Showing posts with label Slave Labor Graphics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Slave Labor Graphics. Show all posts
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Can't Blog Now . . .
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Ursa Minors #1
Ursa Minors #1, June 2006, SLG Publishing
writer: Neil Kleid
artist/letterer: Fernando Pinto
creators: Neil Kleid & Paul Cote
Blogger's note: Entry for Tuesday, January 30, 2008.
Ursa Minors #1 definitely suffers from the "judging a book by its cover" paradigm, at least in the context of my current, week-long attempt to review comic books starring animals in honor of this weekend's Groundhog Day. The cover, a brilliant neon example of pop culture art and intrigue, boasts, "This Issue!: Bears! Comics! Midgets! Ninjas!" The snarling, smiling bears in the cover's foreground promised at least a fourth of that surefire equation, but as I dug into this issue's lead story, I discovered that the bears are really our heroes in bear suits. I feel a little betrayed but not entirely disappointed; Ursa Minors apparently explores a future in which humans enjoy dressing up like lesser rings of the food chain. On the first page, we see a guy casually strolling through the park -- in an elephant suit. On the second page, a beggar hides behind a mysterious koala costume.
I wonder, would real groundhogs feel offended if people decided to watch for their shadow every February? Or would those people simply be doing the job most groundhogs refuse to do?
Either way, the effects of this strange future are lost in Ursa Minors' self-appointed coolness. Its hipster heroes hang out on the Internet and in comic book stores and spew pop culture in-jokes aplenty, in the midst of thwarting their midget arch-nemesis, whose only apparent crime was posing as a woman on-line to score a date with one of one of our bear-suit wearing champions. I've explained this script-writing phenomenon before, this apparent need from the creators' perspective to relate to their audience by essentially writing them into the story. Of course, writers often write what they know, and many comic book writers are the geeks that read their books, but how many Star Wars-quip ridden universes do we need? Would "the future in which people dress up like animals" really be less interesting if told through another character's point of view?
Fernando Pinto's art is crisp and expressive, balancing the goofiness of this pseudo-superhero world with the mundane meandering of geeks that try to hook up on the Internet. I wish his style wasn't squandered on those more dialogue-intensive scenes, or that the settings were more diverse and better displayed the breadth of his potential, but the Ursa Minors were minimal in their exposure to the real world. Rabbi Ninja, the star of this issue's back story, is ironically more secular in scope, not to mention more superior in his execution. The Rabbi Ninja tries to balance the sanctity of his faith and the honor of the ninja clan that trained him, and in this first installment, he struggles through a blind date while trying to assassinate a clan enemy. The consistent dichotomy and internal conflict is hilarious, and the Jewish context is one not oft explored in comics, even in jest. A whole issue of this, with a back-up about bear-suit wearing heroes, would have been the better ratio.
Still, Slave Labor knows how to put together a pretty package, and Ursa Minors #1 is no exception. I only wish it had a little bark to its bite.
writer: Neil Kleid
artist/letterer: Fernando Pinto
creators: Neil Kleid & Paul Cote
Blogger's note: Entry for Tuesday, January 30, 2008.
Ursa Minors #1 definitely suffers from the "judging a book by its cover" paradigm, at least in the context of my current, week-long attempt to review comic books starring animals in honor of this weekend's Groundhog Day. The cover, a brilliant neon example of pop culture art and intrigue, boasts, "This Issue!: Bears! Comics! Midgets! Ninjas!" The snarling, smiling bears in the cover's foreground promised at least a fourth of that surefire equation, but as I dug into this issue's lead story, I discovered that the bears are really our heroes in bear suits. I feel a little betrayed but not entirely disappointed; Ursa Minors apparently explores a future in which humans enjoy dressing up like lesser rings of the food chain. On the first page, we see a guy casually strolling through the park -- in an elephant suit. On the second page, a beggar hides behind a mysterious koala costume.
I wonder, would real groundhogs feel offended if people decided to watch for their shadow every February? Or would those people simply be doing the job most groundhogs refuse to do?
Either way, the effects of this strange future are lost in Ursa Minors' self-appointed coolness. Its hipster heroes hang out on the Internet and in comic book stores and spew pop culture in-jokes aplenty, in the midst of thwarting their midget arch-nemesis, whose only apparent crime was posing as a woman on-line to score a date with one of one of our bear-suit wearing champions. I've explained this script-writing phenomenon before, this apparent need from the creators' perspective to relate to their audience by essentially writing them into the story. Of course, writers often write what they know, and many comic book writers are the geeks that read their books, but how many Star Wars-quip ridden universes do we need? Would "the future in which people dress up like animals" really be less interesting if told through another character's point of view?
Fernando Pinto's art is crisp and expressive, balancing the goofiness of this pseudo-superhero world with the mundane meandering of geeks that try to hook up on the Internet. I wish his style wasn't squandered on those more dialogue-intensive scenes, or that the settings were more diverse and better displayed the breadth of his potential, but the Ursa Minors were minimal in their exposure to the real world. Rabbi Ninja, the star of this issue's back story, is ironically more secular in scope, not to mention more superior in his execution. The Rabbi Ninja tries to balance the sanctity of his faith and the honor of the ninja clan that trained him, and in this first installment, he struggles through a blind date while trying to assassinate a clan enemy. The consistent dichotomy and internal conflict is hilarious, and the Jewish context is one not oft explored in comics, even in jest. A whole issue of this, with a back-up about bear-suit wearing heroes, would have been the better ratio.
Still, Slave Labor knows how to put together a pretty package, and Ursa Minors #1 is no exception. I only wish it had a little bark to its bite.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Private Beach #1
Private Beach #1, February 2001, Slave Labor Graphics Publishing
by David Hahn
If you haven’t heard, it’s raining in California. Of course, I know this because I stepped outside this weekend, but even if I stayed indoors and ignored the sounds of raindrops against my window, I couldn’t avoid both the television and radio reports about Mother Nature’s “one, two, three punch” against the Golden State. To hear these melodramatic meteorologists report it, you’d think these three storm fronts are just one shy of the apocalypse’s four horsemen. I like the rainy respite, but despite the precipitation, my inner Californian couldn’t help but embrace a trip to the beach . . . even if it’s only a comic book coast. Thankfully, David Hahn’s Private Beach is the perfect proverbial getaway for a rainy day.
According to Hahn’s back cover essay, Private Beach #1 isn’t the first appearance of beachcombers Trudy Honeyvan and Sharona Cupkey, but this five-years-later relaunch is an entity all its own, with an introduction so unique I can’t help but revel in its cleverness. Consider this narration from the first page, which is so compelling I don’t mind transcribing it all:
“One afternoon, God decided to take every human soul that ever existed, or ever will exist, and line us up in a specific order known only to Him. There we stood, in a single row, shoulder to shoulder, all facing front. God then told us to walk, but because we were all standing side by side, we had no choice but to all walk forward in the same direction. However, out of all of humanity, there were two people who didn’t have to walk in a straight line with the rest of us; the two people on either end of the line. Those two individuals had a bit more leeway because they only had people on one side of them. The other side was all empty space. Whether it occurred to them or not, they didn’t have to march in a straight line with the rest of us. If they wished, they could veer off at angle. Away from the rest of us. Independent of the rest of us. By marching at right angles from the main line, those two people would see reality from a much different perspective than the rest of mankind. One of these people at the end of the line was a Japanese peasant who died of strep throat in 1681. At the other end of the line was young woman named Trudy Honeyvan.”
Isn’t that great, if a bit ethereal? Fortunately, what follows is a much more grounded story, as Trudy spots an UFO, hangs out with her friends at the beach, and becomes the sole suspicious observer of a few men in black, who, based on the next issue teaser, play a significant role later in Trudy’s tale. To describe Trudy and Sharona’s day is to liken their comic shop hopping and pop culture ridden dialogue to the guys from Kevin Smith’s Mallrats; other than the unfortunate fate of an once oil-soaked seal, nothing really seems to happen in this introductory issue, yet by its quirky conclusion the reader has a strong grasp of the gals’ personalities and predicaments, and in spite of himself wants to see what the next chapter brings for them.
(Though I made a similar critique of Teen Titans: Year One #1, those characters are introduced with completely no distinctive traits whatsoever. Awkward sidekicks, all four of 'em. Hahn's characters have some substance . . .)
It doesn’t hurt that Hahn’s heroines are impossibly cute, either. His art style is crisp, expressive, and thorough; Trudy and Sharona spend a lot of time judging the folks around them, as I presume many young women do, and Hahn captures the oddities of their world with perceptive social significance and accuracy. The underlying threads of the supernatural only increase this visual intrigue, what with the UFO sightings and all. The two back-up strips are also insightful, and I wonder perhaps a bit autobiographical, as well, in their depiction of adolescent curiosity and commentary. Actually, in some respects these little back-ups steal the show, but I won’t spoil them with a synopsis in the hopes that you’ll actually seek them out. It’s a private beach you definitely want to discover firsthand.
Honestly, independent comic books like this usually don’t appeal to me. I often dismiss such characters’ pseudo-sophisticated dialogue as a feeble attempt to connect to an expectedly geeky audience and to establish a commitment to the title out of pop cultural obligation. However, regarding Private Beach #1, its subtexts established a stronger foundation for me, and Hahn’s essay revealed a real compassion for his characters’ archetypes. Perhaps I’ve been wrong about this indie genre. Like the rain, Private Beach #1 has made some strides in clearing the air -- at least for this geeky audience of one.
by David Hahn
If you haven’t heard, it’s raining in California. Of course, I know this because I stepped outside this weekend, but even if I stayed indoors and ignored the sounds of raindrops against my window, I couldn’t avoid both the television and radio reports about Mother Nature’s “one, two, three punch” against the Golden State. To hear these melodramatic meteorologists report it, you’d think these three storm fronts are just one shy of the apocalypse’s four horsemen. I like the rainy respite, but despite the precipitation, my inner Californian couldn’t help but embrace a trip to the beach . . . even if it’s only a comic book coast. Thankfully, David Hahn’s Private Beach is the perfect proverbial getaway for a rainy day.
According to Hahn’s back cover essay, Private Beach #1 isn’t the first appearance of beachcombers Trudy Honeyvan and Sharona Cupkey, but this five-years-later relaunch is an entity all its own, with an introduction so unique I can’t help but revel in its cleverness. Consider this narration from the first page, which is so compelling I don’t mind transcribing it all:
“One afternoon, God decided to take every human soul that ever existed, or ever will exist, and line us up in a specific order known only to Him. There we stood, in a single row, shoulder to shoulder, all facing front. God then told us to walk, but because we were all standing side by side, we had no choice but to all walk forward in the same direction. However, out of all of humanity, there were two people who didn’t have to walk in a straight line with the rest of us; the two people on either end of the line. Those two individuals had a bit more leeway because they only had people on one side of them. The other side was all empty space. Whether it occurred to them or not, they didn’t have to march in a straight line with the rest of us. If they wished, they could veer off at angle. Away from the rest of us. Independent of the rest of us. By marching at right angles from the main line, those two people would see reality from a much different perspective than the rest of mankind. One of these people at the end of the line was a Japanese peasant who died of strep throat in 1681. At the other end of the line was young woman named Trudy Honeyvan.”
Isn’t that great, if a bit ethereal? Fortunately, what follows is a much more grounded story, as Trudy spots an UFO, hangs out with her friends at the beach, and becomes the sole suspicious observer of a few men in black, who, based on the next issue teaser, play a significant role later in Trudy’s tale. To describe Trudy and Sharona’s day is to liken their comic shop hopping and pop culture ridden dialogue to the guys from Kevin Smith’s Mallrats; other than the unfortunate fate of an once oil-soaked seal, nothing really seems to happen in this introductory issue, yet by its quirky conclusion the reader has a strong grasp of the gals’ personalities and predicaments, and in spite of himself wants to see what the next chapter brings for them.
(Though I made a similar critique of Teen Titans: Year One #1, those characters are introduced with completely no distinctive traits whatsoever. Awkward sidekicks, all four of 'em. Hahn's characters have some substance . . .)
It doesn’t hurt that Hahn’s heroines are impossibly cute, either. His art style is crisp, expressive, and thorough; Trudy and Sharona spend a lot of time judging the folks around them, as I presume many young women do, and Hahn captures the oddities of their world with perceptive social significance and accuracy. The underlying threads of the supernatural only increase this visual intrigue, what with the UFO sightings and all. The two back-up strips are also insightful, and I wonder perhaps a bit autobiographical, as well, in their depiction of adolescent curiosity and commentary. Actually, in some respects these little back-ups steal the show, but I won’t spoil them with a synopsis in the hopes that you’ll actually seek them out. It’s a private beach you definitely want to discover firsthand.
Honestly, independent comic books like this usually don’t appeal to me. I often dismiss such characters’ pseudo-sophisticated dialogue as a feeble attempt to connect to an expectedly geeky audience and to establish a commitment to the title out of pop cultural obligation. However, regarding Private Beach #1, its subtexts established a stronger foundation for me, and Hahn’s essay revealed a real compassion for his characters’ archetypes. Perhaps I’ve been wrong about this indie genre. Like the rain, Private Beach #1 has made some strides in clearing the air -- at least for this geeky audience of one.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Sparks: An Urban Fairytale #1
Sparks: An Urban Fairytale #1, May 1999, Slave Labor Graphics Publishing
by Lawrence Marvit
letterer: Chris Williams
digital assistance: Parker Moore, Jess Nowell
story assistance: Julie Bowdle, Marcus Smith, Al Reinhardt
Blogger's note: As I feared, my recent move has severely limited my Internet access, so until I hook up a wireless connection at home, I'm afraid A Comic A Day will suffer a little infrequency. While I may not be able to post daily, I will still post a review for every day I missed, doubling or maybe even tripling your pleasure the next time you visit! Also, our new two bedroom has finally given my extensive action figure collection some room to breathe, so I'm willing to take this temporary technological hit. That's right, my Bucky O'Hare figures are back on display, people! So you can live a day or two without a review, alright?
A few days ago, I asked what makes for a good first issue in a comic book series, and I’ve dedicated the first month of A Comic A Day: Year Two to the analysis of the “number one issue” phenomenon. What I didn’t reveal was one of my personal preferences in such an inaugural issue, an element that, when presented competently, is sure to bring me back for issue two. So what is this mysterious, all powerful characteristic? Motivation.
If a comic book writer, coupled with an artist’s capability to convey his characters’ emotions, can establish his protagonist’s motivations to the level of eliciting empathy from the reader -- in this case, me -- I believe he’s instantly achieved the crowning objective of all art: creating a connection with one’s general audience. In Sparks: An Urban Fairytale, writer/artist Lawrence Marvit accomplishes this mission well within the opening act of this first issue, establishing his urban setting and likening it to a fairytale kingdom, complete with the princess in search for her prince charming. Alas, unlike the comely lasses found in Disney’s stable of fantasy royalty, Joe (short for Josephine) is a tomboyish mechanic, as socially awkward as she is capable under the hood of a car. Her loneliness is transparent, from the emotion abuse she suffers from her father to her inability to meet a man worthy of her expectations. With little power over the former, she decides to combat the latter by, well, building her ideal mate. He isn’t much to look at, made up of spare parts around her automotive junkyard, but he’s enough to fulfill Joe’s fleeting fancies . . . until, unbeknownst to her by the end of this issue, a lightning bolt brings the behemoth to life.
Lawrence Marvit’s writing style and high contrast line work is extremely minimalist, even cartoonish in its presentation of his urban kingdom, but his words and pictures blend into a compelling coming of age, not to mention coming to life, allegory. Some pages shine more than others, but I confess that I’ve read a later issue of Sparks (number 9, I think, scored from a Slave Labor Graphics grab bag at an Alternative Press Expo a few years ago), and I know style evolves with his story for the better. What I appreciate most from this issue is what’s lurking behind Marvit’s panels, and in the hearts of his protagonist Joe -- that smoldering loneliness. Marvit makes it clear; dwelling in a city of thousands and working a job that makes her an asset to society, Joe is still overwhelming lonely. And her plight is completely understandable.
What is about loneliness that compels general audiences so? Consider, I Am Legend has become one the blockbuster movie of the holiday season, despite the fact that it story focuses on the last man on Earth during a time of year generally reserved for spending time with friends and family. Such a film could have easily succeeded during the highly competitive summertime, but its studio opted for the holiday season, when the loneliness of its protagonist stands in stark contrast to the family-oriented celebrations of Thanksgiving and Christmas. Is loneliness, or the fear of being alone, that persuasive to the common man? Surely we’ve all felt like the last man on Earth, but to escape into such a story seems ironic during the holidays. Comic books are just as guilty of this universal phenomenon. Think about Superman, the character that kicked off the modern comic book medium as we know it; billed as the last son of a doomed world, Superman sought to overcome his loneliness by downplaying his powers and blending in with society. Batman’s crusade against crime is arguably an attempt to fill the lonely void left by his murdered parents, and the secret to Spider-man’s success was the awkward adolescence to which Stan Lee was sure his readers would relate. Even more contemporary, independent comics about fledgling romance hinge on its protagonists’ need for companionship.
The bottom line is, in a world that feels more interconnected than ever thanks to the wonders of communications technology and the Internet, loneliness is still as affecting a motivation in literature as ever -- maybe even more so because of its poignancy in contrast to our shrinking world. Sparks: An Urban Fairytale touches that nerve with a twist; Joe’s Prince Charming is a barreling bucket of bolts with just enough sentience to understand her. To see Marvit’s meek heroine achieve the benefits of this relationship is enough to bring anyone back for a second issue. After all, the real reward isn’t in establishing Joe’s motivation, but in seeing her desires achieved, which is a story that couldn’t be confined to any single issue. Indeed, man can’t live on one issue alone . . .!
by Lawrence Marvit
letterer: Chris Williams
digital assistance: Parker Moore, Jess Nowell
story assistance: Julie Bowdle, Marcus Smith, Al Reinhardt
Blogger's note: As I feared, my recent move has severely limited my Internet access, so until I hook up a wireless connection at home, I'm afraid A Comic A Day will suffer a little infrequency. While I may not be able to post daily, I will still post a review for every day I missed, doubling or maybe even tripling your pleasure the next time you visit! Also, our new two bedroom has finally given my extensive action figure collection some room to breathe, so I'm willing to take this temporary technological hit. That's right, my Bucky O'Hare figures are back on display, people! So you can live a day or two without a review, alright?
A few days ago, I asked what makes for a good first issue in a comic book series, and I’ve dedicated the first month of A Comic A Day: Year Two to the analysis of the “number one issue” phenomenon. What I didn’t reveal was one of my personal preferences in such an inaugural issue, an element that, when presented competently, is sure to bring me back for issue two. So what is this mysterious, all powerful characteristic? Motivation.
If a comic book writer, coupled with an artist’s capability to convey his characters’ emotions, can establish his protagonist’s motivations to the level of eliciting empathy from the reader -- in this case, me -- I believe he’s instantly achieved the crowning objective of all art: creating a connection with one’s general audience. In Sparks: An Urban Fairytale, writer/artist Lawrence Marvit accomplishes this mission well within the opening act of this first issue, establishing his urban setting and likening it to a fairytale kingdom, complete with the princess in search for her prince charming. Alas, unlike the comely lasses found in Disney’s stable of fantasy royalty, Joe (short for Josephine) is a tomboyish mechanic, as socially awkward as she is capable under the hood of a car. Her loneliness is transparent, from the emotion abuse she suffers from her father to her inability to meet a man worthy of her expectations. With little power over the former, she decides to combat the latter by, well, building her ideal mate. He isn’t much to look at, made up of spare parts around her automotive junkyard, but he’s enough to fulfill Joe’s fleeting fancies . . . until, unbeknownst to her by the end of this issue, a lightning bolt brings the behemoth to life.
Lawrence Marvit’s writing style and high contrast line work is extremely minimalist, even cartoonish in its presentation of his urban kingdom, but his words and pictures blend into a compelling coming of age, not to mention coming to life, allegory. Some pages shine more than others, but I confess that I’ve read a later issue of Sparks (number 9, I think, scored from a Slave Labor Graphics grab bag at an Alternative Press Expo a few years ago), and I know style evolves with his story for the better. What I appreciate most from this issue is what’s lurking behind Marvit’s panels, and in the hearts of his protagonist Joe -- that smoldering loneliness. Marvit makes it clear; dwelling in a city of thousands and working a job that makes her an asset to society, Joe is still overwhelming lonely. And her plight is completely understandable.
What is about loneliness that compels general audiences so? Consider, I Am Legend has become one the blockbuster movie of the holiday season, despite the fact that it story focuses on the last man on Earth during a time of year generally reserved for spending time with friends and family. Such a film could have easily succeeded during the highly competitive summertime, but its studio opted for the holiday season, when the loneliness of its protagonist stands in stark contrast to the family-oriented celebrations of Thanksgiving and Christmas. Is loneliness, or the fear of being alone, that persuasive to the common man? Surely we’ve all felt like the last man on Earth, but to escape into such a story seems ironic during the holidays. Comic books are just as guilty of this universal phenomenon. Think about Superman, the character that kicked off the modern comic book medium as we know it; billed as the last son of a doomed world, Superman sought to overcome his loneliness by downplaying his powers and blending in with society. Batman’s crusade against crime is arguably an attempt to fill the lonely void left by his murdered parents, and the secret to Spider-man’s success was the awkward adolescence to which Stan Lee was sure his readers would relate. Even more contemporary, independent comics about fledgling romance hinge on its protagonists’ need for companionship.
The bottom line is, in a world that feels more interconnected than ever thanks to the wonders of communications technology and the Internet, loneliness is still as affecting a motivation in literature as ever -- maybe even more so because of its poignancy in contrast to our shrinking world. Sparks: An Urban Fairytale touches that nerve with a twist; Joe’s Prince Charming is a barreling bucket of bolts with just enough sentience to understand her. To see Marvit’s meek heroine achieve the benefits of this relationship is enough to bring anyone back for a second issue. After all, the real reward isn’t in establishing Joe’s motivation, but in seeing her desires achieved, which is a story that couldn’t be confined to any single issue. Indeed, man can’t live on one issue alone . . .!
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