Sean T. Collins has written about comics and popular culture professionally since 2001 and on this very blog since 2003. He has written for Maxim, The Comics Journal, Stuff, Wizard, A&F Quarterly, Comic Book Resources, Giant, ToyFare, The Onion, The Comics Reporter and more. His comics have been published by Top Shelf, Partyka, and Family Style. He blogs here and at Robot 6.
(Provided that I deem them suitably fabulous, your name and message will be considered eligible for publication unless you specify otherwise.) Review Copies Welcome
Based on Kazuo Umezu's Blood Baptism, this minicomic from Closed Caption Comics stalwart Ryan Cecil Smith--labeled "a grotesque horror manga" on its cover--is funny and queasily suspenseful in equal measure. One one level it's an experiment in wedding Smith's thin-lined, loose altcomix style to the doe-eyed, slackjawed strangeness of Umezu's character designs, and to the spectacle of his horrific "punchline" panels and pages. The wedding's a happy one, milked mainly for the blackly comedic effect of the contrast. This ironic tinge helps to capture the over-the-top emotional absurdity of this kind of material--in this story, a famous actress literally walks away from her own life and goes into hiding with her daughter on the promise of some sketchy doctor to heal her facial disfigurement if and only if she were to completely disappear from society. (Jeez, I consult the Internet for a second opinion over cough medicine.) Once we learn that the actress has been instructed by the doctor to procure one pure, beautiful young girl for his presumably nefarious purposes, Smith has a lot of fun ratcheting up the tension in horror-comedy style, first via a long, overly specific interrogation of the little girl by the actress, trying to make sure she hadn't told anyone she was coming over as she slowly locks all the windows and doors to prevent her escape; and second via a pictureless depiction of the actress's struggle to tie up the little girl, a series of blacked-out panels where the action is conveyed solely through sound effects ("MMMMMPHHHH, KICK, EEE, MMMPHH, PANT, TIE, STRUGGLE, PANT").
Yet at the same time, given the kinds of cruelty to children we know these comics are capable of, the material is actually quite dreadful amid its goofiness. You hate to think what this vein, horrible woman will do to this poor innocent orphan (you BET she's an orphan), and then you hate how easy it is for the woman to shift the blame to the little girl when she escapes and seeks aid. I was quite prepared to be sickened by whatever would happen to this poor kid; I dodged a bullet, but I know it was only through the restraint of the cartoonist that this occurred. For a formal exercise, it's striking stuff.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on March 12, 2010 at 2:12 PM|plink!
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* Remember when TV on the Radio's Tunde Adebimpe drew a picture of David Bowie for my David Bowie sketchbook? The Yellow Bird Project is now using it as a t-shirt design to raise money for Haiti relief. I'm very excited about this and am grateful and glad to have been a part of it. Buy one!
* I was sad to hear about the death of Corey Haim. Prior to the release of Crank: High Voltage, the only film of his I'd seen all the way through was The Lost Boys. (Blown Away I tended to fastforward to the good parts back in middle school.) But The Lost Boys is obviously a marvelous movie, and watching it recently, one of my favorite parts was Haim's one-of-a-kind performance as some kind of junior-high dandy.
Today's Comics Time review, which was to be hosted at the all-new all-different Savage Critics, has been gobbled up by a host switchover. I will be able to reconstruct it and post it tomorrow.
In the meantime, may I suggest you add the new Savage Critics RSS feed to your RSS readers. The switchover isn't automatic, so if you previously subscribed, you'll want to update it.
Thank you for your interest.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on March 10, 2010 at 7:20 PM|plink!
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* "May I please see the storage facility, Mr. Venkman?"
* Here's a phrase I never expected to hear in conjunction with Lost: "Directed by Mario Van Peebles."
* Tania Raymonde = Great Googly Moogly
* It would be odd of Ben's dad (legitimately great make-up job on Uncle Rico/the werewolf, by the way) to suggest that their life would have improved if they'd stayed on the Island had a nuclear bomb gone off and sunk it to the bottom of the sea, right?
* But who knows what kind of strange rules apply in a world where high school principals exercise dictatorial control over the budget and teachers jockey for power to replace them in the middle of a school year.
* Arzt is getting annoying. (Getting?--Ed.) I sort of wish Locke had been the guy riding shotgun with Dr. Linus's scheme to take down Principal Walter Peck, but I suppose that sets up all kinds of parallels they weren't prepared to do.
* I also sort of wish Illana weren't such a pivotal character right now, because we have so little to go on with her. We're less attached to her than to any other surviving character on the entire show. She is to the cast what the Temple set is to Lost sets.
* One way I could tell in this episode that things are moving to a head is that they had two climactic confrontations: Jack and Richard, and Ben and Ilana. Either could easily have been the focal point of an entire episode, and would have been, in an earlier season--or hell, earlier in this one.
* As it stood, I think I preferred the Jack and Richard scene. I loved seeing both men pushed past their limits: Richard in panicked despair, divided between shadow and light as he frantically explains why he's now so desperate to die; Jack in crazy-eyed, careless confidence, bound and determined to find out the reason he's now so sure he has to be there, a Man of Faith to rival Locke from earlier in the show. Good stuff.
* Ben's scene was as well-acted as you'd expect from Michael Emerson, and I bought it, but again, using Ilana as his foil made it feel like a dress rehearsal rather than closing night. Imagine if his interlocutor had been Locke, Jack, Kate, Sawyer, or Richard. (Moreover, you'd think Miles, Lapidus, or Sun would have something to say about forcing a man, even Ben, to dig his own grave.)
* So maybe the episode was a bit...off-balance? Given the subject of the flash-sideways, Ben's story should have been the main one. But you had a big moment with Jack, Richard, and Hurley, while Fake Locke showed up as well. It dulled the impact.
* I always enjoy a good slow-motion smiley reunion scene on this show. With all the team-ups and split-ups and bumping into each other in the jungle and storming off in a huff that goes down, it's occasionally nice to get a reminder that a lot of these people really like each other, or did at one point, and care about one another. We care about them too!
* Miles psychically detecting Nikki & Paulo's diamonds was a hoot. It was like the writers raced to pick up something even the most die-hard fans wouldn't have put together. (That said, I'm sure someone said "hey, wouldn't Miles notice Nikki & Paulo's diamonds?" before, but I almost feel bad for that person.) Would have been nice if he noted they'd been buried alive, but still.
* So Fake Locke's posse is on Hydra Island, huh? I wonder if Sawyer and Kate will have one last roll in the polar bear cage, for old times' sake.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on March 9, 2010 at 11:10 PM|plink!
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Naoki Urasawa's Monster Vols. 6-18
Naoki Urasawa, writer-artist
Viz, 2006-2008
200+ pages each
$9.99 each Buy them from Amazon.com
It's not quite accurate to say that Monster got away from Naoki Urasawa in the end. Never--not as volume after volume of increasingly baroque hidden connections, repressed memories, and buried Communist conspiracies multiplied and refracted like a screensaver, not even as he added still more characters to a cast that already made The Lord of the Rings look like No Exit in Volume frickin' 18--did Urasawa come across as anything but totally in control. Each time a new concept was introduced, I knew it would tie into someone or something we'd already met in a way that would nonetheless surprise and delight me. Each time a new character came along, I knew I'd be made to care about this new sad-sack with either a tormented past or an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong. Every twist made it clear I was in the hands of a master.
Yet for all that I knew Urasawa was making conscious decisions at every turn rather than running around frantically to keep all the plates spinning, I can't help but feel that by the end, he'd made some bad decisions, spun some broken plates. First and foremost, remember when Dr. Tenma was the main character? Nominally I suppose that's still true, as the final showdown with the titular character is with him. But by then you're just as likely to be spending screentime with Grimmer, or Nina, or Eva, or Reichwein, or Lunge, or Gillen, or Verdeman, or even random characters who are in and out in the space of one volume like Martin or Milan or the people of Ruhenheim. (That I remember the vast majority of those names off the top of my head speaks well of the material, but still.) Without the singular, driving focus of the original concept-- A doctor saves a little boy who grows up to be a serial killer and now must hunt him down--the story's sprawl starts to pull it apart a bit, and the climactic confrontation is robbed of some of its weight.
Then there's that confrontation itself. It's distinguished by the strongest image in the series, a searing two-page spread that screams "instant classic." And it undoubtedly brings to bear the full weight of the preceding 17 1/2 volumes of cat-and-mouse, before knowingly (if a wee bit over-familiarly) pulling the rug out from under the moment. The problem is that for, oh, four or five volumes leading up to that moment, it's felt like one climax after another. I know this could be an artifact of the translation and adaptation process, but the dialogue really starts to feel artificially stretched out in the home stretch, with short sentences split between five panels across a full page in some cases just for dramatic impact. Of course, do that too often and the impact is dulled; do it for a quarter of your series and it starts to feel like a neurotic tic. Particularly given how many times this is done to depict a character reaching into the recesses of his or her memory and pulling out something dark and terrible but stopping just short of dragging it into the light for good, the repetition begins to grate, and to make it difficult to distinguish final revelations from teases.
That said, this stuff is as thick and engrossing as quicksand. The steady rhythm and rock-solid character designs are pretty much tailor-made for getting lodged in your head and replayed as you drift off to sleep at night--I for one had a pretty messed-up dream last night about my wife and I fleeing through a hospital from a monstrous child-thing. Several sequences are genuinely chilling: The standouts for me are the cruelty of a child who briefly fell under the tutelage of the title character, the dark storybooks of Klaus Poppe (beautifully drawn in a vastly different style; remember that storybook about the train in the Dark Tower series?), and the ending itself. I'm not sure how sold I am on the book's constant waxing philosophical about good, evil, and the value of human life, particularly the hard line it makes Tenma take against killing even in immediate self-defense or the defense of others, given the track records of the characters he tends to be pointing his gun at in these situations. But at the same time, the material concerning the abuse of children, the mad ambitions of people with lots of power and little oversight, and the notion that secret, forgotten deeds committed in the name of defunct ideologies can reverberate indefinitely with disastrous consequences is all very effective. That last bit, it strikes me now, is symbolized by the sign of the long-gone Three Frogs pub that becomes so pivotal: An artifact that has outlived its artisans, a symbol that has outlived what it symbolized, yet which still has a potent ability to harm. From the high concept on down, Monster is a story of unforeseen consequences, which are often more awful than the awful things we meant to happen.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on March 8, 2010 at 9:06 PM|plink!
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* Not Coming to a Theater Near You's Stanley Kubrick retrospective is up to Lolita and Dr. Strangelove. Here's a fine bit from the former by Katherine Follett:
In the novel, Humbert believed in his arrogance that lusting after a basically non-sexual girl was somehow the mark of a rare aesthete, as if he had an appreciation for inaccessible modern art, while adult women were the equivalent of banal, eye-pleasing landscapes. But now that Lolita has the body of an adult woman, and Humbert's interior voice is nonexistent, we're left with no special reason why Humbert is drawn to Lolita, other than ordinary--and totally understandable--lust.
Sue Lyon was a dime, obviously, but I still thought the film got "she's too young" across effectively enough. Meanwhile, I enjoyed Timothy Sun's take on Strangelove for how systematically it reminds us that American cinema's greatest satire includes characters called Buck Turgidson, Jack T. Ripper, Merkin Muffley, and Major Kong.
* Loving, loving, loving Zak Smith's Playing D&D with Porn Stars. Here's a killer pair of posts running down the pros and cons of the game's Demons and Devils, and here's a marvelous rumination on the way players flip back and forth between their in-game and real-world selves while playing. I mean, for real, I'm running out of superlatives.
* I'm starting to think it's weird that trailers show you the entire plot of a movie. Like, this Iron Man 2 trailer leaves pretty much no surprises for the first three reels, right? But hey, War Machine.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on March 8, 2010 at 7:10 PM|plink!
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It's been a while, hasn't it? And that's probably telling. I watched the pilot a little before it aired, on DVD. I waited a couple weeks before watching the next two episodes back to back, on TiVo. Then I waited until last night to watch the next three episodes in a row as well. Now, Caprica isn't a show the Missus has any interest in, so watching it live isn't an option, in all fairness. But the same could have been said of Battlestar Galactica and The Sopranos, and in those cases I'd just wait until she went to bed--nothing could stop me from watching new episodes the night they first aired. Part of that was fear of getting spoiled the next day, which I'm not as concerned about regarding Caprica, since no one I know seems to be talking about. (That's probably telling, too.) But mainly, I'm just in no hurry to watch the show. Last night's three-episode marathon felt almost like homework.
Why? Jim Henley was close, but not quite there, when he talked about how unlikeable the characters are. I can get around that--where would The Sopranos have been without unpleasant people? What I have a harder time with are characters who are unexciting. It occurred to me sometime last night that Caprica has no Starbuck, no Baltar, no Bill Adama (well, you know what I mean), no Colonel Tigh, no Six, no President Roslin, no Apollo...no one whose continuing adventures I'd be excited to see, regardless of their level of bastardry. No one whose smiles or rages intrigue me, no one who makes me laugh, no one who makes me cheer, no one who makes me shudder. Instead it has a lot of people in expensive clothes, hiding how they really feel all the time, until it finally comes out in some big scene of melodrama, which ultimately feels just as contrived as their buttoned-up anal retentiveness elsewhere.
It's just very difficult to get invested in Daniel and Elizabeth Graystone's troubled marriage when we've never seen what would make either of them worth sticking around with. It's difficult to feel for Joseph Adama's plight as a man torn between two cultures when we haven't seen what he'd really contribute to either. It's tough to really get into the semi-villains like Sam Adama and Sister Clarice when the only thing that elevates them from cliche is an equally contrived tweak of conventional mores--look, the gangster is GAY!/look, the religious zealot is a SWINGER! Sasha Roiz's Sam is probably my favorite performance on the show--he wears those clothes gorgeously, his eyes are intelligent, he comes across as the most at home in the show's ersatz Coppola tones--but he's still hampered by the rote construction of the character. Sister Clarice I'd be happy to never see again. James Marsten's Barnabas is even more dire.
I'm also increasingly convinced that starting the show with the death of children was a big mistake. Where can you go from there, tonally? The answer, as it turns out, is pretty much nowhere--it's just been a dour, sour show ever since. I can't remember laughing a single time, or being on the edge of my seat. I think the one episode that managed to buck this somewhat was the fifth, "There Is Another Sky." Between Graystone finally pitching the Cylon to his board of directors as the ultimate pet/slave, setting up the technological revolution that we viewers know will eventually lead to the destruction of civilization, and the lost avatar of Tamara Adams discovering she's all but indestructible in the virutal world within which she's trapped, we finally had genuine thrills--moments that weren't mired in the inability of a bunch of jerks to properly process their grief. I mean, it wasn't perfect--the Tamara stuff felt really Matrix-y and dated, while a third storyline involving the cultural customs of the Taurans left me scratching my head as to how almost all of the interplanetary differentiation and strife present here disappeared in time for Battlestar. (I assume the First Cylon War served as a great unifier, but it's still weird that Bill Adama never talked about this stuff when it we're being told it's such a formative element of his young adulthood.) But it was something. In a weird way, it was where the series probably should have begun. Last night's episode was a step backwards, unfortunately. I hope they can get things moving again.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on March 6, 2010 at 10:59 AM|plink!
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* New York Noise is a terrific music show that airs on New York City's public television station NYC TV, focusing on local bands, local labels, local video directors, and formerly local members of all three categories. The list of artists I love that I first discovered through this show is really just outrageously long, but the best example I can think of is when, in the course of back-to-back videos, I heard the music of Klaus Nomi and Antony & the Johnsons for the very first time. My wife and I sat there like someone had just detonated an atom bomb in our heads. Seriously, New York Noise has been a vital lifeline to the city's musical bounty for me for years. Unfortunately, the channel has suspended production of the show. Please sign this petition, join this Facebook group, and email Mayor Bloomberg about it. I've done all three and hope you will too. (Via Pitchfork.)
If our indie bands are going to be pretentious and juvenile, why must they be either tweely earnest or blue-collarly retro? Why can't they instead evoke that particular feeling of driving mournfully around the suburbs at night in between rewatching The Crow?
Amen!
Posted by Sean T. Collins on March 5, 2010 at 6:54 PM|plink!
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* Well, how about this: The Strange Tales hardcover comes out today, and with it come the release of my final three Strange Tales Spotlight interviews for Marvel.com: Nick Gurewitch, Brian Maruca, and James Kochalka. That first one's even a bit newsy: There are more Perry Bible Fellowship comics and more Marvel-Gurewitch collaborations in the offing. But for me, these three interviews represent the last leg of my literally years-long involvement with the project, which has now seen me interview all thirty creators involved with the book. What a pleasure!
* Christopher Handley's attorney Eric Chase explains the nebulous legal Calvinball that led him to plead Handley out in his comics-related obscenity case. Turns it the "I know it when I see it" standard makes cases like these difficult to defend, which Chase feels is precisely the most dangerous effect of that standard. (Via Tom Spurgeon.)
* Recently I saw people linking to some dopey-sounding essay about Why Don't Jews Write Fantasy; Spencer Ackerman responds to this call for a Jewish C.S. Lewis and a Jewish Narnia by pointing out the existence of Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, and the Marvel Universe. That's pretty brilliant. I mean, I know everyone talks about how superheroes are by and large the creation of American Jews, but locating them in the fantasy tradition that way, as a unique alternative to the epic fantasy of Tolkien or the allegorical fantasy of Lewis or the sword and sorcery of Howard and so on, strikes me as very smart. I know there are better-educated consumers of fantasy reading this blog--perhaps you'd care to chime in on this in the comments.
* The quote of the day is from Zak Smith: "The main points of the game are: hanging out with your friends, inventing strange things, and problem-solving--all of which are maturity-scalable activities."
* I feel like Todd VanDerWerff's weekly Lost post is a little off this time around. I don't know that waxing philosophical about how the Allies did terrible things in World War II too is a particularly illuminating point of comparison here, you know? VanDerWerff also tries to shunt the "good vs. evil" debate into the "destiny vs. free will" one, but given who he feels represents each side, that sure is stacking the deck; he then takes the "destiny vs. free will" thing and pins it to a particular line in the first episode of this season in a fashion that strikes me as out-and-out Doc Jensen-y. But hey, if Lost has taught us anything, it's that everyone has an off week.
* And Sayid gets beaten again! Has he ever won a fight? Was there a touch football game with Walt in the early days he managed to come out on top of or something?
* Dogen and Lennon, we hardly knew ye.
* I'm gonna go ahead and attribute Sayid's dirty deeds in this episode to the aforementioned "darkness growing inside him." Sayid is someone who's done a lot of terrible things, though mostly during his offscreen years with the Republican Guard, but he was obviously extraordinarily repentant about that. Moreover, until tonight I really hadn't seen him do anything unforgivable on the show itself. (I'd have shot Young Ben too. Baby Hitler, if they ever invent time travel, I'm coming for you, asshole.) The point is that the show has never framed Sayid as a bad person deep down--they've framed it that he thinks this is the case, but they're always showing us evidence to the contrary. So it's a big leap for him to suddenly be walking around smirking about murder, something he'd never ever done before no matter who he was in the process of killing--hitmen, golfers, Others, future archvillains, you name it.
* But Sayid's corruption makes me wonder what the heck Richard was talking about last season when he warned Sawyer and whoever else that if he took Ben to be healed in the Temple, he'd never be the same. Obviously there's some other kind of process at work with Sayid than whatever saved Ben, since Ben is clearly not in thrall to the MIB the way Sayid is (or the way crazy Claire is). What we're seeing from Sayid is more similar to the cold evil of Rousseau's teammates when she was in that kill-or-be-killed situation with them long ago.
* I'm also wondering how separate the Others community seemingly overseen by Dogen at the Temple was from the Others community ostensibly run by Ben and Richard at the old Dharma Village. Based on tonight's evidence, the Temple Others really were servants of Jacob, doing his will and often being quite shady in the process. But they still seem miles away from the neck-snapping, boat-detonating, Walt-kidnapping, Sawyer-shooting, Charlie-hanging, Juliet-branding, Michael-blackmailing, Charlie-drowning antics of Ben, Tom, Ethan, Goodwin, Miss Klugh, Mikhail, Pickett, and the rest of that crew. Was Jacob down with all that? We've gotten the impression that the MIB was, I dunno, impersonating Jacob in that cabin for quite some time--was Ben getting orders from the wrong guy without knowing it, or was he getting orders from Jacob but twisting and perverting them, or is Jacob just as much of a creep as the MIB?
* I suppose it's also worth pointing out that Ben didn't seem to make the connection between the smoke monster and Jacob's arch-enemy back when the monster became Alex and talked to him. It seems like he'd thought of the Monster as "The Island" in some way, up until the moment Fake Locke transformed into the Monster, killed those dudes in the base of the statue, then transformed back and admitted they were one and the same. So obviously Ben was in the dark about what was really going on for a long time.
* Come to think of it, Ben's dead mother appearing to him was the first step of his life of crime, right? So MIB'd been monkeying with him for a very long time.
* Anyway, back to the episode itself:
* I can't be the only person who kind of enjoyed watching the smoke monster wreck shop in the Temple, right? First of all, killing Others is always fun, and the more the merrier. Secondly, I was kind of disappointed in the Temple as a set. The use of an outright namedrop from the mouth of Hurley is not enough to offset how syndicated-ripoff-of-Indiana-Jones it felt. Compare and contrast with the wondrous '70s EPCOT specificity of the Hatch--the Temple comes off generic and unimaginative. I don't mind leaving it behind. But mostly, yeah, kill those Others!
* Crazy Claire isn't just crazy and/or evil, she's also obnoxious. That's not a bad choice for that role.
* There aren't a ton of characters who could sustain a whole episode of Lost without any Sawyer or Jack material in it. Sayid's one of a very few.
* Nadia's pretty.
* I was pulling hard for Eko or Jin being related to Sayid's brother's money mess, and thus was about 50% disappointed. But Keamy was a nice surprise! What a creepy, unpleasant man. Kevin Durand, yet another example of the show's nigh-flawless villain casting. Great to see him back. And I'd forgotten until I hit Lostpedia just now to look up Durand's name that his underling, Omar, was his underling in Widmore's mercenary crew, too.
* No Other in Sayid's flashsideways, though. I suppose Keamy fulfills that role in a sense. Or perhaps there's some narrative significance to Others appearing with Jack, Locke, Kate, and Claire, but not Sayid...
* So how did Jin go from being held up in customs to Keamy's freezer? Does the presence of Keamy mean that my long hoped-for connection between Jin and Eko in L.A. won't happen? Does it mean that Widmore is involved as well?
* I'm wondering what the hell Sawyer and Jin were sitting around talking about while Fake Locke and Claire destroyed the Temple. Perhaps Jin was able to convince Sawyer that if crazy Claire thinks following Fake Locke is a good idea, it's probably a bad idea.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on March 2, 2010 at 11:13 PM|plink!
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* Recently on Robot 6: Lots of Avengers news, to match lots of Avengers news elsewhere. That is a lot of Avengers product. If I were Tom Spurgeon I'd now deliver a funny "whodathunkit" gag about the Avengers and Green Lantern being the biggest franchises in comics.
* Just a reminder: I typically have my weekly Lost thoughts post up by, oh, 11:30pm Eastern time at the absolute latest, frequently way before then. (I tend to watch it starting at 10 rather than 9, hence the delay.) I've really enjoyed the comment-thread discussions lately, and the more the merrier.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on March 2, 2010 at 8:41 PM|plink!
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Naoki Urasawa's Monster Vols. 4-5
Naoki Urasawa, writer/artist
Viz, 2006
200+ pages each
$9.99 each Buy them from Amazon.com
By now it's clear that that sore-thumb final chapter of Volume Two, where Tenma briefly brings sunshine into the life of a mercenary and his heretofore damaged adopted daughter, isn't the exception, but the rule. Monster, it seems, will be not just about Tenma's game of cat and mouse with Johan, the serial killer whose life he saved, nor even just about that plus the parallel chases of Inspector Lunge as he hunts for Tenma and Johan's sister Nina as she too hunts for Johan. Instead it'll be like, I don't know, The A-Team, where Johan, Lunge, and Nina's quests will intersect with a variety of conflicted medical professionals, memorably evil criminals, memorably humane ex-criminals, shadowy governmental agents, and so forth in each "episode." We'll bounce them off our leading players, an incremental revelation will be proffered to the heroes, an epiphany will be reached by the guest stars, someone will be murdered by Johan or his minions, and the cycle begins anew. A lot of this is Velveeta, but I'm never not racing through it to find out how this ties into the increasingly byzantine and red-herring-laden backstory of Johan, or who'll get capped and how and why. It helps that Urasawa bothered to situate the story not just in some generic "present day, local location" setting, but in post-Cold War Germany and its medical community; like the realistic backgrounds provided by his studio, the details of reunification, the far-right underground, the role and status of immigrants, the expertise and moral dilemmas of its doctor characters--they all give the story weight, depth, and shading even at its broadest and most black-and-white. It's getting a little hard to keep track of all the square-headed middle-aged men with pointy noses, however, which is what makes the few character designs that deviate from that norm--the balding, hulking, doughy serial killer Jungers, for example, his eyes whited out by the reflection off his glasses--such a pleasure to encounter. In that same spirit, Monster seems a saga of simplistic structuring shored up by entertainingly complicating wrinkles.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on March 1, 2010 at 9:44 PM|plink!
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In one scene in Shutter Island, Leonardo DiCaprio's Federal Marshal Edward Daniels interrogates a jovial but visibly on-edge patient at the mental institution to which he's been sent to investigate the disappearance of a patient. In order to buy time to pass Daniels a clandestine note, the patient asks his partner Chuck to get her a glass of water. When he returns with it, she picks it up and starts drinking it. In the next shot, she's just miming drinking it and putting it down--there's no glass there at all. In the next shot, she puts it down, empty. In the next shot, it's half full. None of this is ever noticed by any of the characters. I doubt it was noticed by very many people in the audience.
That, in one sequence, is why I love seeing Martin Scorsese movies. You know, maybe it's my immersion in comics that's leading me to call this out--my increasing conviction that greatness stems from using as tools the facets of your medium others see as mere props. But when I sit myself down and place myself in the hands of someone like Scorsese, there's a good chance that he'll, say, be deliberately sloppy with shot-to-shot continuity--the positions of the actors' bodies don't line up properly, their mouths aren't synced with the dialogue, snippets of time will disappear like miniature jump cuts--simply to show that something's...not...quite...right. It's not some jittery effect, what back in the Natural Born Killers days people used to call MTV editing; the effect is every bit as classic-Hollywood as the cliffs and towers straight out of Hitchcock, deep focus shots straight out of Welles, or the mightily effective, star-of-the-show contemporary-classical score. It's just a sign that the filmmaker is in control of his medium, and is going to spend the next couple hours using it. It's not a guarantee of success, necessarily--I understand that people's mileage with late-period Scorsese varies, and I understand why. But it's a guarantee of effort. It's a sign that if the movie fails, it's not failing because it's trying to do something else but falling short. It's doing what it wants to do.
What does it want to do? Two things most importantly, I think. The first, which is another reason I enjoy Scorsese movies, is showcase performances. This starts with his lead. Leo has his detractors, obviously, but in much the same way that his Departed castmate Matt Damon has parlayed his vacant all-Americanness into a career of playing cold-blooded killers, DiCaprio has taken the pinched features of his aging babyface and, in his collaborations with Scorsese at least, transformed himself into a little ball of seething guilt and rage. He's like Hollywood's Red Lantern. I empathize with manner in which his characters constantly battle back the knowledge that they're not up to the task at hand, whatever it may be. Daniels, with his nightmares and his nightmarish memories constantly bleeding into one another, constantly looking like a drowned rat, may be the apotheosis of that type.
Beyond that, I wish I could remember who I read saying that the movie veered dangerously close to Martin Scorsese's Circus of the Stars, but you say that like it's a bad thing, whoever you are! Jackie Earle Haley out-Rorschaching Rorschach, Elias Koteas being creepy and grotesque, Max Von Sydow (who has been old for close to 40 years, somehow) being a good German, Ted Levine sending out sonar echoes of Buffalo Bill (The Silence of the Lambs being another super-obvious reference point for Marty) as the spectacularly bloody-minded warden, Ben Kingsley as bald and sinister as ever...I do not mind attending this circus, no siree. Emily Mortimer and Michelle Williams both impress and discomfit in their roles as the women Daniels sets out to rescue as well.
Which leads us to the other thing Shutter Island wants to do, a high-wire act linking Scorsese's straightest thriller since Cape Fear with genuine, real-world horrors. I say by all means let the corpses of Dachau be used to frighten and terrify. Let the execution of the guards by the American liberators go on and on like a sick joke, unfolding horizontally as if each soldier patiently waited his turn to slaughter the slaughterers. Linger on the frozen bodies as they pour out of the cars of a freight train like a glacial waterfall. And later, dig into the horror of the murder of children. Cover the actors with their blood, carry around their bodies, wade into the water in which they drown and float. Make your whole movie about the mind's inability to cope with horror, to the point where the end comes like blessed relief and the rollicking delivery of the twist feels like a blade cutting away the bad parts. Don't we have enough monsters?
Posted by Sean T. Collins on March 1, 2010 at 9:37 PM|plink!
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* Turns out those hilarious statements from Icarnate creator/Bleach plagiarizer Nick Simmons I linked to the other day were bogus. Here's his real statement, which is only barely an improvement.
* The star bloggers of The Atlantic's web presence--Andrew Sullivan, Ta-Nehisi Coates, James Fallows--are revolting against a website redesign that essentially turned their blogs into a collection of disembodied headlines, and in some cases folded them into another stream of content entirely. It's funny how similar the features they're complaining about are to what bugs everyone so much about the new Comics Journal website, and how easy a fix would be in both cases. When people go to a blog, they want to see the posts, not the headlines and first few sentences of the posts.
Everyone's wondering who Jacob wanted Hurley and Jack to summon with the lighthouse. Who's #108? The name, according to Lostpedia, is Wallace--a name we've never seen before. Lots of people are guessing Desmond, but my guess is Walt. Mostly I just think that would be awesome. It's also one of very few ways left for them to justify how important Walt was in the first two seasons. And on a purely logistical level, Walt's been raised by four different people, so it should be easy enough for him to have a surname we haven't heard yet.
But most importantly, it would also be the ultimate callback to that momentous, the-key-to-everything backgammon conversation Locke had with Walt in Season One: "Two players. Two sides. One is light. One is dark." A final confrontation between Fake Locke and heretofore inexplicably psychically enhanced Walt would bring everything full circle.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on February 26, 2010 at 8:02 PM|plink!
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Naoki Urasawa's Monster Vols. 1-3
Naoki Urasawa, writer/artist
Viz, 2006
208-224 pages each
$9.99 each Buy it from Amazon.com
[First, a programming note. Because I read so many comics and write so many reviews, I end up reading and reviewing mostly self-contained works rather than long runs. The problem is I've been at this for long enough that a majority of the books on my "unread" shelves (plural) are part of big ol' multi-volume series. Which is exciting! I love plunging into a world for as long as it'll have me, that's one of the great pleasures art can provide. But it presents a conundrum for a critic who posts three reviews a week, because on the one hand I'm accustomed to reviewing a complete work, so a big part of me would prefer to complete a series before reviewing it. Moreover, I don't wanna bury the site in piecemeal reviews of a couple-three volumes at a time, just so no one, me or you, gets bored. On the other hand, I really like holding myself to this schedule, it's fun and it's been good for me as a writer and just as a reader too. And there's probably something to be said for posting more than one review for a given series, tackling earlier and later material from it separately, seeing how both the material and my take on it change over the duration of its run. So for now that's the direction I'm headed with this particular series, though in the future I may go ahead and stop posting reviews until I get a whole run read. Who knows? Life is a mystery. And so is...]
Naoki Urasawa's Monster, the series that as best I can tell broke him in America, is a strange beast. You've got four distinct, and perhaps competitive, forces at play in these early volumes. Number one is the elevator-pitch concept: Brilliant doctor risks his career to save the life of an orphan, only for the orphan to grow up into a serial killer. Number two is the way that high concept broadens and complicates into a globetrotting (well, Germany-trotting, so far) political-thriller pageturner/potboiler. Number three is the frothy pulpy soapy melodrama of it all, with characters yelling about the sanctity of human life and children in peril and a villain who is repeatedly labeled "pure evil" Michael Meyers-style and geniuses in their fields who throw it all away for the sake of the job and on and on. Number four, maybe the most interesting force at work, is this undercurrent of meaty and specific social issues that weave in and out of the genre business: German reunification and its discontents, being an Asian immigrant in Europe, medical ethics and hospital politics, child abuse (depicted in a shockingly frank fashion at times).
And as I've pointed out in the past, Urasawa's art plays it all totally straight. It's just pure craft, existing for the sole purpose of getting the story across and over. The people look cartoony, yes--they remind me of Disney house-style people, not in terms of their specific look but in the way they function as vehicles for immediately intelligible ideas and emotions. The clarity they comprise is so...overpowering, I guess is the word, so able to lodge in your brain, that this morning as I was thinking over Footnotes in Gaza again, the people of Rafah appeared to me in Urasawa style, not Joe Sacco style. My point, though, is that apart from their cartooniness and penchant for yelling, which could point toward the pulp melodrama as the dominant thread for the series, the character designs and the art in general really don't tip their hand as to what you "should" be making of all this. Is it "just" addictive thriller storytelling? Are we meant to take the various waxings philosophical seriously, is the thriller stuff and the in-your-face villainy and the way we've met four or five people so good at their jobs that it's broken up their marriages intended as a palatable container for it? Or is it vice versa? This is what American serialized genre-entertainment fans might call the Lost question (a comparison I've made with Urasawa's stuff before). Frankly, I think that in Monster's case the pulpy stuff wins the day hands down--the issue-y stuff is reeeeeeeally broad. But I suppose the point here, in the end, is that if you can read the first volume and not want to read the next 17, you are made of sterner stuff than I.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on February 26, 2010 at 12:01 AM|plink!
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* Plenty of fun Lost links today (and don't worry, I'm gonna be keeping the Carnival spoiler-free unless otherwise noted). First up, Todd VanDerWerff's weekly follow-up post, which includes more interesting discussion of Jack--who's one of my favorite characters on the show, let me just come right out and say it--and in which VanDerWerff shares my enthusiasm regarding a potential identity for a potential someone.
* Next, Noel Murray's review/recap for the Onion AV Club struck me as particularly sharp and observant this week, regarding everything from a weakness of some of the dialogue in this episode to the throwback elements it included to a way in which the final seasons will increase our investment in the first to parallels between this episode and the corresponding installment of Season One to making fun of Doc Jensen.
* Finally, good golly, look at this "visual timeline" Olivier Lacan is building for Lost! Right now it's very much a work in progress--there are more gaps than there is timeline at this point. And it's not very well written. But it's a great idea, executed with gorgeous screencaps, and it's as good a reminder of the show's sweep, scope, and mystery as anything I've seen. Soak it in. (Via Whitney Matheson.
* Super Mario Galaxy 2!!!!!
As I watched that trailer I literally became frightened of how much time I will be spending playing this game. As Rob Bricken at Topless Robot points out, it's very very similar to the first game, but man, if it ain't broke.
* Gene Simmons is one of the worst people in the entire history of recorded music, without exaggeration. Just a loathsome creep in almost every conceivable way. Turns out the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, as his son Nick Simmons flagrantly plagiarized Tite Kubo's Bleach for his comic Incarnate--a plan that would seem to require no one reading his comic for it to succeed--and then issued denials that manage to be simultaneously insulting to manga, threatening to his detractors, and transparently bullshit to all. My favorite report on all this today is Rob Bricken's at Topless Robot, which does not hold back.
Batman & Robin #9
Grant Morrison, writer
Cameron Stewart, artist
DC, February 2010
24 story pages
$2.99
I've been a bit of a broken record on this score lately, but here is another comic I want to physically force the writers and artists of other action-dependent superhero comics to read, eyeballs propped open A Clockwork Orange-style. Consider if you will the care and attention paid to the page on which Batman and Batwoman pound the stuffing out of Zombie Batman. (Okay, first consider that this comic contains a page on which Batman and Batwoman pound the stuffing out of Zombie Batman. Then move on.) Look at the way the fight choreography flows from one panel to the next. It's not just a series of random cutaways: The pivot you see Batwoman executing in the background as Batman punches Zombie Batman in the jaw of one panel leads into the kick you see her deliver in the foreground as Batman cocks his other fist in the next panel, which leads into the left hook you see him land in the panel after that. Or return to earlier in the issue, where a still-wounded Robin and out-of-his-league Alfred battle the Zombie Batman using the objects (a wireless computer mouse, a wheelchair) and environments (an elevator) available to them, each beat portrayed with crystal-clear visual logic and visceral impact. I could seriously reread that sequence where Zombie Batman gets choked with his own cape as Alfred snags it into the elevator and hits the Up button, until Zombie Batman cuts himself loose with a batarang, over and over again. God how it cleanses the palate of the umpteenth two-page melee spread.
What's still more delightful about this issue is that Stewart brings these same chops to pretty much everything he draws. Look at the knowing Mona Lisa smile on Batwoman's face as she tells the romantically interested Dick Grayson not to get his hopes up, sharing an inside joke with those of us beyond the fourth wall. Look at how Batwoman's father looks like he wandered in from another comic as he pops up in street clothes among a gaggle of costumed crimefighters, emphasizing what a gonzo concept it is to have your dad be your sidekick more clearly than anything I've seen in Batwoman's solo adventures to date. Look at Zombie Batman himself, as much a gift to the toy folks as the Batman of Zur-En-Arrh was and the Batmen of the Timestream are about to be. And I could definitely stand to see the double-punch panel become as much of a trademark element of Batman and friends as using "Bat" as a prefix.
Oh yeah Grant Morrison's involved too. What I liked best about his work here is usually what I like least about Batman comics: His army of increasingly interchangeable crimefighting tagalongs. The real Batman isn't even in the comic anymore, of course, so this book features no fewer than nine such characters, if you count Zombie Batman; four of them are direct riffs on Batman himself. But from Papa Batwoman's military jargon (via a pretty effortless and kind of funny Greg Rucka impression on Morrison's part) to Knight and Squire's jocular "keep calm and carry on" comportment to Dick and Batwoman's born-of-necessity ability to think and act on their feet and in tandem, each one seems not just like a different person, but a whole person, not just a one-dimensional reflection of some aspect of the real Batman that the writer wants to have walk around on its own for a while as these things frequently are.
I hate when people set themselves up against some largely imagined consensus, but I am going to go ahead and say that I do miss the sense of mounting mystery and menace of the Morrison material that culminated R.I.P, which I'm guessing is a minority position among the sorts of folks whose blogs you're likely to read if you read this one. But Batman & Robin, and this issue perhaps more than all the others so far save #3, is a fine, fun superhero comic, set in the milieu of the only superhero I really love in and of himself. Who couldn't use one of these now and then?
Posted by Sean T. Collins on February 24, 2010 at 8:34 PM|plink!
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* Amy Sedaris and George Takei are among the voice actors in the amazing pilot for Neon Knome, Paper Rad/Cold Heat impresario Ben Jones's Adult Swim series-in-waiting. But it will never end up on the air for you to abuse Ambien to unless you vote for it in this contest. Team Comics already pissed away a decade's worth of increased clout by failing to get Michael Kupperman's Snake 'n' Bacon over; let's not let this happen again.
* More Destructor fan art over at We Are The LAW, this time from the great Chris Ward. Look for a tease of a future Destructor storyline in the comments!
* Looks like Zak Smith/Sabbath's Playing D&D with Porn Stars is going to be regular reading for me: Dig this entry on a creation of his called the Vomiter, which is basically a postapocalypitcally infected human who pukes a creature selected from the monster section of the guidebook with a roll of the dice out of an internal dimensional vortex. Damn.
* ADDTF fave Ross Campbell is doing a new superhero book from SLG called Shadoweyes, but because it's a Ross Campbell comic, it starts with two gothy girls lying around on a bed and eating vegan food, so that's good news. My chums at Robot 6 have an interview about it and a preview of it.
* Alright, another very good episode, intriguing in both timelines, lots of juicy mythology, fun performances, action, hieroglyphics, dead people, the whole nine. So far the only false note for me this season has been the Great Kate Escape episode. Three out of four ain't bad.
* During one of the initial segments of Jack's flashsideways, he seemed as taken aback by his appendectomy scar as he seemed to be on the plane by the cut on his neck and just the general way he looked in the mirror. They made a nice big deal of this this time, complete with a call to Mom asking when he had the operation, so methinks there's something fishy going on with this whole alternate timeline, that it's not as simple as "what would have happened if the Island had been nuked in the '70s."
* And I'm glad of that, because it's only now occurring to me why some part of me never quite believed that was where they were headed in the first place: I never consciously made this connection, but the idea that we're seeing what life would be like if something bad had never happened to them and they lived happy lives instead is straight-up The Last Temptation of Christ and/or "For the Man Who Has Everything." Obviously the Lost writers aren't above riffing on or referencing other big genre works--The Dark Tower, The Stand, Watchmen, we can all rattle off another half-dozen major touchstones easy. But never do they simply lift storylines wholesale. This ain't Heroes, and Jeph Loeb hasn't worked on the show since Season One. So while I had speculated that maybe this would all lead to Jack or Sawyer or whoever seeing how much better their life would be without the Island but somehow sacrificing it all for the greater good, I don't think that's where we're headed anymore, at least not in the "Christ still chooses to die on the cross/Superman decides to rip off the psychic plant and kick Mongul's ass" way I was kicking around.
* So, in each flashsideways, our protagonist character will bump into an Other? Kate and Claire met Ethan, Locke met Ben, and Jack met Dogen. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern. Or to use Ian Fleming's formulation, three times is enemy action. Dun dun DUNNNNNN! Anyway, I like this because it means we'll probably see big Tom again. Speaking of which, did you notice the last name "Friendly" on Jacob's lighthouse wheel? He really was "Mr. Friendly"! Oh, Lindelof & Cuse, you kidders.
* We've learned, if it wasn't clear already, that the Man in Black is an out-and-out liar. Obviously he was pretending to be Jack's dad. Obviously as such he only pretended to be speaking on behalf of Jacob. Claire tells us "her dad" told her that the Others stole her baby, which isn't true. Thus one can assume he was seriously fudging the truth for Sawyer too. My brother Ryan pointed out that a cave hollowed out of a sheer cliff wall over the ocean seemed like an odd place for Jacob to hang out, making him skeptical that that was ever Jacob's place to begin with. The moment I saw those 360 names written out in an orderly fashion next to each degree on the wheel, I thought, "Well, I guess there was probably no need for Jacob to have scrawled them all over the roof of a cave someplace else on the Island." Particularly if the wheel is a magic portal into all their lives, right?
* Who's the momma? Juliet?
* I loved all the callbacks to Season One. Shannon's asthma inhaler, the caves, going on a jungle quest, Jack recalling his vision of his dad...Thinking back, it really did seem like that was just a vision, for a long long time after that episode aired. Maybe an Island-inspired vision, but a vision nonetheless. I wonder how long it took for the writers to decide "You know what? That really was his dad!" Then again, the body was missing from the coffin all along, so who knows.
* I would say that Hurley's speculation that the skeletons in the cave are two of their own, as a result of time travel, shoots down the possibility that that's actually the case. But remember back in the day when they got "Moonlight Serenade" by Glenn Miller to play on the radio and Hurley said it could be coming from anywhere "or any time?" He added a quick "just kidding," and at the time I thought that was the creators' signal to us that we didn't need to bother with spacetime continuum theorizing. Whoops!
* Jacob's a manipulator too. Important to remember. What I really want to know is whether the Others' rather barbaric conduct over the seasons are a result of a more-or-less faithful interpretation of his orders, or if things are way off base due to either a communication breakdown or deliberate malfeasance by Ben or Richard or Widmore or Dogen or whoever the relevant person is.
* With Jacob looking on approvingly, newly minted leadership-position Hurley opts to be cryptic and not answer Dogen's question. So THAT'S how they learn it!
* The animal-corpse baby in Claire's basinet was the most disturbing thing the show has served up in a long time. Like, it made me really uncomfortable for the brief few seconds we saw it. That is Texas Chain Saw Massacre shit right there. I've said this before, but as we've learned more about the Others, the Dharma Initiative, the Monster, and so on, a lot of the sense of fear and horror that these things presented in the earlier seasons, when the show was often one of the scariest on television, gradually dissipated. It's nice to see them try to inject it back in.
* And hey, an axe murder! Alright.
* I don't know if this was something they thought of, but of all the characters they could have left to the tender mercies of crazy Claire and evil Locke, Jin was an excellent choice because he spent years trying to stay one step ahead of the wishes of a vicious gangster. I believe that he's someone capable of thinking on his feet and staying alive around the homicidally violent, longer probably than any other character except maybe inveterate conmen like Sawyer or Ben.
* Here's the thing, though: Fake Locke knows that Jin knows that they're both lying about who has Claire's baby. Sawyer, who's with Fake Locke, will know it too. How's all that gonna work?
* Back to the Lighthouse for a second: I thought this was a fine scene, because it delivered something we haven't seen...mmmmmmaybe since Locke refused to press the button at the end of Season Two? Which was someone getting so fed up with the way the Island's phenomena have used and abused him that he snaps. There was an interesting new dynamic in play here as well: In the Hatch, Locke really had no evidence about whether what he was doing was extraordinary or bull, he just didn't buy it anymore. Jack, on the other hand, just got a glimpse of his childhood house, and someplace in Japan, and maybe Oxford or something, in the mirrors of a magic lighthouse to which he'd been led by someone who got his directions from a dead man only he could see or talk to. Jack knows damn well that something really astonishing is happening on the Island, in reference to him specifically--and it's precisely that knowledge that's driving him crazy, not the lack of knowledge that so tormented Locke. Jack smashing the mirror (did he hear or fear or...?) was six seasons of not knowing what the hell is going on exploding into action. Good stuff. (I sort of wish the smashing hadn't been spoiled by the stupid network's next episode teaser last week, but oh well. It was at least nice of them to try to avoid making that mistake again this week.)
* I loved seeing all the hieroglyphics on the temple hallway wall, just 'cuz you know they threw that in there so that the Lostpedia folks would translate it. And translate the Japanese dialogue, and freezeframe every glimpse of the wheel, and so on and so forth.
* Who's coming to the Island? I'm pulling for Walt. I can barely fathom how satisfying that would be.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on February 23, 2010 at 11:01 PM|plink!
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* Want to reignite interest in your bloated, overlong, shit-the-bed-in-the-third-movie Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy in two easy steps? Cast Ian McShane as Blackbeard and break open the fuckin' canned peaches.
* Though she is a supporter of motion-capture performances like that of Andy Serkis as Gollum in The Lord of the Rings, Kristin Thompson writes a compelling essay about why they nevertheless shouldn't qualify for the traditional acting Oscar categories. This is a mitzvah, as the argument really should be hashed out by people with an appreciation both for the technology and the reasons why it's different than traditional acting, and not as some Internet-style "LUDDITES VS. THE FUTURE" flamewar. One thing though: Zoe Saldana was getting Oscar buzz for her performances as Love Interest in Avatar? I thought that character and everything she brought to it was just as rote as everything else in the movie.
* I haven't read George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, though it's very very high up on my list of "next big prose series I'm reading." (Right now in my head I'm going through a long digression about how there's only so much time in the day and how much my Comics Time reading and reviewing prevents me from reading long serialized works of both comics and prose, and moreover how I've had the first two discs of Mad Men Season One in my backpack for like four months, and how I'm only up to World 5 of New Super Mario Bros. Wii, and god only knows how long it's gonna take me to get through all of Naoki Urasawa's Monster now that I have all 18 volumes finally, and hey what about the long-promised revision of my anti-Jaime Hernandez Love & Rockets thing that would require me to read all those digests, and for Chrissakes I'm not even up to First Bull Run in the John Keegan American Civil War book, and on and on and on. But you can take it as read.) But it seems to me that an HBO grown-up fantasy series could be to die for, and casting Sean Bean in the lead seems like a great way to start. The whole rest of the cast can be seen at that link, too. Maybe readers can chime in as to who's good and who sucks in the comments.
* Marc-Oliver Frisch sings the praises of Soldier X. My great hope is that all this Internet attention will spur someone at Marvel into saying, "Ah, what the hell, let's collect the damn thing." Help us, David Gabriel--you're our only hope! Anyway, here's a nice bit from Marc-Oliver's review:
This is the point where Soldier X reveals its kinship with Steve Gerber and Mary Skrenes' Omega the Unknown, but also with Grant Morrison's Final Crisis. Like those works, Soldier X treats superheroes as a metaphor for the literal limitlessness of the human imagination--easily the single most compelling aspect of the genre, as well as, unfortunately, the single most overlooked one.
* A shadowy cabal of my chums from one of my ex-employers has started up a sketch blog called We Are The LAW, where we're taking turns drawing characters we like. We've actually kicked things off with two characters of our own devising: Justin Aclin's Geist from Hero House, and mine own Destructor from my comics with Matt Wiegle. I want to emphasize that only a handful of us can actually, you know, draw, but hey, what the hell. Below is Geist by me, Destructor by Ben Morse, and Destructor and friends by T.J. Dietsch. Click the links for the full-sized versions.
* Elsewhere, Rickey Purdin draws the Black Flame from B.P.R.D. The sequence where he walks into the Zinco boardroom in full Nazi supervillain regalia with his head on fire and announces "You're all fired" is one of the all-time great comic book moments I've ever read. Full stop.
PS: I wonder if Zinco and Cinco have any connection?
I wrote a comic called "The Side Effects of the Cocaine" about David Bowie's very strange sojourn in Los Angeles between the release of Young Americans and Station to Station. Isaac Moylan was kind enough to draw it. You can read it at Isaac's site. I hope you enjoy it!
Posted by Sean T. Collins on February 22, 2010 at 7:36 PM|plink!
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* To Ceri B. and all RPG-interested readers: Zak Smith is a very very good artist and one of my fellow "Fifth Beatles" vis a vis the Partyka group. He's also a fellow Son of Eli. He's also writing a fascinating blog about being a D&D Dungeon Master, featuring posts like this killer piece on four different kinds of vampires and how to play with their varying rule sets. He's also a porn star who's playing D&D with Mandy Morbid, Satine Phoenix, Kimberly Kane, Sasha Grey, Justine Joli and so forth. Definitely check out his blog Playing D&D with Porn Stars. I'm looking forward to their upcoming video series I Hit It With My Axe, which will basically be them playing a campaign you can follow like a TV show. That's a rad idea, porn stars or no.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on February 22, 2010 at 7:18 PM|plink!
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Doomwar #1
Jonathan Maberry, writer
Scot Eaton, artist
Marvel, February 2010
34 story pages
$3.99
This isn't a review so much as a couple paragraphs about how rad I think Doctor Doom is:
Doctor Doom should be King Shit of Marvel's Turd Mountain. Seriously, he should be the one bad guy that makes even all the other bad guys go, "Whoa." He rules his own country, he rivals Doctor Strange on sorcery and Mister Fantastic on science (and ranks with both of 'em on the awesome-name score), he's up there with Iron Man on the super-armor scale, he's got a great look, and he's like crazy arrogant and angry all the time. He's the ur-villain. What I've liked about his recent cameos in books like Captain America: Reborn and Siege: The Cabal is that the other big-deal villains like the Red Skull and Norman Osborn seem to realize all this but still attempt to use Doom for their own ends, because his skills make him too useful and their own megalomania blinds them to the downside of crossing him. That's about right.
However, it always feels to me like he's overused in terms of his interactions with heroes. I don't mind him constantly in sotto voce contact with the other big schemers, that seems like something Marvel's megalomaniacal mastermind-type villains would always be doing. But when he jumps ugly with the good guys, that to me is the kind of thing you save for an every-few-years jolt, not a constant string of tussles. He's just too formidable a threat to frequently use without devaluing the brand. Every appearance should be for the ages, and his every interaction with a hero or team should alter their status quo for the long term. (I actually think that's true of every A-list villain, but I understand the difficulties involved; Doom seems like the kind of character you ought to try really hard to do right regardless.)
Is Doomwar the kind of Doom-based throwdown I'm looking for? It's too soon to say. Doom himself is just a puppetmaster in this early installment, though his master plan as it's been described to us by Black Panther siblings T'Challa and Shuri, whom he has dethroned, is suitably pseudoscientifically apocalyptic. Seizing 10,000 tons of Vibranium from Wakanda and using it to unlock god knows what mystical mumbo-jumbo is the kind of thing you'd figure Doom would spend his afternoons planning. Being an ice-cold murderer in support of it, shooting a civilian every few minutes until Storm, the current Queen of Wakanda, acquiesces to his demands--yeah, that's also something Doom would do in my book. What does he care? He's a tyrant, let him be tyrannical. I understand that that's the sort of thing lots of people will just read as "icky," but villains have been killing people in genre material young people have read for decade upon decade. Saruman's goons wased a bunch of hobbits for pete's sake. I'll live.
What's interesting about Doomwar is that I didn't expect it to be so...Brubakerian, I guess is the word for it. It's "superheroes as black ops" in the Mighty Marvel Manner. Scot Eaton is drawing in that scratchy Marvel house style of the past several years; it's much more of a piece with Steve Epting and Mike Perkins and Butch Guice than with the jazzy John Romita Jr. covers the book sports, although he shares with JRJR a real knack for drawing bruisers. Colossus, T'Challa, and Doom all look like dudes you wouldn't want to mess with at all. Meanwhile, the concept could have come straight from one of Ed Brubaker's Captain America storylines, too, and insofar as it's about a sinister group that uses an appeal to patriotism to wrest control of a democracy over to a sinister outside force--the plot of Brubaker's "The Man Who Bought America" arc, with Wakanda instead of America and Doom instead of the Red Skull--that's basically what it did. It even shares with Brubaker Cap a knack for resonating with current events without referencing them outright: I can't be the only person who thought of Uganda's anti-homosexuality legislation when reading the coup leader's diatribe against mutants and witchcraft and suchlike. In turn, the Black Panthers are presented less as superheroes than as exiled leaders plotting the violent overthrow of the regime that violently overthrew them first. Cyclops and Emma Frost quietly funneling various X-Men to them in hopes of freeing Storm reads like a mutantified version of Charlie Wilson's War.
I suppose this could all come across as rather dreary and by-the-numbers. And it might be, if not for a few factors. One is the presence of Doom, so far latent rather than actualized, and my lingering hope that he'll do something totally awesome. Two is Eaton's literally muscular art--I find I just like looking at it a lot. Three, and most promisingly, is an out-of-left-field ending that short-circuited my every expectation of what the primary business of this series was going to be for the rest of its issues. The way it goes down actually gives me more faith in the future fortunes of the aforementioned Factors One and Two, in fact. Fingers crossed.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on February 22, 2010 at 6:39 PM|plink!
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Journalist Joe Sacco's latest book is about two massacres of Palestinian civilians by Israeli soldiers in two Gaza Strip camps/towns during the Suez Crisis in 1956. I think there are several things you can point to in it and say "Joe Sacco does that very well."
The first is what you might refer to optimistically as scale or pessimistically as sprawl. There's a memorable three-page sequence in the early going tht compares what the Palestinian refugee camps looked like in the mid-'50s, the time of the events the book spends most of its time chronicling, to what they looked like in the mid-'00s, which was when Sacco did the chronicling. On the first splash page, rows of little brick houses with sloping roofs and walled-in yard-like compounds trail off into the distance; a little street crosses the page in the foreground while the rows stop short of the horizon, which is buffered by a strip of wildnerness and then another, barely visible town just at the limit of sight. On the second page, giant apartment buildings jut upward against tiny shacks whose metal roofs are pinned down by bricks, tires, and debris; the roofs and clotheslines and water towers and telephone wires begin right at the bottom of the two-page spread and keep going until the taller buildings literally blot out the vast majority of the horizon, and even chunks of the sky. The message seems clear: Things may have been pretty bad for the impoverished, angry people of Gaza back then; everything is worse now. This is driven home later in the book by a second spread that mimics the set-up of the one that established the look of the camps today: This one show a barbed-wire fence and the ruins of bulldozed homes as far as the eye can see. Sacco is fond of that temporal-juxtaposition device, never more brutally used than when we see a contemporary row of cars parked against a wall on the right-hand side of a spread where dozens of dead bodies had been shown to us against that same wall some fifty years before on the left-hand side. Sometimes Sacco uses his skill with scale not for a landscape or panorama, but for single structures: The IDF towers that oversee the town of Rafah or a nearby checkpoint on the road to Gaza City rear up to the sky like menacing robots, while bulldozed multi-story building where many people once lived dwarfs us with the absence of it that we project against the sky. Other times it's explosions and chaos that overwhelm us, swirls of stippled smoke and fire obliterating buildings and bodies alike.
The second thing Sacco does well is visual repetition. You see this in that initial page of the mid-century refugee camp and its little block houses, of course. But later, you see it with bodies. Men forced to run pell-mell through the streets of their camp by angry soldiers firing in the air, and sometimes not in the air at all. Often they are all made to strike the same pose, arms in the air to show they are unarmed; the unnatural positioning leads to a criss-cross effect as the men scramble around and past and behind and in front of one another. Sacco will shift to a bird's eye view here, make skillful use of alternating gray and white clothing there, freeze the men with their backs to us like they've been paused in the middle of a Michael Jackson video dance routine here, throw them into a morass of beatings by the Israeli soldiers like a nightmare version of that third, battle-heavy Where's Waldo? book there. Repetition leads to perhaps the book's single most striking visual: The men of the town of Rafah, rounded up en masse in a schoolyard, forced to sit on the ground with their hands on their heads for hours at a time. Sacco shows this vista from slightly above and in front, from a three-quarter angle, from behind; the men become a featureless mass of little ovals of fear and discomfort, bleeding and pissing on one another, slightly cracked eggs in a massive carton.
The third thing Sacco does well is conveying a sense of action, or intense activity if you distrust that word's genre connotations. Sacco's careening caption boxes alone can get across the sweep of a magnificent view, the interruptions of constant cellphone calls, the chaos of constant violence, the chatter of a party, the march of history, the swell of a crowd, and the dance moves of beautiful women all by themselves--and in the book's first seven pages, they do all that and more. Elsewhere he uses perspective tricks, like a swoop of flame that makes it look like a burning soldier has literally been propelled toward us. In the chaos of a sudden attack by an Israeli patrol he cross-cuts two different sentences like a giant X across an almost collage-effect collection of panels showing him and his companions as they flee in all directions; you have to read one of them backwards, manga-style. And it's all but impossible to forget the montage based on the two stick-swinging soldiers seared into the memory of every man in the town as they tee off on hundreds of terrified captives being herded through a narrow gate, or the jump-cut chaos of a black-bordered POV sequence that makes as bold a use of the cut-to-black as anything since a certain HBO TV show.
The fourth thing Sacco does well is portraiture. This book is just as much a Beard Parade (and Mustache Parade, and Grumpy Little Kid Parade, and Wrinkled Old Lady Parade) as R. Crumb's Book of Genesis Illustrated, and there's just as much care and attention put into differentiating each from the other. (The exception are the Israeli soldiers in the flashback sequences; they have a uniform build, the shadow of their pith helmets rendering them eyeless and inscrutable. Only the notably monstrous or humane gain individualization.) But even still there are standouts. Take Sacco's frequent interview subject and companion Khaled: A Palestinian guerrilla marked for death by the IDF and constantly moving from place to place, he nonetheless has a Cheshire Cat serenity in his heavy-lidded face. We frequently see him in repose, including one sequence where he lies immobile in bed, staring directly at the reader as he speaks of his utter exhaustion with his life on the run. The lines with which Sacco crafts his massive forehead, riven with wrinkles like the rungs of a ladder, and his jutting ears, and those preternaturally taciturn eyes, are all about the smoothest you'll see in the entire book; they make him look like a Dick Tracy villain.
The regional leaders Sacco shows us also have a comic-book or James-Bond heavy vibe to them. Nasser is almost always shown pensively stroking his chin or smoking a cigarette, constantly scheming and planning for the greater glory of the Arab World, by which he means Egypt, by which he means Nasser. Ben-Gurion, with his wild ring of white hair, and Dayan, with his can't-make-it-up Hollywood pirate eyepatch, point to maps and whisper in ears, goading like composite human versions of the angels and devils who appear on cartoon characters' shoulders. At one point, the Egyptian and Israeli leaders are shown in the exact same poses as their forces clash; the implication of this mirroring for the Palestinians used as pawns in their schemes to provoke one another into a ruinous war is perfectly clear.
Individual militants can look like bad guys, too. An aged fedayeen telling of his career of raids on Israel-held lands at the behest of the Egyptian military looks for all the world like the standard stereotypical supervillain image of the Ayatollah, while his evident horror at having been made to fight side by side with out-and-out murderers whose "talents" the cynical Egyptians wanted to make use of but then hopefully have put out of commission by Israeli bullets is reflected in the mad eyes and bestial unibrow of one such killer who stares right at the reader with psychotic intensity.
I'm making Sacco's portraiture seem un-subtle, I know. And in those cases, I suppose it is, to an extent anyway; his level of craft always elevates his Eisnerian-pantomime body language and facial expressions above caricature. But when he really sharpens the knife in this regard, when he puts together a sequence or assembles a moment that plays across a human face like a miniature film, that's when he's at his most dangerous and devastating. Right now I have the book open to a page where a three-panel tier at the top shows an old man, again staring straight at us, recalling how little time he had to bury his slain relatives in the first two panels, and then bam, in panel three, his eyes are closed and he's silently weeping. Below that we see the first-grader self of a woman who's old now, a look of utter confusion and dismay on her face as she watches the women of her neighborhood writhing on the ground and screaming in grief. Somehow even more frightening to me is a woman whose house is the last one standing on a block constantly being bulldozed by the Israelis as part of their policy of leveling any structure from which any kind of threat has emerged. (Sacco never says it outright, but it appears that saying that this justification is gilding the lily would be the understatement of the decade.) As the woman tells Sacco of her plight--how they'd leave their house since it's clear the Israelis want no one in this area, but they have no money to move anyplace else; how her daughter has started pissing on herself and just crawling around in terror when the 'dozers strike--she looks this way and that depending on where she's standing, but the expression of wide-eyed, slackjawed horror on her face never changes at all.
But there are a pair of sequences even stronger, to me, than those moments. They're stronger even than the rare times when Sacco makes his feelings on these subjects clear--his disgust at the grotesque, casually genocidal racism of an archival Israeli document about the displaced Palestinians; his disgust at the hypocrisy of Palestinian militants who decry the civilian casualties inflicted by Israeli soldiers even though their weapons allow for deadly precision, but disregard the fact that human explosives who enter a pizzeria or board a bus are the most precisely guided weapons of all; his digust at himself for forcing old, bereaved, desperately poor people to relive the worst day of their lives, then getting mad at them for digressing or getting their facts mixed up. These two strongest segments are sequences in which the immediately identifiable, loving connection of family to family and the unimaginable reality of violence are smashed together with astonishing power. The first is in a flashback from an old woman, picturing herself as the little girl she once was when soldiers entered her home and shot her father to death as she sat next to him. He slumps against the wall in a jacket and striped pajamas and traditional headgear, his head pointing sightlessly downward as if staring at the dark mass of blood staining his stomach; next to him the chubby, curly-haired, barefoot little girl, looking like one of those Campbell's soup cherubs, looks up at her dead father, her tiny face seeming to crumple into a black hole of utter sadness. The second is another reminiscence by an old woman, recalling how she found her husband in the chaos after the book's central round-up took place. Two panels show him fleeing for his very life, panicked and paranoid, mouth agape, eyes darting to and fro, a look of raw animal terror on his face--until in the third panel his wife literally catches him as he runs, looking up at him plaintively as he turns toward her mid-stride, the fact that he's been grabbed by the woman he loves and not by...someone else clearly still not having registered. In that moment I tried to imagine what it would be like for my wife to see that look on my face, the look of all other thought and emotion and sentience out of my eyes, the look of a lifeform's basic, primordial desire just to survive the next moment.
The fifth thing Sacco does well is convince you--or me at least--that there are no good guys in this world, only bad guys and victims, and that you're lucky beyond imagining that you've never been forced you to find out which of the two you really are.
Posted by Sean T. Collins on February 19, 2010 at 2:55 PM|plink!
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