The Damned #1 (revisited)

The Damned #1, October 2006, Oni Press
writer: Cullen Bunn
artist/letterer: Brian Hurtt
editor: Randal C. Jarrell

[Blogger’s Note: I have two regular on-ramps to the Information Superhighway: a fancy T1 connection at work, and a 19th century dial-up at home. As much as I’d like to post from work daily, my nine-to-five (which starts earlier than nine and ends later than five) offers little time to type a comprehensive review, so I usually write the analysis as a word doc and paste it into A Comic A Day at home. This time, it didn’t work. I saved the essay to a disk and rushed to work, for naught, as 3 ½ inch floppies are as compatible with the modern computer as Whitney is to Bobby nowadays. So, here we go again, because I won’t sleep soundly knowing this thread – pardon the Internet pun – is dangling. The first, hasty review was decent, but here is the essay in its original entirety. Next time, I’ll post it via smoke signal. Watch the skies.]

Before Mel Gibson was getting you-know-what-faced and blaming the Jews for all the wars in the world, he was painting his face blue and proclaiming, “Every man dies, but not every man lives,” a declaration that has become as timeless as making fun of celebrities and their haphazard vices. The Damned has put Braveheart’s battle cry to the test, with a hero that certainly dies, but indefinitely comes back to life. Even if he lives a futile existence, he gets more than a few chances to do it right. That’s a few more than the rest of us, eh?

Fortunately, the way I read The Damned, Eddie isn’t living a futile life, just an odd one. This issue, fresh off the new release rack with a nice aura for my Halloween-themed review, passed my flip test; as I may have described before, with any new issue I contemplate buying, I usually read the first page, flip through the meat of the book to assure that the artwork is consistent, then I read the last page, to analyze if the plot ends poignantly enough to capture me. So, ironically, The Damned wasn’t. The illustration isn’t remarkable, but the style, brushed with gray tone and lettered with what I can only describe as Tim Sale’s gothic font, compliments the supernatural tones of the story, and Eddie’s visible scars act as a distinguishing trait that keeps him recognizable in the thick of the other black-haired Caucasians throughout the rest of the issue. Yes, in a comic also rife with demons, I’m thinking some diversity would’ve helped. Maybe affirmative action doesn’t affect the underworld.

Regarding the issue’s story, Eddie’s gift (curse?) to rise from the dead has placed him at the beck and call of the godfather (devil-father?) Big Al, who hires the resurrection man to find a demon bookkeeper who was assigned to broker a peace deal between two warring hellish mobs. Despite Eddie’s supernatural ties, this issue is hardly scary, and in fact our undead hero’s struggle with his death(s) is surprisingly human, played with a melodrama befitting a mob story. His first moves post-assignment is to track down his love interest and her boyfriend, his killer. A dream featuring a ghost-like demon hungering for his soul is another sobering reminder of Eddie’s condition – as much as we’d like to cheat death, the hurdle would come with its fair share of spiritual and psychological baggage. In this case, Eddie is literally damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t. His last line, the one that sealed the deal for me with this series, sums it up best, “Ain’t that always the way? Lucky to be alive. Better off dead.” Well put.

Since I saw The Departed this weekend, another cops and robbers drama, I can’t help but draw some comparisons between these two stories and to the general themes dominating comics altogether. In The Departed (which I’m sure I’ll review in my LiveJournal in due time), an undercover cop and a mobster’s surrogate son infiltrating the police department struggle with the duality of their missions, enjoying the respective benefits of their positions while crushed by the responsibilities instilled by their masters and respective upbringing. Eddie’s predicament is fairly similar; imagine trying to live a meaningful life with the thought that you were already, and might as well still be, dead. What you are versus what you should be, that kind of thing. Comics revel in the duality of their protagonists, from the secret identities of superheroes to the smoldering bravado versus self-imposed humility of indie/autobiographical books. Some stories end to the hero’s benefit, achieving a balance that harmonizes the internal struggle with the external circumstances of his life. Based on this comic’s pessimistic title, I assume things won’t end well with Eddie. Oddly, and technically, things have ended badly for him already.

One of the movie previews before The Departed impressed a similar theme to Braveheart’s inspirational statement, asking (and I paraphrase), “I want to help change things so when my children speak of their father they can say that I tried to make things right. What will your children say about you?” When we talk about life and death, we’re really discussing the concept of legacy. In The Damned, the idea subtlety lingers, particularly in the context of spiritual consequence. At the end of the day, do you want be among the fortunate . . . or the damned? Eddie embodies the quandary, but you don’t need a comic to tell you, it’s an easy answer.

The Damned #1

The Damned #1, October 2006, Oni Press

Experiencing serious technical difficulties. This review is written, but much like its subject matter, appears to be damned. I blame the spirits of Halloween for this one. Since I'm down to the wire, I have to post something, so I'll take my friend's advice and offer a bottom line overview, in the hopes of fixing my disk drives and Internet connections so I can post the review in its entirety tomorrow.

BOTTOM LINE: The Damned #1 is an entertaining read that offers insight into the legitimate struggle that comes with life after death, as our hero with an odd ability to raise from the dead is at the beck and call of a demonic mob, which, although isn't illustrated as scary in a supernatural sense, retains the dignity of the old cops-and-robbers genre, instilling a true sense of chilling consequence if the proverbial resurrection man doesn't succeed. Well drawn, well written, worth digging up, much like its lead character. Ha. Even with seconds to spare, I get the jab in.

But I'm still pissed.

[Blogger’s Note: Original review finally posted on October 23, 2006, approximately 2 a.m. I’ll be damned.]

The Twilight Zone #68

The Twilight Zone #68, January 1976, Western Publishing Company

Yesterday’s brief review featured a comic book providing supplemental material for a popular toy franchise. Today’s review tackles a comic book providing supplemental material for a successful television series. These adaptations aren’t as different as they seem. Children are attracted to the Bionicle Lego product because of its well marketing mythology, freely embellished by its comic counterpart. The Twilight Zone is a cult phenomenon with unlimited, open-ended potential and unlike other TV show adaptations – like Star Trek: The Next Generation, which I reviewed last month – is free of continuity concerns, so writers don’t have to dance around what’s been or will be aired during any given month. This episodic nature is perfect for the comic book format, especially in this Gold Key incarnation which features four short Rod Serling narrated tales. I dropped into this issue as easily as one can turn into any episode of The Twilight Zone during its annual Labor Day marathon . . . but what holiday benefits more from a twilight trip than Halloween, eh? I mean, really . . .

So, what are these four eerie tales ripped from the ether of the Twilight Zone? Interestingly, the stories aren’t very long and make for fun, brief reads, ranging from three to seven pages each. The first tale, called “The Second Will,” stars a man suffering from a bout of astral projection, during which he meets his dead uncle who reveals the location of his second, revised will. The uncle’s greedy brother and sister demand to see this will, anxious for their inheritance and eager to cover-up their responsibility for the secret murder, only to be murdered themselves by a bomb in the will’s safe box. Serling assures us that our hero’s astral episodes cease, and now “he’s counting the fortune he inherited in the Twilight Zone.”

The second and third tales, presumably by different but anonymous creative teams, are about obscure prison breaks. In the first, “A Lease of Death,” a stranger aids a convicted murderer in an escape, then promptly drugs him with an agent that instigates paralysis. The stranger is revealed to be a wax museum curator, and the convict lives on as his latest attraction, “if,” according to Serling, “you can calling that ‘living’ – in the Twilight Zone!” The third tale, “Wide Open Spaces,” is a bit more galactic in nature, an element I assumed this issue would feature more abundantly, since the franchise could more easily afford an illustrator’s skills in recreating space than a crew building a film set. Anyway, in this case, a cosmic convict from second-class planet known as Earth organizes a crafty prison break because of his nostalgic penchant for personal space, something apparently hard to find in the claustrophobic future. The man is successful, but his prison isn’t a gravity-heavy planet as he’d hoped, but a satellite where escapees burst through the hatch to meet a free-floating fate in space. Oh, the irony is too rich to resist.

The final tale, “Discovery,” is intriguing enough but my least favorite in the issue. Whereas the other yarns explore the peculiarity of human nature, this is the only story that is actually supernatural in nature, but the para-normality isn’t complex enough to really make my skin crawl. In fact, the story is a heart-warming one, in which a rich, idle college graduate meets her futuristic counterpart not once but twice – in one incarnation, the older doppelganger is a bored airhead, the other a successful vibrant marine biologist. In the end, the student graduates with the hopes of pursuing her formerly dormant skills in science. Her introspective journey may have seemed spectral, but, according to Serling in his final appearance, “not for us who travel in – the Twilight Zone!” Well put, if not completely inspiring.

As I implied, three of out of the four stories in this issue dealt more with the more macabre dimensions of human nature than with the mystical. Sans a few fantastic elements, like a paralytic drug that can sustain a man to old age, these circumstances can actually come to pass, given the right players and suspension of reality. The issue is certainly drawn realistically, with the formality of a drawing instruction book. From what I can tell, the first and last stories were illustrated by the same artist, but the lack of creative credits offer this issue’s true mystery. These contributors deserve a pat on the back for keeping this sci-fi franchise so accessible in a comic book format. Unlike the Bionicle book, which was so confusingly written and illustrated that I’ll consciously avoid the Lego aisle at Toys ‘R Us from now on, I feel inspired to scroll my DirecTV menu, so sometime soon I can take another enigmatic trip to . . . the Twilight Zone. Hey, why should Serling have all the fun?

Bionicle #6

Bionicle #6, May 2002, DC Comics
writer: Greg Farshtey
penciller: Carlos D’Anda
inker: Randy Elliot
letterer: Ken Lopez
colorst: Peter Pantazis

I swear, when I’m in a rush, I pick the worst comics to read. Today’s offering, Bionicle, was discovered at the bottom of a box of donated books at work, and while I thought the issue would offer further insight into the realm of promotional comics – a topic we’ve analyzed here from time to time – I just find myself confused and frustrated, wondering why any kid would like this popular Lego franchise after such shoddy work at this. Not to mention that I expected any comic about toys to be a light read, like the Lego Batman: Secret Files and Origins from a few months ago, which was admittedly fluff but undeniably fun. Just consider this excerpt from a few panels’ worth of text:

CAPTIONS: “The Matoran have learned that the Bohrok do not truly live. They are artificial life . . . biomechanical creations,” Onua explains. “The villagers salvaged parts from fallen Bohrok to build the Boxor vehicles.”
BIONICLE SOLDIER: We muct act now, Onua, or nothing will be left of Mata Nui!

Uhm, God bless you? Do you need a tissue? I think the writer – another hapless chap shacked with an impossible but necessary assignment, I assume – managed to squeeze a statement about Lego accessories in there somewhere, but the consonant heavy proper names makes the excerpt read more like a KGB file than a comic book about Legos. (Also reminds me of Warriors of Plasm from last week, and not in a good way. I was trying to forget that book.) So, with an evening of work ahead – our nonprofit organization is hosting its annual auction gala fundraiser – I was thinking that a comic book about toys would seem like I’d be getting in a little playtime before business. Sheesh. I feel like I’ve already clocked in.

Tomorrow, back to Halloween.

Route 666 #3

Route 666 #3, September 2002, CrossGen Entertainment
writer: Tony Bedard
penciller: Karl Moline
inker: John Dell
colorist: Nick Bell
letterer: Troy Peteri

When you think about it, doctors can be pretty scary people. Their intimate knowledge of the human body gives them an upper hand over the common man’s sense of their own well-being, and society’s general acceptance of their wherewithal to tamper with our health and physique places them in a rather powerful position. Who can say that the several years of education a doctor must endure truly qualifies an individual as one with the moral compass or grasp of responsibility required to comprehensively fulfill the oath to preserve life? In other words, book learnin’ doesn’t guarantee that any given doctor isn’t a nut ready to crack and wreak havoc on their fellow man through the privilege bestowed them as a physician. From what station did this train of thought chug, you ask? Well, since yesterday’s review of Supernatural Freak Machine was completed so haphazardly, I wanted to compare the issue with today’s read, Route 666 #3, and coincidentally, both have a deranged doctor character in common. Go figure.

Route 666 #3 opens with a startling scene, as one Doctor Waterman falls prey to a nasty vampire bite. Our shock-stick wielding hero/ghost-seeing asylum patient Cassie bursts onto the scene seconds too late to save the good doctor but in time to put a pen through his assailant’s eye, a fellow doctor (turned vampire) with ties to a demonic underworld hell bent on swiping innocent souls at death. The introductory scene, which actually consumes the entire first half of the issue, is superbly suspenseful, drawing in a new reader like me with action, intrigue, and most importantly, sympathy for the lead character. In Supernatural Freak Machine #1, writer Steve Niles uses a similar technique kicking off the issue with a suspenseful scene that demands your attention and empathy, in this case for a prison warden back from vacation only to find the medical lab transformed into an experimental breeding ground for Frankenstein-like monstrosities at the hands of the eerie Dr. Polynice. Both of these scenes are darkly colored and rapidly paced for dramatic effect. It works. In both cases, I was affected.

Then, both writers offer a twist, a dramatic scene change that further establishes the stories’ major players while maintaining an edge-of-your-seat sensibility for the involved reader. In Cal McDonald’s case, the supernatural detective of the Niles/Kelly Jones tale, he and his friend are literally on the edge – of the “H” in the Hollywood sign. Jones shows off his chops as an artist here; his run on Batman involved many urban backdrops and tight action sequences, but McDonald lets him take a step back and let his work breath a bit. Kelly can draw monsters, but he can also masterfully reflect the environments that breed them. 666 scribe Tony Bedard takes a similar approach, as Cassie flees the asylum by bus and disembarks in a rural area, where the local sheriff quickly recognizes her from the rapidly released news reports of the doctors’ murders. Unlike the intro pages, these panels are wider, earth-toned images, giving us solid environment shots of the country and diner in which Cassie seeks refuge. From a bloody lab to the American landscape, these artists can capture true horror in any cranny of the country.

I can imagine that comics are difficult venues for true horror fiction. In any scary story, the element surprise is key to its success, but when the eye can scan seven or eight panels’ worth of information on any given page, a sense of shock can easily be lost. Pacing is critical, particularly in page transitions. The reader’s interaction with the comic as a book of sequential art is truly put to the test; without the mystery of what the next page might bring, offering something really scary would be a great feat for any author and artist. Route 666 accomplishes this with its last pages, as Cassie’s stolen cop car and the Sheriff’s son’s truck collide in a two-page spread surprisingly detailed with shattered glass, fiery engines, and characters crashing through windows into the open air. Full force, pure action, as if someone pressed pause at that critical moment in the movie when the explosion means everything. Two page spreads rarely conclude an issue, since most comics end on an even page, but the artists sacrificed that last page for their credits, utilizing the inside front cover for supplemental material (an insightful letter from Cass to Waterman) to catch up the reader to current events. Well played, I say. Now if someone could press the fast forward button to next issue . . .

Interestingly, Cal McDonald’s story ends similarly, with a haunted car running him down in a dead-end alley. McDonald takes a leap toward the barreling vehicle, then . . . to be continued? The suspense from one issue to the next is definitely more exhilarating (and irritating) than the mere seconds that pass in a movie.

So, I doctored this review to make up for yesterday’s phone-in. I’m pleased with the results. Both issues had more in common than I thought. Perhaps the horror genre depends on certain character types or plot elements to thrive, or certain horror stories have parallel points upon which success is assured. Perhaps I’m dissecting this idea too much, like any mad doctor would. Who knows if doctors are mentally qualified? Who knows if comic book reviewers are? Therein lies another commonality. If both types of person aren’t careful, their self-imposed sense of power and importance could consume them.

Bwah ha ha ha ha ha ha!

Supernatual Freak Machine: A Cal McDonald Mystery #1

Supernatual Freak Machine: A Cal McDonald Mystery #1, March 2005, IDW Publishing
writer: Steve Niles
artist: Kelly Jones
colorist: Michelle Stewart
letterer: Tom B. Long
editor: Chris Ryall

Getting this one in right under the wire. It’s been a long day in a long week that isn’t near over yet, and I’m beat, but I have to log something about today’s read. Three quick thoughts that I can embellish later:

1. Supernatural Freak Machine: perhaps the coolest title for a comic book I’ve seen in a long time.

2. Steve Niles: the definitive writer of weird. In my attempt to review comics with a connection to Halloween, his name has come up four times with titles from at least two different companies. His rep precedes him. In this case, his supernatural detective Cal McDonald takes on a haunted car and a demented prison doctor that seems to use inmates in macabre Frankenstein-like experiments. I wonder if Niles has a cauldron of key words, i.e. “haunted,” “car,” “prison,” and “doctor,” and he just pulls a few slips to come up with an idea every time he gets an assignment.

3. Kelly Jones: I’ve missed him. I dug his run on Batman, and as near as I can tell, he’s the only artist that can tackle this story with any real efficiency. I wonder how the prison doctor’s splash page was described in the original script: “Dr. Polynice turns to face the warden, his smock covered in blood, dozens of failed experiments standing behind him, mostly humanoid creatures with additional heads and limbs sewn on in various places – generally appalling to the unprepared eye?” You have to see it to believe it.

The lesson: Horror comics are certainly a specialty that not just any artist can master. Niles and Jones have honed the genre into a mad science just as Lee and Kirby became experts in the superhero department. Really. They’ve created a monster.

More tomorrow.

Dark Days #2

Dark Days #2, August 2003, IDW Publishing
writer: Steve Niles
artist: Ben Templesmith
letterer: Robbie Robbins
editor: Jeff Mariotte

So many vampire stories imply that a secret bloodsucking network lurks beneath our commonplace society that if such a conspiracy was ever exposed in real life, I wouldn’t be surprised. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Blade, and 30 Days of Night are all excellent examples of this complex and intriguing yet gory and frightening genre, not to mention franchises that I have a casual awareness of, at best. So much so, that when I began reading Dark Days #2, I had no idea that this six issue miniseries was a sequel to the Niles/Templesmith vampire epic. Fortunately, with the exception of the characters’ motivations, which were undoubtedly established in the previous chapter, this issue stood well enough alone as an insightful glimpse into the world of vampires among us. Actually, the tale struck closer to home than I would’ve suspected.

See, Buffy and Blade were definitely vampire hunters, and they essentially dwelled in the underworld to stalk their bloodthirsty prey. In Dark Days, our hero is an author that has penned an autobiographical chronicle of her experience with vampires, including her husband’s untimely death. In this issue, vampires attack her during an appearance at a college campus – UCLA, to be specific – then later, she and her gun-toting friends (bodyguards?) take a room at the Standard, a trendy hotel on Sunset Blvd. First of all, since I live in a college town in Southern California, I found Niles’s choice of setting realistic and unsettling. To see Templesmith’s rendition of the Standard, an establishment I’ve frequented and see about once a month when I venture to Hollywood – drove the nail a little deeper into my brain. This isn’t some New York subway system, an environment glamorized in horror fiction like this (although just as tangible to many, I understand). In Dark Days, the vampires are in my proverbial backyard! I’m not sure a writer is my warrior of choice – unless her pen is made of pure silver and her canvas is somewhere over that nasty neck-biter’s heart.

A point of criticism: I enjoy Templesmith’s style and am relatively new to his work, as an avid reader of his Warren Ellis coop Fell. However, since so many of these scenes took place in settings with which I can relate, some of his renditions were too dark to be believed. The only real similarity his incarnation of the Standard shares with the real thing is its mod upside down marquee. His gray tones and sepias bear little resemblance to the hotel’s pastels, and the neon contrast might have made for some visually appealing ambiance. I don’t want to dub Templesmith a one-trick pony, but in this issue especially, I say his background details need work. Now diehard fans are reading this somewhere and snarling their fangs at me, I imagine. Great.

What is it about vampires that intrigues us so? Vampires defy the mystery of death, and in a dreadful way, offer a glimmer of purpose to the afterlife – the thirst for blood. Of course, no one wants to thirst for blood, but if something is truly better than nothing, then this perspective of death beats the alternative. Perhaps this is why most vampire franchises, like Buffy or the cult film Innocent Blood, offer a lighter side to an otherwise ghastly genre. Or maybe this conclusion explains why other epics, like Blade and 30 Days of Night, imply that pseudo-political structure to the vampirism underworld – politics is an evil we can easily understand. Either way, if vampires are really among us, I think they’re best kept after dark. The daylight greets enough freaks as it is.

Rob Zombie’s Spookshow International #5

Rob Zombie’s Spookshow International #5, February 2004, MVCreations
writer: Rob Zombie
artists: Matt Tyree, Val Staples, Will Conrad, Pat Boutin, Kieron Dwyer
colorists: Kevin Senet, Michael Kelleher, Jeremy Roberts

I never thought I would type this: I enjoyed a comic book by Rob Zombie. Who is Rob Zombie, anyway? Is he a musician, a horror filmmaker, or a just some pop subculture phenomenon that we would’ve eventually created anyway if he never existed? I’ll confess, aside from the freaky commercials for his movie House of 1000 Corpses I couldn’t avoid a few years ago – even during TV programming as innocent as The Snorkels Visit Fraggle Rock, if such a program were ever made – I’m not familiar with his work. I don’t know if Spookshow International brings me any closer to an understanding of the man’s career, but I find myself enjoying this singular achievement, which may be what he wanted in the first place.

Spookshow International is ironically neither spooky nor international. In fact, this comic book represents everything that’s deviant about Western culture – ghoulish violence, gratuitous nudity, and gutter-mouth comedy. Somehow, Zombie injects these otherwise repulsive elements with a shot of steamy, cheesy camp, creating a Tales from the Crypt-meets-Stan Lee hybrid that epitomizes what comics would’ve been in the ‘60s had the Comics Code Authority never existed. Seriously, if Kirby and the Crypt Keeper had a baby, it’s Rob Zombie behind the keyboard of a comic book script; his sense of horror isn’t without a sense of humor, both self-depreciating and layered with subtle social satire. Yes. I’m still talking about Rob Zombie.

Enough colloquialism; time to split this issue like a frog on a hotplate. (Oh no! I think I’ve been Zombie-fied!) Zombie’s effort here isn’t a wonton display of blood and babes, as a first impression flip test of the issue may imply. Zombie has actually established a comic book universe complete with core characters and their respective complexities. (By “complexities,” I don’t intend to assert that these characters have any real Freudian depth; rather, antiheroes like Mexican wrestler El Superbeasto have consistent traits all their own, similar to Kevin Smith’s eccentric View Askew personas. The author created them with intent, however sophomoric on the surface.) The first of three tales in this issue features heroine Baby and the macabre Professor from House of 1000 Corpses pitted against the cranially gifted Mr. Brains McButt in a pop culture game show. Questions like, “Name the one hit wonder band who recorded the song Afternoon Delight” establish a contrast with the ghouls in the game show’s audience, a visual treat for pop culture fans of obscure trivial and obtrusive horror. Of course, in the end, it was all just a dream. Makes sense.

The following two tales star El Superbeasto, Suzi X, and Marvin the robot, who seem to be super-agents for some supernatural crime-fighting outfit. Speaking of outfits, in the second tale, Suzi X loses hers, earning the issue its “Mature Readers Only” disclaimer on the cover – if the crude language hadn’t already – as she battles a small band of mutant sharks topless. I’ll confess, as a mature reader, I wasn’t sure how to interpret this admittedly unnecessary nudity. As a kid, I’m sure I would’ve enjoyed it, flipping through these pages under my Smurfs sheets with my Bat-signal flashlight until my mother told me to go to bed. As the mature reader this issue targets, I don’t see the point. This isn’t a real woman. The artist isn’t particularly talented enough to distract me from the sobering fact that I’m reading a still life porno. Call me a wet blanket (which could’ve been the fate of those Smurfs sheets years ago), but this type of tale simply isn’t my cup of tea.

I enjoyed Suzi X’s second appearance more, as she stood steadfast behind El Superbeasto in a wedding gone terribly wrong. Surprisingly poorly illustrated by Kieron Dwyer – the only artist I recognized in the credits – this adventure pits Zombie’s terrible trio on the world of Vulcan, a move that must violate some copyright infringement law, but that also pits these obnoxious heroes in the midst of a tight-lipped horde of conversely rational creatures. Zombie has fun with this and the Star Trek jokes that result, which makes me wonder if that was his initial intention all along. With a caption that proclaims, “Well, kids, the geek factor on this issue just went up to warp nine. Hold steady, Mr. Sulu, this ain’t over yet.” You can come to your own conclusions on that one.

I assume that someone somewhere is a legitimate Rob Zombie fan, and that Spookshow International is the holy grail they’ve been waiting for. I don’t know how many issues this series lasted – I’m fairly certain MVCreations, which also helmed the Masters of the Universe renaissance, went belly up a year or two ago – but if each installment was as rich as this one, Zombie fans have plenty of material to pick out of their well-filed fangs for years to come. (The supplemental material in this book, like the El Superbeasto’s Guide to Picking Up Chicks, reads like a demented Mad Magazine sound byte.) These creeps know who Rob Zombie really is. Me? I think he’s a decent adult comic book author. Again, I never thought I’d actually type that. That’s the spookiest part of all.

The Gray Area #1

The Gray Area #1, June 2004, Image Comics
writer: Glen Brunswick
penciller: John Romita, Jr.
inker: Klaus Janson
letterer: John Workman
colorist: Bill Crabtree

On the other hand, some creators, like John Romita, Jr., deserve a little credit. While Jim Lee, Rob Liefeld, Todd McFarlane, and all of their imitators stole the headlines in the early ‘90s, John Romita, Jr. kept the home fires burning, illustrating nearly every character in the Marvel Universe at one time or another, maintaining a standard that may not have sold out titles but certainly kept companies afloat. Ads boasting “John Romita, Jr.’s first creator-owned series,” as the ads for The Gray Area proudly proclaim, truly have something to tout, firstly because Romita waited so long, and secondly because his effort wasn’t a career move, but an opportunity to stretch his creative chops, and nothing more. I know this thanks to Brunswick’s essay at the end of this issue, explaining that The Gray Area was originally intended for Marvel’s Epic line of creator-driven titles, an imprint that went belly up as quickly as it was shoved down our throats. According to Brunswick, Marvel EIC Joe Quesada recommended that Romita shop his work around, something companies rarely suggest to their bread-and-butter artists (which is what made Image’s origins so controversial in the first place). Romita’s faithfulness to his roots earned him the right to fly from the nest, not to mix metaphors, and the results are something to behold.

This first issue of The Gray Area is a hefty read, with thirty-two pages of solid story and sixteen pages of supplemental material, packaged (and priced) like a mini-graphic novel. Although Brunswick and Romita are obviously setting the stage for a supernatural thriller, this issue plays like an episode of The Shield, featuring a corrupt but likeable cop by the name of Rudy Chance. Like Romita’s black-and-white cover homage to Scarface, Rudy’s life is a delicate balance of right and wrong; he’s a successful narcotics officer that profits from his connects with the drug trade, and he’s a happily married family man with a hooker on the side, one that doesn’t hesitate to tell him she’d want something more from their business relationship. Tragically, Rudy’s worlds collide when drug runners kill his family in brutal retaliation, and in his quest for vengeance, Chance unwittingly puts his straight edge partner Patty in harm’s way, and consequently in a coma. As for Chance, well, he dies. Don’t worry, though – this is where his story begins. Befriended by a fellow specter named Jordan, Rudy is led into the gray area, where ghosts seem to dwell in an agonistic purgatory. End of issue one. Yeah, I’d like to know more, too.

The supplemental material adds an interesting layer to the issue and offers a unique behind-the-scenes insight into the creators’ process, much to my fanboy delight. In a thorough sketchbook section that reveals character model sheets and some pages’ pencils, Romita’s work pops with an enthusiasm on par with his better-known Marvel work, if not more so. Admittedly, the issue itself isn’t his A-game – which can be found in Punisher: War Journal if you ask me – but his sense of pacing and blocking is masterful, presumably a talent that runs through the family. I don’t know how much experience Romita has with the supernatural, and therein lies the breadth of his creative chops – it’s not often an artist will cut his teeth with a creative-owned property that contains foreign material. Many of Image’s founders admittedly recreated the X-Men for their inaugural efforts, from storylines to character designs. Romita did recruit Brunswick’s help, and the writer’s humility and confidence with this project shines in his narrative throughout the supplemental material. In a plot with undertones about balance, this issue demonstrates a true sense of the concept, particularly because of this peek behind the curtain.

Unfortunately, I found The Gray Area #1 in the same place I’ve found Image’s other flagship titles: in the quarter bin at a warehouse convention. With all of the superfluous Scarface paraphernalia I’ve seen in stores lately, I wonder why a comic book with apparent ties or inspiration to this film didn’t really take off. Or, I wonder if Romita’s commitment to the company-owned superhero material his peers abandoned in the early ‘90s sealed his fate. Unlike his father, one of the founding fathers of the modern superhero genre, Romita, Jr. is perhaps simply perceived as an illustrator, nothing more. At least he’s a hard-working one. He’s stuck to his guns, unlike some other hailed artists who have dropped off of the map in the last decade. There’s nothing gray about Romita’s career. In my opinion, the guy simply has class, and I’ll buy his stuff anytime. Especially when the price is right.

Warriors of Plasm #1

Warriors of Plasm #1, August 1993, Defiant Comics
writer: Jim Shooter
penciller: David Lapham
inker: Michael Witherby
painters: Janet Jackson, James Brown, & Tom Ziuko
letterer: George Roberts
editor: Deborah Purcell

From time to time, like in yesterday’s review for example, I’ve coined the term ‘90s fluff to describe any given issue from that decade, assuming that you, my readers, know what I mean. It’s time I define the concept, if not for future reference, than for myself, if only to refrain from using such vague critical terms in the future. See, I remember the ‘90s boom, when a slew of talented artists departed from the mainstream companies that assured their success and sought their own independent success. Believe me, the sight of titles like Spawn, Wildcats, and Youngblood was revolutionary in my young eyes, an impression fueled by the retailers’ hype that we were in the midst of an industry renaissance. My fellow collectors and I were eager and grateful to be on the ground floor. Then, just a few years later – which is not long in collectors’ terms – something startling happened.

The hype was abruptly halted as quickly as some of the titles that instigated it. The issues that we were certain would fund our kids’ college careers were demoted to the dollar bins, and dozens of other independent companies popped up – each with less clout than the one before it. The new release shelves that were once peppered with these “hot new titles” now looked just like they did before, with a different generation of slowly aging material. Some of the concepts behind those new comics – and consequently behind those new companies – were so high end, new young readers like me were lost when we had barely begun the journey. (The Topps titles that didn’t capitalize on preexisting franchises, like The X-Files, are good examples, like the sloppily adapted Satan’s Six I reviewed yesterday.) Honestly, until I began to dabble in the comic book creating process myself, I shunned many independent titles with a mild case of collectors’ trauma. In many ways, the A Comic A Day challenge has become an effort to make up for that lost time.

Then I read issues like Warriors of Plasm #1 and I wonder if I should stick to the superheroes of my youth. Warriors of Plasm is the first title of the Defiant comics line, as thoroughly described in the self-aggrandizing essay written by writer Jim Shooter at the end of this issue. I can’t remember how many essays I’ve read like this, chronicling the beginnings of a publishing company in the wake of some creator’s overwhelming sense of victimization at the hands of the industry. I can’t remember how many essays I’ve read like this by Rob Liefeld. This is what I mean by ‘90s fluff. When the rights of the creator to assert himself as an artist dominate the rights of the reader to enjoy a comic book as a piece of art, it’s fluff, nothing more. When I look at the Mona Lisa, I don’t scan the edges of the canvas for Leonardo’s signature. He let the artwork speak for itself.

Warriors of Plasm does a lot talking, but I have no idea what it’s trying to say. Literally. Within the first dozen pages, every speech balloon contains at least one word or phrase completely foreign to the human language, an in-vernacular readers must decipher to understand the intricate, alien world Shooter has created. Consider this passage from page six that serves as a simple narrative transition:

CHARACTER A: Entry pore open, Sir.
CHARACTER B: By the org’s grace, enter!
CHARACTER A: We have arrived at the Plexus Cavity, Sir.
CHARACTER B: Ask the ship to alight at the Mooring Node.

Huh? What makes matters worse, this exchange is made between characters that are off panel while we watch their ship enter the, uhm, cavity, so it’s difficult to determine who is saying what. The high-concept fantasy element of this tale reminded me of the Epic issue I read way back in July. In fact, if I dig up that issue, I wouldn’t be surprised to find Shooter’s name somewhere in the credits . . .

Once this elaborate language is stripped away, we are left with a story about an alien leader, Lorca, celebrated by his people as a hero, who does not believe in his government’s philosophy and practices and who plans a revolt by recruiting soldiers from “a world of bold, willful, self-reliant people, unlike the slugs of the Plasbaths.” Ah, we almost made it through an entire quote without giving my spell check a heart attack. Anyway, this mysterious world is, you guessed it, Earth, and Lorca abducts ten thousand random, unwitting earthlings who unfortunately fail to survive his transportation process, save five seemingly chosen warriors. Transformed by the plasm that fuels Lorca’s org (I’m getting the hang of this), these humans fight a Zom army (maybe not), and their mettle convinces Lorca that he must destroy Earth to cover up his failed treasonous plot. From here, I’m sure the adventure continues, but even with the lingual relief offered by the presence of some fellow humans, I’d have better luck understanding a medical dictionary . . . and it might be more entertaining to read.

Alas, it wouldn’t be as fun to look at. Another aspect of ‘90s fluff: as terrible as some of the stories were, these comics were often masterfully illustrated, and Warriors of Plasm is no exception. Latham’s pencils are solid and Witherby’s inks capture the original line work with an artistic integrity that captures the eye from panel to panel. The painting pops the artwork right off the page, creating a depth becoming of a cosmic adventure and a fantastic aspect befitting a story that takes place on an alien planet. Humorously, two of the three painters credited in this issue are Janet Jackson and James Brown. Never let it be said that comics are a soulful business.

Such a statement offers an appropriate transition to conclude this review: The creators of the ‘90s boom would undoubtedly lead you to believe that they poured their soul into their work from that era, but conversely, the saturation of the market at that time may have robbed the industry of its soul altogether. The “indies” aren’t the only ones to blame. During the ‘90s, DC killed Superman and broke Batman’s back, and Marvel had more Spider-men and Hulks running around than ants at a picnic. These epic crossovers were the mainstream companies’ attempt to keep their core readership while attracting that fanatic collectors’ market, but the results were the same: the white-bagged Superman resurrection issue can often be found in the dollar bin, too, right before Liefeld’s Supreme #1. Of course, I’m not the first to write about this forsaken era; in fact, I’m sure fans and creators alike are just plain sick of talking about it by now. Too bad, I say. As long as I find these issues in the back issue bins, I won’t drop my opinion, or the insistence that it’s all just fluff. Trudging through these old titles is like wading through plasm – it’s a sticky business. Maybe, if we keep bringing it up from time to time, the lessons learned from that era will stick, too.

Satan's Six #1

Satan's Six #1, April 1993, Topps Comics
writers: Jack Kirby & Tony Isabella
pencillers: Jack Kirby & John Cleary
inkers: Terry Austin, Steve Ditko, Frank Miller, Mike Royer, Joe Sinnot, Armando Gil
letterer: Lois Buhalis
colorist: Tom Smith
editor: Jim Salicrup

Friday the 13th. I wanted today's review to be something special. It is. But not in the way I intended.

Simply put, some of this issue is classic Kirby, some of this issue is standard, early '90s fluff, which to me epitomizes the relevance of today's date -- something good gone terribly bad. I haven't done the research, so I don't know if Satan's Six is a concept Kirby didn't get to finish or if he willing subjected his work to this failed experiment, but either way, the book strikes me as schizophrenic and indicative of its era. It overstates its own hype, from the horrible McFarlane inks over the Kirby penciled cover, to the supplemental work that pays "homage" to the King by mocking his alliterative prowess. Remember, this is the criticism that's simply put. I could easily digress.

But I won't. I will confess, Satan's Six features a few characters that I like, and the very premise -- a band of "evil-doers" sent to Earth as agents of Satan that inadvertently save the day -- is a promising one for both serious and comedic subject matter. A few characters offered as slapstick fodder could easily support a few others that delve into the brevity of their spiritual situation. No. Instead, we get sheer ridiculous, beyond the standard Kirby camp. Writer Tony Isabella pads Kirby's story with narrative from the characters' guardian angel, whose muse-like monologue actually identifies the characters as stars of a comic book, belittling their plight completely. Although this idea could be utilized as an interesting plot device (a concept my friend and I are hoping to exploit though one of our K.O. Comix projects), in the context of these anti-heroes, why should I care about the consequences of their actions when they're blatantly dubbed fiction?

This issue is "special" alright. I should've known when I pulled it out of the polymer bag; it was shrink-wrapped with a holo-foil card. Not surprising from a comic by Topps, but surely the proverbial black cat in one's path in terms of a decent read. Bad luck.

Blood Stream #4

Blood Stream #4, December 1004, Image Comics
writers: Adam Shaw & Penny Register
artist: Adam Shaw

I work with kids, so I see blood all the time. Just a few hours ago, a coworker and I tended to a boy with a massive nosebleed, and a few minutes later, another boy lost one of his wisdom tooth and was quick to show me the disconnected chomper, tipping with a bit of fresh crimson. The sight just doesn't bother me anymore. I did cringe a bit at last night's news when they reported that a limited run of the Saw III movie poster will actually contain blood in its ink -- a fundraiser for the Red Cross -- but my distaste was less with the use of the blood and more at the thought of how low we will go for publicity. All that said, I was ready for Blood Stream #4. I don't know why, but I was ready for a violent tale of gore.

Perhaps the thought of the issue's painted interiors led me to believe that an intense blood bath was simmered beneath the comic's covers. Adam Shaw's strokes are masterful; although my first instinct is to compare the work with the well-known Alex Ross, I resisted and discovered an appreciation for Shaw's style. Some of his figure work could use more balanced proportion, and in several panels the characters' hands lose realization, but those fine points are mere gripes at an otherwise beautiful piece of work. Our hero, Amber, delivers some action-packed moves with a true sense of fluidity, and many scenes are effectively moody thanks to the heavy use of a particular shade or hue. The artwork definitely propelled me through this story . . .

. . . which wasn't the bloodbath I expected. In fact, despite the scenes of high violence, very little blood is spilled. The "blood stream" of this comic's namesake is the result of an experiment, specifically, an experiment on the protagonist Amber and her sister, Saran. In this issue, Amber uses the abilities bestowed within her through this experimental blood -- which apparently creates a new height of self-awareness by making the body's subconscious processes, like breathing and pumping blood, conscious, with superpowered results -- to save her sister from future experimentation. A few touching flashbacks make this mission more meaningful for the reader, and her success in the end more satisfying. Except for the lengthy scientific diatribes, I enjoyed this issue. No blood, but plenty of guts.

I must admit, I've been pleased with my selection of Halloween-oriented reviews, thus far. Monsters, ghosts, bloods -- all staples of this hallowed holiday. Tomorrow, a special Friday the 13th installment. Watch my Internet connection completely crash. Perhaps a bout with bad luck would be more appropriate . . .

Man With the Screaming Brain #3

Man With the Screaming Brain #3, June 2005, Dark Horse Comics
writers: Bruce Campbell & David Goodman
penciller: Rick Remender
background assistance: Chris Carmen
inker: Hilary Barta
colorist: Michelle Madsen
letterer: Nate Piekos for Blambot
editor: Scott Allie

In past reviews, we’ve discussed the phenomenon of celebrities appearing in comics. (In its three short months, A Comic A Day has been treated to appearances by KISS, Don Rickles, and Mr. T.) We have yet to examine when celebrities decide to write comics . . . until today. Man With the Screaming Brain is, according to this issue’s title page, “based on the motion picture screenplay Man With the Screaming Brain by Bruce Campbell and David Goodman.” Perhaps best known for his role in the Evil Dead film series, Bruce Campbell is a living cult spectacle, a fan favorite in many circles of geekdom. (Personally, I enjoyed his work in the short-lived The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr., but I digress.) Of course, with a comic book based on a screenplay, the elephant of a question in the room is, “Is this story just not good enough to make it to the silver screen?”

As I’m not an executive producer, I’m not qualified to wrestle that elephant, but as a frequent comic reviewer, I can say that Man With the Screaming Brain makes for a decent miniseries. In this third of four issues, our hero – who bears a striking resemblance to a certain B-movie actor – awakens with amnesia and a voice in his head that can occasionally commandeer his body, punch him with his own fist, and force his hand in panhandling for money to buy something to eat. A few bucks later, our conflicted protagonist settles at a diner over a scotch, a vodka, and a newspaper, in which an image jogs both persona’s memories – our hero appears to be Col-Mart executive William Cole, and his gray matter amigo is the gun-toting Yegor. I don’t know how these men knew each other, but now on the same page, they vow to find the woman that murdered them. Elsewhere, Cole’s wife’s brain is placed in a robot host, and she too vows to find her hubby’s killer. The characters collide on the last page, promising a final issue of mind-blowing proportions . . . literally, perhaps.

The concept driving Man With the Screaming Brain is a blatantly visual one, and with the comedic potential of a man wrestling himself, one primarily intended and best suited for film. The first few pages of this issue are merely graphic echoes of what Bruce Campbell would endure in the role, and although the humor of the situation is brewing beneath the surface of each painstaking panel, the scene lack that certain something and impresses more as a storyboard for a bit to come. The rest of the issue reads well, and in fact, when the robot is introduced, perhaps better captured as a comic book creation. In the context of the rest of the plot’s concepts, i.e. Frankenstein-esque brain surgery, the imagery makes sense, whereas in a film – even on the USA Network – the twist could be too outrageous to believe. Maybe the real benefit of filtering a screenplay through this graphic format is to visually study what would translate into reality, and what’s best left on the page. If Bruce Campbell tested this process at the beginning of his career, something tells me he’d have plenty of comics to his credit today.

Man With the Screaming Brain is my first encounter with Rick Remender’s work, but his style straddles the fence between caricature and cartoon, the perfect compliment to a story that bounces from a mad scientist’s laboratory on one page to a humble coffee shop café on another. The letterer does an adequate job distinguishing Cole’s two mentalities through the strategic use of fonts and stylized speech balloons. The coloring could use some filters; darker, perhaps more pastel hues could’ve emphasized the story’s cinematic appeal, and perhaps have created a parallel with the Tarantino/Rodriguez genre that best matches this off-the-wall screenplay. In the text-intensive supplements at the end of this issue, Man With the Screaming Brain is compared with Hellboy and The Goon in Dark Horse’s canon of horror titles, yet this series has a look that contrasts those mythology-driven titles entirely. Although the story fits the comic book format, the art would have benefited from a deviation of the norm.

So, if Campbell actually pulls it off and turns this concept into a feature film, will the introductory credits describe the flick as “A Motion Picture Based on the Comic Book Based on the Original Motion Picture Screenplay?” I don’t have a screaming brain, but the very idea simply makes my head hurt. Besides, didn’t Steve Martin and Lily Tomlin star in a movie with a similar premise? Stick to the funnybooks, Mr. Campbell. Your ideas are embraced here.

Klarion the Witchboy #4

Klarion the Witchboy #4, December 2005, DC Comics
writer: Grant Morrison
artist: Frazer Irving
letterer: Pat Brosseau
associate editor: Michael Siglain
editor: Peter Tomasi

Klarion the Witchboy is just one of several miniseries penned by Grant Morrison at the end of 2005 in his ambitious Seven Soldiers crossover, featuring B-list characters from DC Comics' rich past. Indeed, Klarion the Witchboy is an established character, but this issue, the last in his spotlight miniseries, is my first encounter with him. I like him. He's quite pleasant . . . for a witchboy.

This character strikes me as the perfect outlet for Morrison's dark sense of humor and penchant for the fantastic as commonplace, since Klarion seems to live in a village of Amish witches. At the beginning of this issue, Klarion is set to burn at the stake at the hands of his own mother and her kin -- the women are under a spell by wand not their own. Of course, they snap out of it in plenty of time for Klarion to save the day -- at his mother's beckoning, Klarion rings the Bell of Sabbat nine times, raising the village's dead to fight their enemy's well-armed henchmen. Nothing like zombies and witchboys to make for a good Halloween read, but it's Morrison's macabre wit that steals the show:

KLARION: Don't look so sad, Mother. I'll try to overlook that you led the chorus to my execution.
MOTHER: Even mothers can make mistakes, Klarion.

Ha! Artist Frazer Irving helps tell this gothic tale with class; since a colorist isn't credited, I assume Irving handled that responsibility himself. When an artist colors his own material, he has complete ownership of the page, and Irving handles the responsibility masterfully. The character's subtle blue skin tones and the heavy use of inks and shadow create a mood that carries the issue, a real sense of the supernatural. I think girls would really like this style. Alan Davis meets the Emily stuff I see at Hot Topic. Solid.

Ultimately, Morrison's efforts didn't make too many waves, especially since this story was quickly eclipsed by DC's latest crisis. However, the epic is a testament to a company's faith in a writer, to trust him with seven distinct properties, none of which were really bearing fruit, and to combine them in a storytelling exercise that may please some readership. With just one issue under my belt, I say these soldiers accomplished their mission. Klarion the Witchboy was a superb addition to my Halloween-themed reviews!

Bigfoot #1

Bigfoot #1, February 2005, IDW Publishing
writers: Steve Niles & Rob Zombie
artist: Richard Corben
colorist: Martin Breccia & Nester Pereyra
letterer: Robbie Robbins
editor: Chris Ryall

When I reviewed an issue of Ripley’s Believe It or Not! last month, I mentioned the Childcraft encyclopedia series I’ve had since my youth, specifically the Mysteries and Fantasies annual, with its chapters on aliens, monsters, and global anomalies. My favorite section in that volume has always been the Bigfoot chapter, and since I first read that entry decades ago, I’ve been fascinated with the creature. I’m not planning any expeditions into the woodlands of Washington anytime soon, but every time the National Geographic Channel airs its Bigfoot special, I watch it enthusiastically. I’ve watched the Patterson footage and I’ve heard the creepy Sasquatch “yelp” recording. Now, I’ve read the Bigfoot comic book. My research is nearly complete.

Now, this is the Steve Niles comic book I was looking for. Yesterday’s Freaks of the Heartland was certainly touched, but it was also touching, lacking the fright I expected from the author of the acclaimed vampire series 30 Days of Night. Bigfoot, which was coincidentally the next book on my pile of purchases from Saturday, is a simple, linear teaser, building to a climax of fright, violence, and gore, descending rapidly in a gruesome promise of more to come. Bigfoot #1 begins in the Blackwood Mountain National Park, in 1973, with a couple and their son traveling to the Happy Trails Campground for a rugged vacation of fishing and the like. For six pages, we get the idea that this is a regular family, and when night falls, the parents decide to take advantage of their cabin’s seclusion, if you know what I mean. Their foreplay is interrupted when a creature crashes into the bedroom, and as quickly as it brutally murders Billy’s father, it injures and disappears with Billy’s mother, leaving the boy stunned and horribly alone.

Interestingly, the crime is attributed to a bear, and when one of the sheriffs spies a pair of patented footprints, he quickly obscures them and dismisses claims that any Bigfoot was involved. In the end, we the readers are treated to an adult Billy’s macabre nightmare, featuring a Bigfoot mounting his deformed but seemingly content mother. I guess the dream makes sense through the perspective of a five-year-old who not only saw his parents nude for the first time, but also brutalized at the hands of a Sasquatch. Niles has a real handle on disturbed childhood, and with Rob Zombie credited as a co-writer, I’m sure he had some help. Yet, like Freaks of the Heartland, what strikes me as the driving force behind this issue’s storytelling is its art. Corben is accredited as an acclaimed horror illustrator, and his unique style is definitely moody and dramatic enough to capture Bigfoot’s animal nature. The splash page depicting what Billy sees when he stumbles into his parent’s bedroom is enough to scar anybody’s mind, if they don’t see it coming first. At that point in the issue, words are secondary. The true crime isn’t even the parents’ murder, but that Billy had to see it.

Therein lies the premise to this series, I assume. If Niles, Zombie, and Corben simply intended to tell a Bigfoot story, this issue could have stood alone and accomplished that goal. Something Billy’s father says will undoubtedly resurface later in the story: “The fish aren’t gonna shoot out of the water and land on your hook . . . It’s a waiting game. You have to show those fish you are willing to wait longer than they are. That’s the key to hunting any animal.” Well put. This casual lesson from father to son will become our hero’s mission statement, I reckon. I appreciate the pacing here, that the creators took an entire issue to tell this essential backstory, rather than drag it out through flashbacks or dreams, as other artists might have done. This isn’t a mystery. We know Bigfoot exists, we know what he’s capable of, and we know he must be stopped.

Bigfoot is why I like comic books. The assumption of the enigma is completely abandoned, and we see Sasquatch as clear as day. No grainy film footage here – just broad, bloody strokes of fantasy meets reality, of brutality meets shattered innocence. When I was a kid, I met Bigfoot in an encyclopedia, and I had the luxury of wondering if he was real. Now, with the evidence before me, I have to assume this behemoth is dwelling somewhere, if not as a half-man/half-ape creature, then as a campfire tale, creeping its way into the open minds of suspicious and frightened children. I pity them . . . and I envy them.

Freaks of the Heartland #4

Freaks of the Heartland #4, July 2004, Dark Horse Comics
writer: Steve Niles
artist: Greg Ruth

If you saw a comic book called Freaks of the Heartland, written by acclaimed 30 Days of Night scribe Steve Niles, wouldn’t you think you were in for a horrific read? Picture the cover: a silhouetted boy, standing against a watercolor sepia tone backdrop, holding a plump, one-eyed rag doll. Needless to say, when I settled down with this issue, I kept the lights on.

For naught. Although this is the fourth issue, this story stands alone as a charming tale of a boy and his deformed brother, running away from home through the grasslands of rural America. Will appears gray-skinned with a prominent under-bite and an abnormally large brow. His speech is simple and possibly slurred, but the connection he shares with his brother, Trevor, is remarkable. “Have I ever asked you ta do something that was bad?” Trevor asks Will when he offers some grubs for sustenance on their journey. Trevor isn’t an obligatory guide; he isn’t running away because of or for his brother, but with him. At the end of this installment, Trevor and Will discover a small burial site, where five rag dolls and two baby skeletons that share Will’s features are unearthed. Trevor figures that his parents lied to him years ago, and that they couldn’t kill all of Will’s brethren. So, the boys vow to find the lost freaks, giving their journey a newfound mission. “We’ll find ‘em,” Trevor proclaims, “and then we’ll all get out of this place.”

Yes, Freaks of the Heartland was a pleasant surprise. The issue was elegantly written, but more notably, stunningly illustrated. Greg Ruth handled the penciling, inking, and coloring responsibilities, so it is evident that he had a vision for this title’s tone from conception to completion. In some panels, the soft, earthen hues overwhelm the line work, establishing the air of a rural atmosphere, and in others, the characters’ features are so finely detailed, I wonder if he used models or photo references to enhance his understanding of a child’s emotional transparency. I just now realize that we the readers are only privy to two characters throughout this story, but the artist uses the background to his advantage as if it becomes an entity itself, and their toil through the farmlands seems less static and repetitive than I’m sure it would really be. You see grass flowing. Sense clouds overhead. It’s an interactively moody experience.

So much for chalking another comic up to my Halloween-themed reviews roster. No, I take that back. Freaks of the Heartland may not have been a harrowing tale, but it speaks to the Halloween tradition, and accredits comics to a genre of literature it often yet ironically forsakes: young adult fiction. What is Halloween if it isn’t kids bonding behind grotesque masks over something as innocent as a love for candy? And what happened to the days when a comic book could depict a child as an emotive little human being, rather than some cartoon or plot device? “Young comics” are usually silly, and kids in comics are usually story fodder, but for perhaps the first time, Niles and Ruth have revealed a tender side to the medium, a paternal side, if you will. I feel for these kids. Now, that’s freaky.

Oz Squad #4

Oz Squad #4, Patchwork Press
writer: Steven Ahlquist
penciller: Andrew Murphy
inker: David Lee Ingersoll
letterer: Mike Sagara
editor: Adam Miner

I don’t believe in coincidences. So, I’m not surprised that I found another issue of Oz Squad today, the same day I discovered that Roger Waters is performing a sold-out concert series at the Hollywood Bowl this weekend, recreating Pink Floyd’s famous Dark Side of the Moon. What’s the connection? I should explain.

Several years ago, shortly after my comic book collecting career began, I found two early issues of a little known series called Oz Squad. In this contemporary interpretation of Baum’s classic characters, an adult Dorothy was a special agent in charge of the Gale Force, an elite team of agents comprised of her three friends from the yellow-brick road: a now-existentially philosophizing Scarecrow, a heavily armored Tin-man (known colloquially by his common name Nick), and the Lion, who, not so cowardly, transformed from man to beast with ease. The issues I read featured the team, having established a diplomatic treaty between Earth and Oz, battling Rebecca Eastwitch and her flying monkeys over the coveted blueprints for the potentially lethal Tik-Tok, if I remember correctly. (I could look them up, but I feel like I’d be cheating.) I enjoyed them and wanted more. Hundreds of comics shop visits and a few Comic Cons later, nothing. Today, with little else to do, I easily convinced my galpal to go to the Frank and Sons Collectibles Show here in Southern California, a weekly pop culture/sports memorabilia warehouse expo. Thumbing through some quarter boxes to fuel the A Comic A Day challenge for a few weeks, I found it: Oz Squad #4. I knew we had to go to Franks and Sons for a reason.

What’s Oz Squad have to do with Roger Waters, you ask? Well, the answer is as long as my previous paragraph, so bear with me. My senior year in high school, my friends and I first heard of the Wizard of Oz/Dark Side of the Moon connection, which claims, in a nutshell, that Pink Floyd intended that their best-selling album become an auxiliary soundtrack for the MGM classic – an idea truly ripped from the psychedelic seventies. Intrigued, my friends and I researched the specifics, purchased the album, rented the movie, and tested the theory, with surprising results. Indeed, potentially hundreds of moments throughout the Wizard of Oz synchronize with various musical or lyrical patterns from Dark Side of the Moon, so much so that the effort must have been purposeful. Since our initial attempts at synchronicity were crude, one night we downloaded the Wizard of Oz (before downloading was a common practice, and by actually connecting the television to the computer), digitally arranged the moment when the two mediums met (after the third roar of the MGM lion, if you must know), and looped the album to run its length a complete two and half times through the full length of the film. Without going into more detail, I insist, you must try it. Since then, I’ve been a Pink Floyd fan, and had I realized Roger Waters was in town, I would’ve made an effort to see his concert tomorrow night. Instead, I found an issue of Oz Squad. That’s the connection.

Now, on to an actual comic book review, shall we? In Oz Squad #4, Tik-Tok has turned to the dark side and is climbing his way to the top of the New York City underworld by assassinating competing mobs. Dorothy and her team have forty-eight hours to find him before the CIA relinquish his diplomatic immunity and pursue his arrest. Anticipating their arrival, Tik-Tok sets up a decoy to distract his old friends; Tin Man loses his legs in a garbage crusher, and the Scarecrow doses himself in gas to avoid a henchwoman’s blowtorch attack. In the end, the CIA arrest Tik-Tok’s decoy, so the real deal is still at large, but in light of their near defeat, the Gale Force settles for an opportunity to nurse their wounds. An interesting tale of Phyrric victory.

Steven Ahlquist isn’t simply writing a “contemporary interpretation of Baum’s classic characters,” as I originally described. Ahlquist has sophisticatedly explored how icons of innocence, like Dorothy and her iconic friends, would react and transform through today’s cultural and political lens. Further, each character has not only conquered their memorable shortcomings, but has been consumed by their own self-confidence, transforming the Lion, for example, into a bestial warrior willing to dive headfirst into danger. The Scarecrow seems content dwelling in the dark recesses of his own mind, and the Tinman is so passionate about his work, his state-of-the-art body is often ironically mangled in battle. However, Dorothy is the most compelled of all, still trying to maintain the sanctity of Oz in our world’s tumultuous political landscape. Ahlquist sums her up perfectly when Tik-Tok wryly muses, “Our only hope now is that Dorothy has not lost her penchant for walking into traps.” Then, again, when Dorothy beseeches him to repent of his crimes, “And you once claimed that you were unaffected by your aunt’s Baptist teachings.” Some writers would have been tempted to exploit this concept as a comedy of errors, with satiric jabs at the source material, but Ahlquist establishes a legitimate character study, one part modern fairy tale, one part black comedy, one part psychological thriller. Everything Oz would’ve been if it was intended for adults in the first place.

Artistically, Oz Squad isn’t the best-drawn book, but it gets the job done. Murphy has a handle on dramatic blocking and panel layout, and he and Ingersoll pull off some impressive effects with just line and ink, but color would’ve added some necessary depth to these otherwise stark pages. Ahlquist may write some insightful stuff, but every Oz Squad issue I’ve read thus far builds to an explosive action sequence. Ruby slippers, a yellow-brick road, an emerald city . . . these characters have always been colorful.

I will have to dig up those old book sometime soon, because I think this issue was released a significant amount of time after the others. The author’s embittered notes at the end of this story imply that some vested third parties have tried to stick their fingers in his pie, so I wonder if his dynamic ideas sparked as much fanaticism for this series as I’ve had trying to find it these past several years. That’s what happens when your head explodes with dark forebodings of classic literature. Unfortunately, I’m right back where I was before – humming, “If I only had another issue.” De-do-de-do-do-do-do.

Gross Point #11

Gross Point #11, May 1998, DC Comics
writer: Matt Wayne
penciller: Joe Stanton
inker/letterer: Roger Landridge
colorist: Ian Laughlin
editor: Martin Pasko

Don't judge a book by its cover. We've all heard it. Gross Point proves it. When I read the cover's teaser, "He turns into a monster at the touch of a pretty girl!" I assumed that Gross Point was a modern horror/humor comic, perhaps featuring two or three tale of macabre science fiction/fantasy. No way that concept could flesh out into a twenty-two page story, I thought. Yup. I was wrong.

Gross Point is a city (not to be confused with the real Grosse Point, Michigan, as a disclaimer carefully explains) with plenty of dirt, demons, and dilapidation, contrasted by the bright, clean neighborhood Collier Bluff. Meat (yes, that's his name) and Terri are from opposite sides of the street, but not the sides you would think. Terri is from Gross Point, but the only abnormality about her is her eagerness to take her relationship with Meat to the next level. Meat refuses to dare venture to even first base because, you guess it, "he turns into a monster at the touch of a pretty girl." He convinces Terri that he's in the drama club at school -- why this would sedate her, I have no idea -- so when Terri ditches school to confirm his claim, Meat quickly stumbles into his school's all girl performance of Julius Caesar. "Hilarity" ensues as Meat tries to avoid the grabby girls and the school bully, until he finally makes amends with Terri. Now, I don't mean he tells her the truth; he just comes up with another lame excuse to avoid her pesky touch, at least for another issue. The story is, as I surmised when I realized its length, pointless.

Maybe I'm missing the point. Maybe Gross Point was intended for a younger audience. It is illustrated like a Mad Magazine strip. However, its narrative contains carefully scribbled expletives, which look more like the letterer's mistakes than strategic swearing. Even as a kid, I could've assumed which bad words the writer intended, using context clues. So is the creative team that careless, or was Gross Point really intended for the sophisticated, steadfast comic collector? Heck, this story references the title's own continuity more than some mainstream superhero books I've read, as if each issue isn't episodic. As if each issue didn't feature some goofy Gross Point freakshow. What I presumed to be a simple read became more complicated than I anticipated.

So, Gross Point was neither horrific or comedic. It was just plain disappointing. It barely falls under the "Halloween review" category -- all trick, no treat. Now I'm in a sour mood. "He turns into a grouch at the touch of a bad comic book!"

Thundercats #1

Thundercats #1, October 2002, Wildstorm Productions
writer: Ford Lytle Gilmore
penciller: Ed McGuinness
inker: Jason Martin
colorist: Chris Walker with Wildstorm
letterer: John Layman with Sergio Garcia
editor: Jeff Mariotte

Yes, I watched Thundercats, but I was no means an avid follower. I’m a Masters of the Universe guy. That said, I was curious how the Gilmore/McGuinness/Martin team (since publications rarely mention the letterer or colorist) would handle this precious property, this proverbial time capsule of nostalgic lore. This miniseries was released in the midst of an ‘80s renaissance, and at that time, the hype for these titles was tremendous. “See your favorite childhood heroes handled with the respect and maturity they deserve!” was the unspoken pitch. “The original fans of Thundercats, He-Man, G.I. Joe, etc. are older and more sophisticated now! We plan on publishing stories that speak to them on that level!” I remember, I was excited.

Until the issues were released.

Don’t get me wrong. These comics are beautifully packaged. The Masters of the Universe title (which I collected for a few months) was very well illustrated. Unfortunately, the story stank. I’d read better fan fiction. Apparently, based on my impression of this issue, Thundercats suffered from the same fate.

In this first chapter, Thundera is restored to its original splendor, from before the evils of Mumm-Ra and his minions. Of course, the governing powers of the dark arts are not pleased with this, so as Lion-O and his friends make plans to broadcast a subspace all-is-well message to their brethren across the galaxy, the Shadowmaster is summoned to finish off the Thundercats once and for all. His shadow beasts hold the ‘Cats at bay for a few moments but are predictably defeated by the light from the eye of Thundera. In the end, despite their earlier complaints about his futile efforts, the dark mystics resurrect Mumm-Ra, after which I assume the real action will begin.

As I implied, this story was a quick read, action-packed and too shallow to, ironically, pack a real punch. So, since I usually elaborate on the plot, today I will offer some thoughts about the art. McGuinness is a love-him-or-hate-him artist. Some fans thoroughly enjoyed his run on Superman; others found his style too cartoony to be taken seriously. I understand their perspective, but I like his style, especially in the context of a cartoon adaptation comic. So what if all of his characters look alike? Those old cartoonists understood the importance of a visually distinctive character, a trick that helped with the frequent recycling of animation cells and sequences. In the Thundercats’ case, each character has a specific color scheme about them, and as simple as that sounds, it actually helps. (For example, if Lion-O wasn’t orange and touched up with cat-like features, his face would be a dead ringer’s for a certain Man of Steel, through the skills of McGuinness.) McGuinness respects the lore, too; when Lion-O summons the ‘Cats, the panel sequence is a veritable storyboard from the cartoon’s defining sword-sprouting sequence. He-Man artists never got his transformation right.

So, the where-are-they-nows have become where-are-they-nows. Thundercats, He-Man, and the others went as quickly as they came. The blitz to market these books shortchanged their ability to stick. These franchises deserve more than that. In another five years or so, maybe we’ll see them again. Until then, they will stand as nothing more than puff pieces for up and coming artists. Putting the ho back in Thundercats, HO!

The Skull Man #2

The Skull Man #2, ToykoPop Manga
by Kazuhiko Shimamoto & Shotaro Ishinomori

I’m going to make this one short and sweet. I’m sick, and I’ve taken a sleeping pill. In case you were interested.

The Skull Man struck me as a fortuitous find for two reasons: (1.) the skull motif is Halloweenish enough to fit this month’s theme, and (2.) I’m always interested in reading more manga, if only to see if I can find a story I can understand. Unfortunately, The Skull Man didn’t cut it. Originally published in Japan in 1998, this issue’s text is interpreted by Ray Yoshimoto, and although I haven’t read the original material, I can only assume that Yoshimoto’s take was a transliteration, or a word-for-word recount of the original narrative. The syntax is simplistic and sloppy, and the story is difficult to follow. From what I’ve gather, the Skull Man is at odds with the Spider Man (not that Spider-Man) over some disk of information that may explain the Skull Man’s mysterious origins. This issue barely conveyed this concept, let alone made advances in the story. Then again, maybe it’s just a cultural thing.

I might have postulated this before, but the idea is worth mentioning again: manga is very in with the kids right now. I’m wondering if they understand and appreciate more so than I can because they’ve begun reading it at an earlier age. Just as it’s easier for younger people to learn a foreign language, perhaps children can better interpret a foreign visual or graphic format, as well. I know it’s Pulitzer week for the sciences. Somebody get on the study, quick.

Speaking of visuals, some of these pages are just plain stunning. The artist’s wide, establishing shots are intricate yet easy on the eye, without overwhelming detail but enough to establish a solid setting and mood. I particularly enjoyed the sequence that took place at the Korean BBQ, where two investigators’ dialogue was interspersed with images of beef sizzling on the grill. Interesting illustrative technique, and characteristic of manga, from what little I’ve read. The Skull Man may be a warrior of the living dead, but his comic book keeps the traditions of his genre alive and well.

Not a bad review considering I’m under the influence of a sleep-inducer. Time for my skull to hit the pillow.

The 7 Guys of Justice #10

The 7 Guys of Justice #10, October 2001, False Idol Studios
writer: Brian Joines
artist: Joshua Rowe
letterer: Michael Thomas

I attended a funeral today. The whole lower-the-body-into-the-ground shebang. I’ve never been to a ceremony like that before. Of course, I’ve been to funerals, but my family traditionally cremates its dead, so my experience with graveside rituals is limited to film and comic books. Comics like The 7 Guys of Justice.

Funny. I gave 7 Guys the flip test on Saturday and was ready to read it, but an impromptu trip to a comics shop introduced me to Stan Lee Meets Spider-Man, the perfect issue to celebrate the A Comic A Day project’s first three months. Now, I open The 7 Guys of Justice, and where are our heroes? Watching an ally descend into the ground. I couldn’t have planned it better if I intended to, but believe me, I didn’t.

My favorite part of reading a new superhero comic book is often the names the creators have come up with for their protagonists. Astro City and Top 10 have some cool super monikers, but to its credit, these 7 Guys take the cake. Nightie Knight, Hunter-Gather, the villainous Bad Art . . . very clever. Unfortunately, that’s where my appreciation for this issue ends.

In this chapter, heroes are disappeared, abducted by Mussolini’s head, which is alive and well in a special jar. The team uses the Surprise’s signal device (another fun name, but one that should be italicized because of its commonality as a regular word) to trace the Tenth Reich’s location – the others weren’t successful – where the goofy Talon, best described as a Harvey Birdman rip-off, a spoof of a spoof, you see, is the only one to emerge unbrainwashed. A few heroes show up at the end, familiar to faithful readers I presume, in a “to be continued” twist. Yay.

I like a few of the ideas the writer rapidly glosses over here, to imply a depth to the 7 Guys’ superhero world, but Joines is way too wordy to let any of the good stuff really sink in. His attempts at humor require a heartier touch of subtlety; his subplot-ridden interludes need more explanation to provide new readers like me a context with which to really enjoy them. The writer’s attention is in all the wrong places.

Further, this issue is loaded is typos. Words are missing letters or blatantly misspelled, some of the sentence’s structure is awkward and just plain incorrect, and the speech balloons are poorly arranged so some panels do not read the way they were intended. It’s very distracting, and in the end, I was looking for it. Never a good sign.

Although this issue begins with a compelling cemetery scene, the rest of the story is rather light-hearted. A relief from today’s real life events. The 7 Guys of Justice may not be my champions of choice, but when they’re the only ones that show up, they get the job done. Sometimes that’s the only thing you can ask for from a hero.

Quarterly Report: July-September 2006

During the first quarter of the A Comic A Day challenge, I have encountered every obstacle I imagined possible when I planned the project back in June. In the past three months, I have been without a new-to-me comic book to read (that upheld the restrictions I established in the beginning), I have suffered from an unstable Internet connection, I have had to work twelve-hour days with little time to read let alone post a comprehensive review, and most recently, I have lost an old friend. (Old is the operative word. Tom had one foot in the ground for a long time. Doesn't make his passing any less unfortunate.) A year is a long time. I told myself these things could happen. Thankfully, since all of them have, the next three months should pass with little incident, right? Right?

Looking at the long list of comic books I've read since July, I'm struggling to define this experience thus far. As I'd hoped, the comic books I've sampled represent the diversity of the medium, from era to artist to genre. Fortunately, A Comic A Day began on the cusp of the San Diego Comic Con, which fueled this project for an entire month. However, with the intention of experiencing as wide a variety as possible, I have found some local sources of graphic goodness that I wouldn't have thought of before. Pawn shops, hobby shops, and antique stores have been reliable sources for obscure material in a pinch, especially as I venture into themed reviews, like this month's appropriate series of posts re: horror/supernatural comics. Of course, living in Southern California is an advantage in itself; I can't ride my bike without running over somebody's demo tape. Pop culture is celebrated here. If I lived in Oklahoma, who knows if I'd find such a selection?

Further, since A Comic A Day is an exercise in artistic interaction, I've decided that desperation is at the core of quality comic book creating. Up and coming artists are desperate to create something new, while established artists, most likely working on equally established titles or characters, are desperate to do something new, lest their critics accuse them of rehashing past stories, styles, and concepts. Perusing my list of entries, Virgin Comics, God the Dyslexic Dog, and Don't Eat the Electric Sheep are excellent examples of artists mining fresh concepts to produce a different kind of comic book, either culturally, spiritually, or existentially, respectively in these cases. On the other hand, issues like Superman #300, Zot! #29, and Invincible #1 are decent attempts at reestablishing the superhero as a relevant paradigm in fiction. Both categories boast their hits and misses, and I've already read them all. (I'm looking at you, Captain Paragon.) The question is, is art "good enough" as an attempt, or a successful effort?

The answer to that question defines the concept of art itself. Dim-witted Darryl may not have been my cup of tea, but I'm sure someone somewhere has fanatically collected every issue and is eagerly anticipating new material, if that series is still on the shelves today. What I look for in a comic book, what connects with me on a literary and/or artistic level, isn't going be in everyone else's tastes. Moreover, I may recognize a comic book as a legitimate effort, but an entertaining read doesn't always entail a commitment to a title. Sometimes, a glimpse is all we need. Who knows if Mona Lisa had a decent body? It's that smile we remember. It was good enough.

Most importantly, I'm enjoying this experience, and I'm grateful that some of these comic books that otherwise I never would have experienced have now made their way into my permanent collection. I've also been appreciative of the feedback I've received, particularly from some of the creators behind the books I've discovered. Their comments have put a face to a name and serve as a reminder that every comic book begins as an idea . . . just like this project did over three months ago. Who knows what the next three months will bring? Who knows what challenges will befall the A Comic A Day challenge? In anticipation, I'll quote (or at least paraphrase, since I don't have it here in front of me) the last line from the first comic book I read this quarter, Ghostbusters #4: "Bring 'em on."

You said it, Ray.

The Boys #1

The Boys #1, October 2006, Wildstorm Productions
writer: Garth Ennis
artist: Derick Robertson
colorist: Tony Avina
letterer: Greg Thompson
assistant editor: Kristy Quinn
editor: Ben Abernathy

That quarterly report will be on your desk first thing in the morning, Sir. I swear.

In the meantime, let's take a look at The Boys #1, another instant Garth Ennis classic, complete with its overt sex, violence, and middle-aged angst against the machine. In this case, "the machine" is the mainstream superhero genre. The Boys is about an under-the-table government-sanctioned group of superhero police. Apparently, they keep superheroes accountable for their recklessly violent actions, in turn by being recklessly violent, I presume. The first page of this series depicts the lead -- Butcher -- stomping on a wanna-be Captain America's face, an image that plays no other role in the issue but the offering of that shocking first impression, that "wow, this is gonna be a hard-hitting comic" sensation.

Still, I suspect that Ennis has an ulterior motive. See, there's a small but extremely popular faction of comic book writers that have expressed a blatant disgust for the superhero faction of their industry. Ennis and Warren Ellis are often the leaders of this pack. Hey, I don't blame them. If I worked at McDonald's and everybody only ordered a six-piece, I'd get bored and annoyed pretty quickly, too. When interviewed or journaling on the subject, these writers have always insisted that superhero fiction dominates their medium, and further, that the cookie-cut black and white morality of it all, coupled with the spandex-clad homoeroticism of these mindless slugfest-driven franchised epics, have dullened the impact comics can have as a forum for graphic sequential storytelling. (That's my synopsis, by the way.) Although I'm a fan of superheroes, fairly because they remind me of my carefree youth, I'd agree with them . . .

. . . if they didn't keep writing superhero comics. Preacher may have been an epic social commentary with spiritual, social, and political overtones, with smatterings of romance and western comics influence for good measure, but Jesse Custer was still brandishing a super power. He was a super hero. If Preacher was published sans controversial language and adult material, if the violence was just a little less so, and if the Vertigo label was replaced with the DC bullet, the series would have been a short-lived superhero title, plain and simple. Ellis's Transmetropolitan is arguably in the same genre of anti-capes comics, in the post-modern sense of the phrase. Spider Jerusalem didn't have any powers, but he had a well honed talent that he used to change the world for the better, as he perceived the concept. Basically, he was Frank Miller's Batman minus the training and long underwear, even so far as "adopting" a few female sidekicks along the way to proverbially dethroning the President (if only in a symbolic way, in Reagan's and Luthor's cases from Dark Knight Returns and Strikes Again).

And these are just their "magnum opus" titles, the series that they are best known for. Ellis and Ennis have both written bona fide superhero comics, on many occasions. Superheroes may be killing the comic book as an artform, but it's certainly good enough to put food on the table.

Don't get me wrong. I count Preacher and Transmet as two of my favorite finite books, and Ellis and Ennis are among my favorite writers, even if their respective styles have begun to parody themselves. Consider the other Ennis #1 I recently reviewed: A Man Called Kev #1. First issue, gratuitous sex and violence, but a few characters I'd like to get to know better. Same formula. And in the Boys' case, they've found an artist, Transmet's Robertson, that can depict the duality their dark but fantastic world expertly. He's been on both sides of the fence, too. He's mastered both.

Am I in for The Boys #2? Absolutely. But I hope Ennis' vague allegory begins to unravel into a genuinely complex piece of fiction, as I'd expect from him. What allegory, you ask? Well, whose boot was really stomping that cornfed captain on page one? Who's really trying to take superheroes to task here? Ellis pulled a similar stunt in Planetary, when Jerusalem appeared as the "new face of comics." Ennis is trying change the genre from the inside out. Let's see if he can save the day.

Ghostbusters #3

Ghostbusters #3, May 2004, 88MPH Studios
writer: Andrew Dobb
penciller: Steve Kurth
inkers: Steve LaPointe with Ulices Grostieto, Jimmy Reyes, and Marco Galli
letterer: Ed Dukeshire
colorist: Blond
editor: Sebastian Clavet

I’ve selected Ghostbusters as October’s first review, a conscious and intentional effort to celebrate this month’s hallowed holiday. (Consistent A Comic A Day readers may remember the trend of “spooky” comics that haunted last week’s offerings, a week too early for my tastes.) This issue, the last in a four-issue miniseries, has been on my list of must-reads for a while anyway, since I managed to purchase the third chapter when the mini was originally released. This series was difficult to find, a testament that the Ghostbusters franchise still has a loyal following. The Ghostbusters mythos, now over twenty-five years old, has undergone a few different incarnations since the treasured original film, including the equally respected original animated series, the blockbuster sequel, and, least successfully, the “next generation” cartoon/action figure attempt of the mid-‘90s. My first question is, did this miniseries re-launch the struggling franchise for yet another eager generation?

Sadly, no. Don’t get me wrong – I thoroughly enjoyed the two issues I read, and if I ever find the first two, or, even better, a trade with some behind-the-scenes extras. Alas, since this series flew off the shelves so quickly, either from a limited publication run, higher than usual orders, or both, Ghostbusters didn’t linger long enough for potential readers to obligatorily look into it. In other words, in my estimation, steadfast fans pinched the Ghostbusters comic book before anyone else, even casual fans like me. Fortunately, from what I remember, the series was too quietly released to garner the attention it really deserved. Had posters cluttered comic shop windows, I’m sure fans would’ve lined up the night before. Rioted in the streets for an original copy. You know. Mass hysteria.

As I was saying, I enjoyed this issue. Best summarized by in the inside front cover’s synopsis, “Michael Draverhaven – an old friend of Egon, Peter, and Ray’s driven mad by an experiment gone wrong – has emerged from years trapped in a mental institution with one thing on his mind: Revenge! Now, with an army of ghosts at his command, he plans to rain havoc on the city of New York . . . and the Ghostbusters!” This chapter picks up with Ray in Michael’s custody, while the madman uses tendrils of ectoplasm to control the ghosts in the others’ path. In a moment of rash desperation, Winston uses a duct-taped bundle of new wireless traps to create a hole in the wall of specters, and, triangulating Ray’s location with his cell phone, the gang crashes Draverhaven’s party. Ray struggles with his former friend and pushes him into some debris, which knocks Michael out, severs his link with the ghosts, and plunges him into a coma. The ghosts flee, and although the Ghostbusters seem uncharacteristically comfortable with so many specters still on the loose, they’re obviously grateful that the organized haunting is over.

I do not envy Andrew Dobb, the writer of this miniseries. The original film was one of the most popular and critically acclaimed of its time and remains one of the most successful comedies of all time. In fact, Ghostbusters may have created a new genre entirely – the haunted comedy. I still quote the film on a regular basis, and I know its dedicated fan base continue to discuss the franchise through fanfic and message boards. So, how do you follow Dan Ackroyd, Ivan Rietman, and Harold Ramis? First of all, you don’t try to be funny. Instead, you find and expose each characters’ core personality, the traits that made their original, successful live action and animated interactions so beloved. Peter is often misunderstood as blatantly sarcastic and pessimistic; however, in contrast with his friends’ wild ideas, conjectures, and adventures, Venkman is simply the most realistic guy in the bunch, reacting as most of us would, in suspended disbelief. Egon, the supposed brains, isn’t void of humor, and in fact his superior intellect instills in him a dry wit that implies a sense of superiority over the others. Consider this exchange, when Ray doesn’t pick up his phone:

PETER: No answer. Do you think something happened to him?
EGON: I think there’s a good chance he’s dead and this city will be nothing but rubble in less than twenty-four hours.
PETER: God, Egon, don’t say that. Lie to me. Tell me we’re going to get through this.
EGON: We’re going to get through this. And candy and teddy bears will rain from the sky.
PETER: There, was that so hard?

I can actually hear Ramis and Murray enacting this dialogue, or even the voice actors from the original cartoon. And although the narrative isn’t blatantly funny, a subtle humor infuses their relationship and runs throughout the rest of the issue. Well done.

Further, as a fan, I couldn’t help but notice that Dobb has decided to ignore continuity established in the original’s lesser sequel. A bold move. Ghostbusters II may not have been as funny, but it was still the brainchild of the franchise’s founding fathers, Ackroyd and Ramis. Still, by forsaking that installment, this story’s most charming moments remain possible, like when Louis awkwardly and futilely asks Peter to leave Dana alone, or when Janine blatantly asks Egon out, when all subtlety finally fails her. (In Ghostbusters II, Louis and Janine became an item, and Dana had a baby. I didn’t see little Oscar anywhere here.) Above all else, the whole gang is here, even a less comical Slimer, and with the Ecto-1 intact. I’m ready to believe them again.

Artistically, I don’t envy this issue’s artists, either. The decision whether or not to caricature the original actors, recreate the classic cartoon’s model sheets, or take different approach entirely could literally make or break the success of this series. Kurth (assuming he designed the characters for this incarnation) does a decent job creating a synthesis of the previous two looks while putting his own stamp on the characters; unfortunately, this issue suffers from an inconsistency in the inking department. The ghosts appear a little too tangible and humanoid, as well, a trapping of the original film’s resources that could have been creatively overcome today. Still, the issue is well drawn, and I hope the whole mini is this good. If so, no human being could stack books like this.

So what if this miniseries didn’t create full blown Ghostbusters renaissance? At least it thrust Peter, Ray, Egon, and Winston into the spotlight once again, especially for their adoring fans. I haven’t seen the ongoing series the end of this issue promises, but if it isn’t out yet, I hope we see it sooner or later. I wouldn’t want the Ghostbusters to become ghosts themselves. The Ghostbusters may have a tough exterior, in the face of danger, but inside they’re just as sweet as the marshmallow that covers them at the end of the first movie. I guess what I’m trying to say is, they’re like a bunch of big Twinkies.

What about the Twinkie?