Category Archives: graphic novels

review – the filth

filthSo I’ve finished Grant Morrison’s The Filth. This work, I think, has been one of the most profoundly, mentally dissociative though unique reading experiences I’ve ever digested. Note that this is not an easy book to read or even finish, despite being a limited run comic. Nothing is easy about it. Not main character Greg Feely aka Ned Slade and his ubiquitous employer The Hand. Nothing is easy about the disturbingly sex-infused settings and the sticky, meaty bio-tech permeating throughout each issue. Even the story, if there really is one, is difficult to follow. Is it about an escape from paranoia, pornography, or just the need for a balance of justice to depravity in society? If you want it easy, just call it gonzo sci-fi and wash your hands. But sorry, it still ain’t that easy.

Now whether the inspired reader can figure any of all these elements out, a tip of the hat will be gladly offered. I suppose though, that the whole point of all this as I see it, is that it’s all relative to nothing. The massive fragmentation, of bizarre storylines, the grimy human/superhero/secret agency trinity, the shock of life’s absurdities and its depravity, and the need for depravity and to feel clean from so much filth is constant. This fragmentation and duality hence, is THE constant. That the reader doesn’t have a definitive clue about Slade’s true identify or even the work’s finale is the point. Life is abrupt, aggressive, violent, absurd. It goes on and we react.  Sometimes in bright suits with bizarre wigs in automobiles looking like biogenic garbage trucks.

PS – I liked it.

review – the complete indigo prime

indigo primeNebulous, a good description for this compilation of the peculiar 2000 AD series. Although I really enjoy the concept of indigo prime, a murky agency composed of eccentric, temporal meta-fixer types repairing the disturbances in space-time, I think I came away with more bafflement than when I started.

Akin to elements found within Alan Moore’s Future Shocks and Neil Gaiman’s Sandman universe, The Complete Indigo Prime is a collection of serialized shorts from a psychedelic SciFi perspective. If anything, the set details perhaps just how fickle our interpretation of a multiverse is or can be. Eccentric characters floating amid cloudy, kaleidoscopic backdrops stitching events and people back into their proper order is as advertised; perhaps, though, the point of the collection is to emphasize that reality is never so properly sutured, even when left under the care of such unseen professionals.

The cast created by John Smith is enigmatically charged, and the art visualized by Chris Weston and Mike Hadley are equally intriguing. Strange characters obliviously drift in and out of the stories, either directing plotted traffic or playing a more direct role. Fish eyed portrayals of gaping, intestine-laden, multi-mawed hells and planetary nebulae, often bursting ubiquitously from cloudy tendrils of the space-time continuum is par for the course as far the general aesthetic is concerned. Which is actually great, providing a slight but constant feeling of nausea rolling throughout the book, likely a necessary component when contemplating an unbounded set of universes ever folding upon themselves.

It’s too bad, however, that this compilation is too short to get a good feel not only for characterization. The beginning exposition of Fervent and Lobe’s story, combined with their partnership with Almaranda is simply too disjointed from the most accessible “Indigo Prime” tale appearing second to this, and especially those involving Winwood and Cord. The others, particularly Basalt and Foundation, Fegredo and Brecht, lack a more complete introduction required for newcomers to the series.

All of this might just come down to a strange collection of, well, strangeness for those uninitiated (like myself) to Indigo Prime. But it’s good fun nevertheless. If anything, the mystery stemming from fragmented pacing and ineluctable characters in this volume might just be answered in the just published anthropocalypse edition. Not a bad read.

review – mean machine (real mean)

meanThis is one curious graphic novel. Perhaps a compilation of the essential stories detailing the everyman-turned-headbutting-mechanical maniac, Real Mean is a typical 2000 AD Mega-City excursion into one of the more obscure though perhaps genuine characters in the Dredd-verse. And if anything, this book is all about character development…or not. It’s hard not to choose the correct option (presented in You Are the Mean Machine) that involves some variation of the sound effect “BOK” and a good amount of head flinging based on Mean’s thought procession. Nay, this could be a higher meditation on the plight of the underprivileged common man of the science-wrought future, his metaphorical chains being only his anger unraveling within. But probably not; Mean Machine is an antithesis of Dredd, with poor grammar.

 It’s not as if Mean’s demeanor is wishing-well deep, for he is not a ponderous creature. When asked a question or faced with an unfamiliar situation his typical fallback response is either the ominous “izzat so?” or the click of his forehead dial “straight to 4″, set to vicious. It matters not, as both lead to his signature head-butt, preferably “down to a greasy spot” if given the opportunity. And don’t let his overcompensating mechanical claw (apart from his missing, nubby left limb) distract you; his head plate is the thing, and his aim is true.

And that’s basically it. Nothing other than mayhem accompanies him, whether his fault or not. Ever pursued by the judges, Mean propels through the pages in all locales both temporal and physical. In the ubiquitous back alley, stolen and bullet-riddled transport vehicle (windowless, of course) or even the odd time machine, to impersonating nuns in the local hospital’s surgery unit, Mean is nothing more than a whirlwind of gristled nastiness best avoided on its blind trajectory elsewhere. Whether exacting revenge, fatherly frustration, even the bliss of unexpected matrimony or just a good “buttin”, readers are given significant pause of his weird state of samadhi.

What makes this compilation intriguing is the detailed art accompanying the sparse, often breakneck pacing inevitably ending in loose teeth and oozy puddles. Apart from the longer, more colorful entries scripted by John Wagner and drawn by Richard Dolan, the ones written by Gordon Rennie, especially The Geek, are just as (if not more) brilliant. One part dumb bludgery, another comic satire, and a third tragic noir, Real Mean makes a bizarre and provoking (thoughtfully or otherwise) reading experience indeed.

review – the ballad of halo jones

halo-jonesYes, the writing’s distinctly crafty as only Moore can pen, but the pacing and thematic development of The Ballad of Halo Jones is really a treasure, a clinic for aspiring writers needing a lesson in concise simplicity. Along with his Future Shocks, this is likely one of the works I imagine Alan Moore knew from the get-go that he had the goods to become his future current self.

It’s impressive to read how these seemingly disparate installments appearing in various 2000AD progs are feathered together to form this bittersweet ballad. Indeed, as this collection is universally hailed as classic space opera, the slow momentum from which it begins seems anything but.  It starts with an all too common motif, the boredom and need for wanderlust in and for a distant future when even space itself has not only been conquered but hotly contested.  Swiftly though, it changes to something more complicated, as life is wont.

Refreshingly, this is not a superhero story. It’s hard science fiction, cosmically emblazoned within the sharpened panels characteristic of 2000AD’s art and galaxy building. It’s not necessarily speculative on our future (other than our cetacean friends reclaiming Earth upon our folly) but on the human condition, that specifically after another few millennia or so, human nature (the best and worst, of course), still won’t change much. Written with subtle strength from the female vantage, as so many top sci-fi stories have been, Halo Jones is ultimately, believably not super, but heroic nevertheless.

But with all Moore’s clever plotting and the roguish, keen sketching from Ian Gibson, this is the story of no one, or perhaps anyone who at the seductive scent of adventure, is brave enough to claim their own future, accepting the good and not-so-good outcomes with each step.

review – northlanders: blood in the snow

Here is where the series hits its stride. Apart from the ubiquitous (though artfully jarring) head lopping and disembowelments of the past volumes, this third tome of Brian Wood‘s Northlanders tales is an aurora of hardship, themed with the heavy cost of survival among those fighting for their place in the northern desolation of long ago.

In this ongoing meditation of Norse ethos in its rapidly evolving culture, Wood deliberates upon the idea of survival. Whether choosing life based upon the reliance and strength of the old gods or two champions’ quick-witted and closed-in strategy in a duel, or the tenuous safety of a broken fortress against an outnumbering onslaught, to the sacrifice of family for reputation, Wood focuses not as much on Norse savagery but on the fortitude to avoid being swallowed by it. There are very few heroes in these stories, leaving the reader to come away with a sense that in this day and age, familial survival was glory enough.

All four stories in this volume are brilliantly complemented with cohesively flawless art from numerous contributors. The writing is sparse, set against the stoic, ever-present eeriness of the northern lights, glowing upon and enhancing the madness emanating beneath the iron of the warriors’ blades and armor. Two stories are prominent in terms of their gripping starkness, the first being The Viking Art of Single Combat. Never have I read a more absorbing fusion of text and sketching, terse with violent paneling though coupled with a softened, detached narration about two Berserkers vying for their respective lords’ perennial, bloody and ultimately trivial skirmishes.

The Shield Maidens is the second standout. In an attempt to renounce the proverb “fate is relentless”, three Danish women combine wits in an abandoned castle to resist a pillaging Saxon horde, with only the tide providing temporary refuge. It’s an excellent story underscoring the subtle strength of the female experience in Norse society. Daniel Zezelj’s artwork is especially gorgeous, his rigid lines permeated by swaths of blunt color, a blending of sky and sea in the season where the sun never completely sets.

This third volume of Northlanders is a disturbingly brilliant compilation of the old Norse experience. Its strength rests in deft storytelling of the other members of this society apart from the storied warriors. Chillingly (in every sense) it highlights the difficulty of life in this age, how victory was attained not always in battle, but also in its clever sidestepping. An excellent installment in this harrowing series.

quasi review – igor: occult detective

Don’t normally review single issues of comics but I haven’t updated El Blogorino in ages and this might just be worth it. So, being the season for diving into comics, namely that period where going outside is not typically worth the increasing limbic numbing, and finding myself with nothing doing I happened upon 215Ink‘s first issue (free by the way, via their app) of  Igor: Occult Detective, a new release from writer Kyle J. Kaczmarczyk and artist H. Crawford.

I was snared instantly. Dark and smoky in ambiance, it’s a fine aspiration of the 1923 NYC (it works, don’t question it) cobblestone and the accompanying shades of a dimming late October evening. There’s good texture to the art…swaths of shadows blending into tinted greens, blues and yellows sickly illuminating an ominous air of mystery and old-timey soot and grime.

As established as the atmosphere and sketching may be, the story and characters, while not underdeveloped, definitely show potential. Apart from the series namesake, Mr. Frank is a pleasant standout, humorously demure while providing the investigative muscle of the operation. Igor, handling the business side, is predictably crotchety and aloof. Again, room to grow from such a brief initial peep.

In sum, this maiden offering of Igor is a droll glimpse into what could be a creepily catchy and adventurous romp somewhere nestled among Skullkickers or Wormwood: Gentleman Corpse fame. Definitely a new comic to watch.

review – the nightly news

Reading Jonathan Hickman’s The Nightly News has been one of the more jarring experiences I have yet encountered with graphic novels. Regularly providing an artistic, entertaining and even socially conscious critique despite their inherent outlet for escapism, every single aspect of The Nightly News is a disturbing, though perhaps necessary confrontation drop-kicked by Hickman directly in the lap of the reader. A blunt commentary on the devolution of journalism and perhaps society, it is an unsettling speculation to what lengths people can go when believing they’re being lied to on a daily or more appropriately nightly basis. That said, it is even more unsettling when given such outrage, one realizes how subtly and often such manipulation continues to occur.

Read the first several chapters and one will think The Nightly News is a rather linear treatise, a thought piece born of intense frustration pondering the implications of justifying domestic terrorism against the information elites in power. It is that to a degree, a clever hook to readers triggering an emotional response to an issue in which seemingly everyone nowadays feels strongly. It is the story of John Guyton, of his recruitment and supposed deprogramming within the Brotherhood of the Voice. Consisting mainly of society’s disaffected and marginalized, the Brotherhood militantly undertakes action against what they perceive as the constant propaganda by the mainstream, corporate news industry as well as its enveloped commercial and political influences. The machinations between a disgruntled society, professional journalists and the governing elite all make for a superficially explosive amalgam. But things aren’t what they seem, and the story complicates with a deeper exposition outlining the more sinister manipulation between all said influences. In between such manipulation is a slew of calculated bloodshed, domestic terrorism that many would think hitherto improbable (but nevertheless not impossible).

Where Hickman excels is in his direct candor to the reader. From the outset, he peppers his panels with separate factoids regarding the corporate media, undoubtedly stoking the readers’ emotional involvement in the story. His artistry is unique: from a graphic design standpoint, his preponderance of red and the aching sharpness of straightened, multitudes of lines infuses the story with a buzzing though beguiling boxed simplicity; sharp are the contours but the content, the people contained within are cold, faceless. Additionally, he provides numerous personal and perhaps curdling, cynical annotations, tempered upon the reader with his citations, a quasi-objectivity nowhere more evident than a double-edged disclaimer in the subtitle: “A Lie Told in Six Parts”. It is not lost upon reader that avoiding the fine print in this story would be as dangerous as doing so when reading the newspaper or listening to a newscast. His portrayal of the cult, or rather the members’ adherence to desperation and infatuation with knowledge-power is both cathartic as it is depressing; that such empowered and self-aware characters can also predictably, blindly accept an unseen, orchestrated fate they feel is wholly of their own making is Hickman’s most important and unsettling complexity.

For all of the sharpness Hickman brings to The Nightly News, it is not without its occasional flaw. As blatant and meticulous as he is with infusing references in the work, the one major issue is the potential confusion between his anecdotes and the sources cited. While admirably giving credit to his sources, they are not enumerated, thereby becoming enmeshed with his anecdotes (both at the end of the work), potentially spoiling the ending for the reader. Nevertheless, some of Hickman’s most important points are located within his anecdotes. His passionate either-or arguments between “head or heart”, “doubt and faith” are not overstated. Rather, it is an intense plea upon the reader not to choose either, but to realize why they are forced to accept such a choice at all. In all, the Nightly News is a violent, daring and important work, an unpleasant though necessary artistic jolt, with a resonance extending far beyond the comics community.

review – tale of sand

Reflecting upon the varied yet consistent work of Jim Henson, culminating in his Tale of Sand, I’ve come to realize I’ve never been disappointed in any of his productions. That’s really astounding, given the breadth of his creativity and talent for dreamy and adventurous escapism.

Like any of his works, we are fortunate to have Tale of Sand. This newly unearthed manuscript developed with collaborator Jerry Juhl could have been easily lost in the production company archives and remained undiscovered or simply disregarded. Thankfully it wasn’t, as it is quintessential Henson, and perfectly adapted for a graphic novel. I’ll say no more than it tells the story of Mac, an everyman who inexplicably finds himself in the American southwest, unusually equipped and on-the-run through a series of surreality and improbable adventure. Henson provides little detail as to the motive of his chase or the background of supporting characters, but these details are ultimately unimportant. Like many great tales, this one is about Mac and his journey rather than the destination or circumstances. As such with Henson’s unique vision, his characters are designed to personally identify with the reader, and particularly so in Tale of Sand. Whether it be strange, frightening, or even humorous, there is always another door to walk through, some new wonder to behold.

That this screenplay, rejected by numerous film studios, has been adapted for a graphic novel can only be fortuitous. It is a most natural medium for the story, told through the lens of Ramón Pérez whose artwork provides a stunning southwestern ambience; his inspired, bold sketches are aglow with blistering, white-hot desert-scapes contrasted against an ever present golden-hued horizon, somewhere in time of the early twentieth century. Pérez excels in his paneling, for as frantic as Mac’s journey is, so is the reader’s journey across the page. The layout often reverts between extended linear, entwining and blending of panels, wherein the reader can become deliberately lost in the progression of the page. Calm desert scenes with nothing more than observant iguanas give way to raucous chase, heavy-duty explosions and action sequences involving Ray Nitschke and Bedouin sultans of all things, requiring the reader to give careful pause before moving on. Perfect sequencing to realize Henson’s imaginative and joyous sense of the bizarre. The only issue I see is whether Perez’s oversized visualization will be effectively adapted for digital readers within a standard screen to fully accommodate the entirety of the page.

A brief imaginary excursion, Tale of Sand is perfect for those just becoming acquainted with Jim Henson’s passion for storytelling. At the same time, the tale is a fitting, bittersweet farewell, his genius of creativity on full display.

review – planetary

Full disclosure: I am an ardent Warren Ellis sycophant. Though I haven’t yet read all his work, his fiction hasn’t yet disappointed. That’s putting it boringly. Rather, I should write that he hasn’t yet not astounded me with his breadth and acumen for writing speculative, traditional and historical science fiction. So rather than simply slew gratuitous praise, I’ll say a few words about Planetary.

Planetary defines the science fiction genre, whether in graphic form or otherwise. Science creating fiction, and fiction literally inspiring science. Constantly feeding off one another. Inventive and all-consuming with magnitudes of possibility. Ellis’s imagination is only tempered by the scope of the four volume arc in which his characters unearth mystery incarnate. If it weren’t for said characters, he’d have a wild, unboundedly orgasmic multiverse to populate on paper. Something never be fully realized, of course; so we have but a corralled current of enthrallment, advancing via strangely disparate heroes less captivated with themselves than the mystery of possibility itself. Briefly, Planetary involves restoration and preservation, of memory, old friends, of the past, of earth and most everything on it; not just earth but more importantly what the earth offers the nascent potential to reveal. Secrets in plain sight, others buried deep or quarantined by other unseen authorities. Joyous secrecy from a group of unlikely archivists.  Secrets in space, earth civilization, multidimensional factions and realized fiction.

As far as character development, I’ll venture that Ellis deliberately understates, instead focusing on the expeditious mind-bending flashes in which they participate. That he never explicitly explains the abilities of Elijah Snow and Co. is for the better, leaving the reader to surmise their perhaps unearthly origins. On the other hand, his is the first example I’ve come across to deftly shatter the “black man always dies at the start” premise. No, it is better to invite the fascination from such issues as “Mystery in Space/Rendezvous”, “Magic & Loss”, “Creation Songs” and “The Gun Club”, all top tier stories and so nebulous as they linger in the reader’s mind.

Planetary is just writing and illustration of awe. Universal awe of not what can be achieved in human endeavors, but comprehended.  A bit tangential, but that’s what both science and imagination do. Carrying one to places never thought possible.

review – captain swing

Readers uninitiated either to Warren Ellis or graphic novels would benefit immensely by reading Captain Swing and the Electrical Pirates of Cindery Island. On the one hand it’s a brisk and bloody romp in a genre definitely not steampunk (as Ellis insists) but something that feels a lot like it. Sure, there’s lots of metal and some gears but it’s a story enshrouded mostly in fog, blood and sparks. 

Captain Swing is a frenzied mix of clashing societal and seemingly fantastical forces. Enigmatic spring-heeled figures, harnessing blue lightning, are caught slinking about the streets and rooftops of London.  Murdered Bobbies, drawn and quartered with all signs of foul-play pointing to the sky.  Add to this confusion the turbulence of 1830s London with the eruption of the Swing Riots, the peasant uprisings against industrialized agriculture, combined with the full-on war between the emergent policing factions of the Peelers and Bow Street Runners. All these factors paint a story of change swaddled in bedlam, easily personified through the notorious visage of Captain Swing.

Ellis writes a deceptively pithy story. Course like the London grime, his dialogue, especially between his policing factions, is as bawdy as it’s humorous and unsettling. Contrast this, however, to the utopian and progressive aspirations of his altruistic Swing. Thankfully, his own sentiment does not boil down to dualistic either-or scenario. Applying a shades-of-grey lens to the ideological questions concerning the nature of law, justice, piracy and knowledge, Ellis takes great care not to espouse any ideal but rather cloak it in uncertainty, showcasing only the confusion experienced by a rapidly changing English society.

The artwork of Raulo Caceres impeccably parallels Ellis’s authorship. Shades of navy, amber, lavender and maroon deliberately permeate the work, highlighting predominantly the shadows of London upon each character, each panel. Only the blindingly blue sparks in this pre-electrical era add any brightness to the sketches, drawn in finely intricate woodcut fashion. It is equally fun to gaze at the panels as it is to read.

Captain Swing is a grand synthesis of fiction, history and dark, alluring artwork. Whether for the casual comic fan or for readers with a more academic scrutiny, this work is an impressive exposition on the continuum of societal bedlam and progress.