on a small planet that could not possibly be where it is (on the event horizon of a black hole), harbouring a secret that could threaten the universe entire if uncovered. Naturally, the select group of humans settled here (working for Torchwood, this season’s returning motif à la last year’s “Bad Wolf”—watch for the spin-off soon, fandom!) are unwittingly close to freeing none other than the Beast (not Kelsey Grammer) from the pit he’s been chained in “since before time itself”. It’s a high-octane merger of sci-fi and dark fantasy, with some terrific special effects, smattered profusely with the Doctor’s musings about the nature of humanity and why he loves us all. I’m not kidding :p

The various characters inhabiting the so-called “impossible planet” may be a bunch of ciphers and caricatures, but they provide both the Doctor and Rose ample fodder to realise what they mean to one another, even if the words “I love you” are never uttered once. They come close several times and their grief is palpable when they think they (will) have lost the other, but each deals with said grief in their own way. The Doctor, after having lost so many, chooses for quiet acceptance of whatever fate awaits him, while Rose flips out, keeping her eye on the prize in the end though and saving the cosmos from damnation. I don’t know how they manage to make what technically is a stock, pedestrian plot so compelling, but they do, they really do.

Of course, I must admit that back in the day I found Buffy the Vampire Slayer a thrilling show, the first several seasons at least, and looking back on it I mainly get a bad taste in my mouth, so perhaps this current series of Doctor Who is destined to become just as reviled by me down the road. Right now though, I genuinely look forward to Saturday nights for a new adventure, anticipating the thrill of seeing a classic villain updated for the new millennium (bring back the Master, dammit!) or finding out in what period of history the Tardis has landed this time around. That’s one of the most appealing aspects of the Doctor Who series: virtually anything is possible, and any genre can be explored, giving it a leg up on most shows, which are usually stuck in the genre they started out with. In recent memory only Farscape has given me the same kind of unexpected thrills coupled with oddball yet strong acting as Doctor Who has.

Which makes me want to start rewatching Farscape again so very badly, but I shall have to wait until the love of my life makes her glorious return so we can watch the series together. And we’ve got Battlestar Galactica to watch as well, sheesh, lots of sci-fi awaiting us, we’ll have to cleanse the palate with some comedy, some medical drama, some spooky murder mysteries and some romantic movies as well then. Mmm, July, I cannot wait for thee!

And with that, I take my leave for the night, still not having fulfilled the promise of an X3 review. Don’t I suck? :)

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Quick thought on violence in comics

I've been complaining on a regular basis about the increased gore that writers like Geoff Johns and Judd Winick (and Charlie Huston on Moon Knight) use in their comics. While flipping through some old Superman comics, I noticed that George Peréz didn't shy away from it either back when he did a fairly short-lived stint on Action Comics (his appreciation of bloodiness reaches a boiling point in the never-finished, twice-canceled Crimson Plague series starring DiNA: Simmons--yes, she's really called that!)

In the opening scene of "My Lady Maxima!", published 17 years ago (my, how time flies!) this new arrival to the Superman universe shows she can blow a man away in her very own way:



Note, however, that unlike the recent dismembering and brain-popping in Infinite Crisis and 52, we're left more with the clear impression of gore rather than the exact depiction of it. It's obvious what happens, but it's not as detailedly sick as the images we are presented with these days. Both art and coloring hide as much as they show. It could be argued that comics are "growing up" but I feel like it's more of an adolescent downslide, that phase were kids get all giddy about doing gross stuff.

Me, I definitely prefer the example above, obviously. It says something about DC at the time though that Maxima actually got to be part of the Justice League! (although I admit that I don't remember whether she was in her own mind at the time of this story, but even so...)

As an aside, those few Perez-drawn (and plotted!), Brett Breeding-finished issues of Action (including Annual #2) were awesome to behold. Such tight art, it deserves a post all of its own on a later date.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Story Time!

As can be evidenced from the reviews down below, X3 made quite the impression on my sweetheart, so much so that she broke through the block and wrote what I perceive to be an excellently haunting story. Disclaimers by Sequoia first, then read onwards...

* * * * *

Marvel characters belong to Marvel and no money is being made. X3 continuity. While watching the film, I realized there were two ways to view Jean Grey given her behavior as a child and the emergence of an alter - either the child was always a bitchy little psycho and the Jean persona was nothing more than a neutered Phoenix; or some traumatic event had occured during the manifesting of her powers, giving rise to the attitude and laying groundwork for a split. I prefer the latter because I like my Jean and Phoenix well shaken, not limply stirred and then whined about when they can’t think of anything to do with Jean besides "Phoenix" stories. The Phoenix is an integral part of her personality, even before it was given a name, and to strip it away is as as damaging to the character as stripping away the The Jean.

I drew on personal life experiences while writing this, downplaying some events and exaggerating others. It was quite cathartic and I’m glad I wrote it. I would give it an adult theme warning, but, well, that seems wrong, since the character involved is not yet an adult but must deal with those "themes", like so many of us, and there is never a warning.

* * * * *


AND SHE WAS

Tim Harper, with his blond curls and easy smile, his Track medals and his Scouting badges, lives three streets over and one down. The Harper’s pristine white house has blue shutters and a sanguine cataract of roses that spill upward onto the porch roof and lay like a cat in the sun.

Tim is popular and funny and smells of sweet mint tea. He has been going with Sara since homecoming and tells all his friends he loves her. Sara wears his ring around her neck and tapes photographs of them at the lake on her mirror and in her locker, next to Jackson Browne. She tells her friends that at NYU next year, she’ll date other boys.

Tim invites Jean along when he and Sara watch videos on his family’s 20-inch television, and Mrs. Harper feeds them warm, crusty bread slathered with butter and honey that melts in little rivers on their hands. Jean tells her own mother, who is a nurse and too tired to bake except on birthdays, about the bread; and Elaine stops folding towels and says the next time the hospital gives her a day off they’ll bake, just the two of them. Jean takes Mastering The Art of French Cooking Volume 2 out of the library until they’ll no longer let her; but that’s all right because the hospital won’t let Elaine have a day either.

Tim stays for dinner once a week and talks to their father about politics and the Challenger. He mows their lawn, cuts pictures of horses from magazines for her wall and comes to her dance recitals. So when he says, ‘Jeanie, come on, I want to show you something,’ she goes.

It’s the last day of summer vacation and she intends to spend it outside, even with the sun this hot and high, and Annie visiting her grandparents in Poughkeepsie. Hours on the swings, striving for height, for the buckling of the chains and the dizzying rush of freefall, have made her legs sore and wobbly, her hair a tangled mess at the nape of her neck. She leaves her sandals by the swings and holds her sundress above her knees, wading into the stream that cuts through the park, picking her way over the rocks and chasing crayfish with her toes.

The field the neighborhood kids use for soccer and softball is littered with buttercups and dandelions and crumpled brown lunch bags. Tim waits on the other side, where the stream curves into the wood that stands between the park and the Davidson’s house, and leads her into the trees where the filtered sunlight dapples shadows on their skin and twigs snap beneath their feet.

What Tim wants her to see is a fat tree with plum colored leaves, a hundred yards from the field. He picks up a stick and pokes something amid the exposed roots. ‘It must have fallen out of the nest,’ he says, and Jean kneels beside him. It is a sparrow, one wing twisted at an unnatural angle.

Jean strokes the trembling body with one finger, says, ‘I’ll bring it home.’ Tim is smiling when she looks up, a peculiar, detached smile that makes her cross when she feels the thrumming of the tiny heart against her thumb. She’ll run home for a shoebox. A jar lid filled with water and a bed of grass. ‘My mom will know what to do.’

He blocks her way when she stands. She’s very cross now, tension coiling in her stomach. ‘Stop it, Tim.’

‘I want to show you something,’ he says again, and unzips his pants. Still smiling. She tries to run past him and he catches her around the waist. Slams her into the ground so hard she couldn’t draw air enough to scream even if his hand weren’t tight against her mouth.

‘Shhh...shhh,’ he whispers, against her ear, making it wet with his breath, and she retches, her body vibrating like the sparrow. His other hand is toying with the strap on her sundress. He lets it drift on top of the cloth, touching her small, budding breast. She remembers the newspaper headlines her father doesn’t want her to see: Local Man Charged With Indecent Act.

‘Don’t be scared,’ Tim says, his voice quiet and gentle, and she stares at him, stiffening. ‘I like you, Jean. I don’t want you to be scared.’

Jean nods and he takes his hand from her mouth. She can breathe now, shallow and ragged, her whole face tingling. The trees are rocking from side to side, rustling purple leaves shot through with gold, and none of this seems real. None of this makes sense. Tim wouldn’t do this to her or to Sara. She thinks of Sara, beautiful, self-assured Sara, and Tim looks startled. ‘Sara doesn’t have to know,’ he says. He rubs his penis against her leg and she jerks away. ‘She wouldn’t understand.’

He is still holding her down, his hand heavy on her breast, and when she meets his eyes she knows he is a liar, that her fear is what he wants most. She tries to sit up and something inside her shifts instead, pulling softly at the base of her skull, fiery tendrils of electricity that flicker and weave through her head to pool in her temples. Tim presses one finger to her lips. His own lips make the shape ‘no one will understand’ but what she hears is ‘no one will believe you’.

Jean bites down on the finger and kicks between his legs, her toes smashing into the alien heat of his penis; and he howls and rocks back, radiating waves of black she sees behind her eyes. She half-runs, half-falls towards the water and Tim is right behind her, his hand crushing her wrist, pain pulsing up her arm, across her chest, as he pushes her down.

She pushes back against him, tearing at his teeshirt and neck with her nails. His fingers are under her dress, yanking her underwear aside, shoving into her body.

It is so bewildering that for a moment Jean cannot think or breathe or be. He drives his fingers deeper, deeper, twisting inside; she digs her heels into the dirt and sobs, trying to dislodge his weight and escape his hand and the tearing pain. Hot urine soaks her underwear and his fingers, the dirt beneath them.

And then he stops, shuddering, and Jean realizes he has been touching himself. He wipes his hands on his teeshirt, smearing her blood and his semen on the cotton. She feels empty, ransacked. Humiliated.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tim says as he zips up his pants and kneels beside her, ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ His voice is gentle, like before, but she can almost smell the lies now, blistering the air.

Jean’s heart is beating too fast, everything is shimmering, slipping. She pulls her sundress down over her knees, the pretty yellow fabric torn and dirtied, blood sticky on her thighs. ‘I want to go home,’ she says, and he shushes her, tries to smooth her hair, says they need to clean her up. ‘I want to go home,’ she insists, and stumbles to her feet.

‘Not yet,’ he says calmly. ‘You can’t tell anyone about this, Jeanie. They wouldn’t understand. Your sister - ’

‘I want to go home!’ Jean shrieks, desperate for her mother. Tim is telling her to shut up bitchshutupbitch without moving his mouth. ‘I want to go -’

He grabs her throat, cutting off her voice. She gags, gasping noiselessly for air, not strong enough to pry his hateful fingers from her neck. She cannot keep her eyes open. Cannot move her body. Cannot think of anything but the immense darkness that has seeped into every piece of her. And yet -

There is a roaring inside, a mad burning that fills her lungs, her heart, her head, as Tim lays her down beside the stream. He folds her hands across her unmoving chest, and now it is the sour taste of his fear, and not her own, that washes through her. Pinwheels of light spiral wildly and burst like firecrackers, illuminating the dark, her whole being churning, restless, seeking.

Her eyes are open, staring at the sun. Oxygen fills her lungs. She stretches out her arms by her sides, palms flat against the shaking earth, the trees groaning as they bend towards her. Water and stones, leaves and branches, swirl around them. Tim opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. And then he’s swirling too, faster and faster, until there is nothing left.

+ + +


When Jean opens her eyes again, the sky is marbled pink and orange and red. She lies perfectly still and listens to her heartbeat. Except for the pain in her throat, her wrist, between her legs, she is numb. All blunt edges.

The sparrow with the broken wing is dead, its tiny skull caved in. She buries it in the plummy leaves and sits by the makeshift grave until the sun has set. She walks back through the field, into the park, and realizes she is moving above the grass, the tip of each blade brushing against the soles of her feet. Streetlamps and porch lights pulse and go out as she passes.

Inside her own house there is a ten dollar bill and instructions to order pizza taped to the refrigerator. John has a lecture; Elaine is working a double shift so she can see her girls off in the morning. The 6th and the 12th grades are important, she says. You’re nearly finished.

Upstairs she can hear the stereo hitching, Don McLean grieving for Van Gogh in fragmented bursts. Jean knocks on the bedroom door and rests her forehead on the wood, pitching into Sara when it opens, her sister’s surprise becoming a strange wail when she sees the bruises on Jean’s neck and wrist, the stains on her dress.

‘Who did this?’ Sara keeps saying. ‘Who did this?’ Her thoughts are splashing against Jean’s own, a sick panic edged with violence; and Jean doesn’t know how to say it, where the words are, so she splashes back, filling Sara with a kaleidoscope of Tim and his fingers, dead birds and the delirium in her head.

Sara throws up all over the floor.

+ + +


They stand together, fingers entwined, papers and books tumbling against the ceiling. Sara decides that no one can know about Tim. This sudden, eerie ability cannot be hidden. If the police, the hospital, see what Jean can do, if they know about the assault, they will assume the rest when Tim does not come home. Mutants are a rare and dangerous anomoly, discussed in apprehensive tones even when they simply run faster or learn languages more quickly than they should. Their parents will feel enough devastation without knowing this, too.

Sara draws a bath, the water bubbling up and over the side; but Jean herself is pliable and worn, allowing Sara to help her wash until she can no longer smell him on her skin. Sara combs her wet hair and wraps her in one of their mother’s nightshirts, curling around her on the bed until Jean’s breathing steadies, papers gliding feather-like to the floor.

Sara makes sure the bathroom and bedroom are clean and straightened. Takes her sister’s ruined clothes and pushes them to the bottom of Mr. Cole’s garbage can next door. And sits quietly, brittle with guilt, at the kitchen table, waiting for her parents and the Harpers’ inevitable calls.

+ + +


In the days that follow, Sara discovers she is an excellent liar.

I am so sorry, Mrs. Harper, Mr. Harper. I didn’t see Tim yesterday. There was a party in the city but -

Yes, Officer, in Central Park. He must have changed his mind and left the flyer -

No, Officer, I didn’t want to go. He said he found a ride but it’s such a long way -

No, Mrs. Harper, I don’t know who with.


The community is sympathetic to her situation. She is a volunteer at the church and the soup kitchen, a good student. Her distress is palpable. Her teachers send her schoolwork home to her and she is interviewed by the local news. And yet, when the police announce they have all they need and the Harpers go with them, Sara’s relief is haunted by the certainty that it is due more to Jean’s will than her own deception.

Jean herself has become both fragile and imperious, burning with a slow, cold anger. When their parents mourn for the sudden loss of their loquacious, vibrant daughter, for her warmth and compassion, Jean explains in terse, measured tones that there is too much, she must hold herself close. She needs to be still inside or she will unravel.

Sara watches their parents move in a disconcerting fugue, intellectual and concerned, but unable to see.

+ + +


Jean sits three feet above the bed, her hair curling down in copper waves. She folds her hands across her chest and listens to her heart. Fireflies flicker behind her eyes. ‘They have a school,’ she says. She knew they were coming an hour before the doorbell, knew they were different. One hums bright inside her head, the other lays placid and dark.

Sara says, ‘Will you go?’

Jean gives her sister a half-smile, quick and curious, but does not answer.

She is listening.