Reviews of AQUAMAN VOL. 1: THE TRENCH and TEEN TITANS VOL. 1: IT’S OUR RIGHT TO FIGHT

The New 52 marches on with the release of two new revamped series. First, the long-mocked defender of the deep and King of Atlantis faces a horde of sharp-toothed wrenches from the briny depths. Then, N.O.W.H.E.R.E.’s hunting down teenage metahumans. Why? None can say, but Red Robin and his comrades rise to the occasion and the superpowered teenyboppers fight back.

Aquaman Vol. 1: The Trench

Whoo, boy, does Geoff Johns love writing generic white guys.

Between reviving Hal Jordan and Barry Allen, two characters who, while not originating their roles, certainly dominate public consciousness when anyone thinks Flash or Green Lantern, Johns has fallen into a slump of writing for your archetypal straightlaced male, whiter than the driven snow with the most blasé or typical of backstories. So it seems a natural move for Johns to write Arthur Curry, alias Aquaman, the half-Atlantean king of Atlantis. He’s blonde, he’s white, he’s blander than mayonnaise on white bread, and, hey! he even has daddy issues! After all, Johns has created some fantastic storylines using characters that initially died more or less because readers’ interest in their bland as paste personalities bottomed out. He takes the bland and makes it interesting. The same seemed to be coming true for Aquaman, so Johns seems a perfect match to pull Arty out of his slump and build an epic storyline for one of DC’s most underrated and underappreciated of heroes.

Of course, that wasn’t always the case. Indeed, many writers made the most of Aquaman’s badass potential, epitomized in the be-mulleted, hook-handed era of the character which ultimately made it to the Justice League animated series. This is a guy who can command great white goddamn sharks, krakens, and orcas for pity’s sake! Not to mention he’s the king of an entire underwater kingdom and has one of the greatest archenemies ever in Black Manta.

But, sad as it may be, Aquaman will never live down the legacy of Super Friends, the Hanna-Barbera produced cartoon which brought the Justice League of America to life and singlehanded proved Aquaman is the most useless superhero ever. Riding around on a giant seahorse, talking to fish through concentric circles, completely useless if separated from the sea and ocean life.

New 52 Aquaman operates under the assumption that both readers and the fictional public in-universe are only familiar with Aquaman via the Super Friends television series or, in fictional context, a reputation that amounts to such. In the first issue, Johns sets about dispelling several myths about the character. No, he doesn’t “talk” to fish, he commands them. Call him weak, he’ll flip an armored car over his head. No one’s “favorite superhero”? Since when have adulations meant anything to a true hero? Indeed, Johns goes out of his way to demonstrate how and why Aquaman is such a badass, leading one to wonder how he gained such a lackluster reputation in the New 52 universe if his actual actions in no way reflect his real life Super Friends reputation. But that bit of inconsistently swiftly gets shoved away as terrors emerge from the deep to combat Aquaman…

The book opens strongly with Aquaman thwarting a robbery in a small east coast town, surprising robbers and police alike with his unexpected feats of strength. We learn that this is Arthur Curry’s hometown, the place where his father raised him, long before he discovered his Atlantean roots and superpowers. Seeking to reconnect with his roots, Arthur takes up residence at the town’s lighthouse with his Atlantean bride Mera (their child and the majority of their history seemingly retconned out of existence). Meanwhile, strange humanoid creatures emerge from a deep water trench, their alien language speaking only of hunger and food. They fall upon a fishing vessel before, devouring its crew while marking others with bile, soon setting their sights on the sleepy seaside village where Aquaman has made his home.

Sound interesting? I would think so, too, but, sadly, the book is undone by its greatest weakness: Aquaman himself.

While Johns manages a few jokes at the expense of Aquaman’s Super Friends rep in the first issue, subsequent issues fail to establish any sort of personality for the guy. We get frequent flashbacks to his father — and a rather forced dream sequence of his father’s ghost taunting him about his origins and duty (the dialogue here causing physical pain) — but, beyond that, there’s dangerously little character belying the king of Atlantis. He’s supposed to be torn between his landed humanity and his Atlantean side beneath the sea, but we never see this struggle. Aquaman at one point seeks out the assistance of a man who once tried to kill him but, again, we never see this conflict. Rather, it’s told to us in dialogue and narration and the events that follow barely reflect these dramatic circumstances.

Moreover, Arthur’s interactions with people — police, local townspeople, etc. — feel stilted and awkward and it’s not quite clear how much of that awkwardness is intentional and how much of it is Johns’ inability to correctly convey stoicism. This doesn’t feel like the same character from Justice League. This doesn’t feel like the guy who summoned a horde of sharks to devour parademons mid air just to put Green Lantern in his place. This feels like some socially awkward weirdo (with an inexplicably hot girlfriend) found Aquaman’s costume and trident.

I use the phrase “generic white guy” to describe him and by that I don’t mean to say that non-white characters are inherently more interesting or more identifiable than white characters, only that Johns’ Aquaman falls into an archetype that has haunted comic books since Superman’s debut. Tall, straight-laced white males who, by whatever means, receive superpowers and become heroes while simultaneously maintaining a complete lack of personality or individual character. Typically, they have jobs which are inherently interesting — Hal Jordan’s test pilot background or, going further back in Lantern history, Alan Scott’s engineering background — but ultimately these professions serve to supplement a personality that simply isn’t there. Aquaman falls victim to this trap, focusing on the character’s external attributes — his history, his power, his reputation, his place in the DC universe — at the expense of the internal conflicts which drive the character, which motivate, which build a special relationship with the reader as they identify and grow alongside the character.

Fundamentally, the book’s emotional core is barren. If you don’t care about Aquaman, you don’t care whether he succeeds or fails. There’s no tension, no intrigue, no commitment. By no means is he actively reprehensible, but by no means is he interesting either which, in this case, is just as bad.

But it’s Aquaman’s longtime love interest, Mera, Queen of Atlantis, who gets the greatest disservice here. Reduced to little more than a soundboard for Arthur’s own struggles (what little of substance there is), she exhibits the same lack of personality while at the same time rests what few character traits she does have on Aquaman. Early on, when Aquaman abandons his duties as king of Atlantis (we never even get to see Atlantis) in favor of reconnecting with humanity, Mera, native Atlantean, alien amongst land dwelling humans, accepts this and joins him with no argument. Seems a bit convenient, wouldn’t you say? Her entire character is defined by her relationship to Aquaman and little else.

And, to add insult to injury, that relationship goes horribly underdeveloped. When did they meet? Why are they together? How did they fall in love? What do they adore about each other? What keeps them together despite coming from two very different societies? Johns refuses to give the reader any insight into how these two work as a couple or why Mera would give up her life in Atlantis for a life above the sea with the man she “loves”.

To give some credit, she does display a great deal of strength, at least physically, and can seemingly hold her own without Aquaman, fighting alongside him against the trench monsters. A recurring joke even has people constantly referring to Mera as “Aquawoman,” which annoys both Arthur and Mera, implying that Mera is defined by more than just her relationship to Aquaman (never mind that her other actions undermine that at every turn) and is no mere sidekick.

Of course, this is undone when Johns gives Mera her own issue in the latter half of the volume, a whole adventure amidst the alien human world that surrounds her. But while Aquaman gets to battle monstrous sea beasts from the abyss, Mera battles — what else? — sexism! Beginning with Mera’s sexual assault at the hands of a supermarket manager, she goes on to combat a wife killer holding his daughter hostage. Mera stops short of calling any male a “sperm bank” (thanks, Frank Miller’s Wonder Woman!) but the intentions here are obvious and no less insulting.

Because, as ever, some writers just can’t get it out of their head that female characters don’t always have to combat “women’s issues.” While Aquaman’s lack of personality leads only to boredom and disinterest, this reduction of Mera’s character is outright offensive, especially given the rank caricature of the sexual offender (honestly, even for a comic book, this guy’s behavior is way too transparent and sleazy) and the dramatic convenience of the wife killer. Just a bad day to be a woman in a sleepy seaside town, I guess. (A sleepy seaside town…which regularly encounters armored car heists and hostage situations…huh. Where the hell do these people live!?)

The only saving grace here is Ivan Reis’ artwork which depicts the trench monsters with terrifying detail and visual personality. Action scenes ring with force and panache, although his background characters leave something to be desired. It’s just a shame that penciling this good is propping up characters this flimsy and poorly developed.

It’s sad to see that something like this deserves a hardcover release in DC’s eyes while Swamp Thing can only be found in paperback. Worse, it’s sad to see DC’s chief creative officer’s talents waning so obviously. Johns has had his ups and downs before but between this and Batman: Earth One, he’s clearly running out of ideas. And the lack of interesting, high concept ideas leaves Johns’ typically weak, uninspired, and workmanlike dialogue fully exposed. Of all the Justice League member books yet published, this is the most forgettable and easily overlooked.

Teen Titans Vol. 1: It’s Our Right to Fight

Between Superboy and Red Hood and the Outlaws Scott Lobdell has demonstrated why he isn’t the best fit for these characters. He has no or little respect for their legacy and no grasp on the clashing ethos between DC’s stable of teenage heroes and the wunderkinds Lobdell wrote over at Marvel during his Generation X days. So, it should come as no surprise that Lobdell’s Teen Titans are composed of characters that could easily pass for Marvel archetypes. Almost all of them are runaways, one of them is a time traveler, one a mutating monster, and another a thief. Throw in an alien for good measure and you have the latest Marvel team-up.

Perhaps that’s an unfair comparison. After all, the DC universe isn’t bare of aliens, mutants, and heroes physically scarred by their superpowers, much less any previous Teen Titans incarnation. But then there’s also things like tone and character to consider. And from a tonal perspective, this book doesn’t feel like a Teen Titans book. The characterization doesn’t feel like DC characterization. Like Lobdell’s Superboy, we again have people goaded into heroism rather than pursuing it of their own volition, the defining trait of most every DC hero including the Titans.

But…is that so bad?

Again, we have the reboot to consider, the goal at the heart of it, to inject new life and new perspective into old characters and old teams. To do away with the stale and the bygone and substitute the new and the fresh.

Nice of Bruce to pose for this photo with Tim. It’s not often you can wrangle him into a Sears portrait, but, when you do, he sells it.

In that regard…we have a bit of a mixed bag.

It’s Our Right to Fight chronicles the assembly and creation of the first Teen Titans team (something that will clash with the continuity of Lobdell’s own Red Hood and the Outlaws but we’ll get there). Of course, these aren’t the teens we’ve known for so many years, seen as an impetuous Kid Flash causes a backdraft in a burning building, endangering himself as well as the firefighters as arrogance overrides scientific brilliance. Meanwhile, Tim Drake, alias Red Robin, monitors not only Kid Flash but several other teen heroes, all of whom he believes stalked by the secret organization N.O.W.H.E.R.E. (which you may remember from Superboy). Soon enough, N.O.W.H.E.R.E. agents track down Drake and force him out of hiding. Now on the shortlist, Red Robin embarks on a search for fellow teen heroes to unite and combat N.O.W.H.E.R.E. and their mysterious backers. These heroes include the returning Wonder Girl/Cassie Sandsmark and Solstice/Kiran Singh, as well as new characters Skitter and Bunker/Miguel Barragan.

Compared to Lobdell’s previous outing with Superboy, Teen Titans succeeds more often than it fails. Whereas Superboy remained insular and rarely interacted meaningfully with supporting characters around him, remaining suspicious and dissocial, Teen Titans focuses much more on the interpersonal relationships building between our team members. Each Titan has a well defined personality and we get a fair number of bonding moments between them throughout the book, though not as many as one would like for a new team just getting to know each other. In particular, Bunker barely rises about a caricature, flamboyant and sassy as any poorly written gay Hispanic male. (Try not rolling your eyes when Bunk exclaims “Fabuloso!” without a tinge of irony.) Nevertheless, Kid Flash’s veneer of arrogance eventually drops, Solstice displays a caring, nurturing side, Wonder Girl holds some typical thief-with-a-heart-of-gold traits but pulls through for the team when the time comes, and Tim Drake feels like Tim Drake, leading the team ably though with a cold edge, something he will no doubt combat and settle in following volumes.

The Titans’ conflict with N.O.W.H.E.R.E. earns some suitably action heavy moments, such as Superboy’s battle with Wonder Girl and the Titans’ assault on N.O.W.H.E.R.E.’s base. N.O.W.H.E.R.E. leaves something to be desired as a villain, however. They’re certainly no Trigon, but as their ulterior motives become more apparent with Lobdell’s coming Culling crossover event, they may have a few tricks to pull yet. In fact, that’s another thing Teen Titans has in its favor that many New 52 books seem to be missing: narrative direction and focus. This story feels like it’s going somewhere, building to something, whereas too many books hopscotch between one-off stories and incomplete narratives hinting at future plotlines without any forward momentum regarding character or plot development (see Resurrection Man…on second thought, don’t see Resurrection Man — it sucks).

What this book lacks is heroism. The Titans spend more time combating N.O.W.H.E.R.E. and its agents than fighting crime (albeit, most superheroes nowadays make their living battling clandestine organizations with vaguely evil motives than street-level crime). And, granted, N.O.W.H.E.R.E. isn’t the most benevolent of organizations but it would have been nice to see the Titans save a life or two that wasn’t their own. Again, this feels like an X-title: mutants protecting mutants — or meta-teens protecting meta-teens in this case. Little in the way of do-gooding, more in the way of self-preservation. Would it kill someone to rescue a kitten from a tree!?

Overall, the book has a very light and fun feel with none of the heavy-handed angst teen books easily fall into. There’s nothing overly offensive or moronic but the book doesn’t measure up to previous Titans runs and under Lobdell’s guiding hand, it likely won’t rise above the Generation X-lite status it earns in this volume.

For any longtime Teen Titans fan I can’t recommend this book; Lobdell either changes the personalities of established characters too radically (Superboy) or reverts them to points readers had long since past (Bart Allen/Kid Flash). The book doesn’t evoke any of the spirit or character that earned previous series their fanbases. Though that isn’t to say it lacks spirit or character and, for any new readers, particularly anyone making the jump from Marvel to DC, there’s still plenty to enjoy here — lighthearted action, fun characters, and a well-plotted narrative.

Reviews of SWAMP THING VOL. 1: RAISE THEM BONES, RESURRECTION MAN VOL. 1: DEAD AGAIN, and THE MANHATTAN PROJECTS VOL. 1: SCIENCE BAD

Science. Science and madness. Science and madness and monsters. All come into play in today’s line of books which include the revitalization of two languishing DC properties — a woe begotten creature from the bogs of Louisiana battling the forces of decay and ruin, and a man of many lives and many deaths and many a superpower questing for lost memories and answers — and a new series from Image which takes us down an alternate route through history powered by unadulterated feats of SCIENCE!

Swamp Thing Vol. 1: Raise Them Bones

Created by writer Len Wein and artist Berni Wrightson, Swamp Thing first appeared in the anthology series The House of Secrets in 1971 but soon received his own ongoing series exploring the desperate battle between man and monster. Featuring botanist Dr. Alec Holland chemically transformed into a vegetative monstrosity, the series naturally gravitated toward horror — the body horror of Holland’s transformation, the horrors of man’s hubris both scientific and supernatural, and, of course, the the simple horror of a monster-of-the-week. And, in many respects, Swamp Thing has enjoyed a far more illustrious career than some of DC’s more well-known characters with two theatrically released films (the first, and by far the more worthwhile, directed by Wes Craven) and a seventy-two episode television series under his belt.

In comics, however, Swamp Thing’s most definitive run came in the wake of his film adaptation under the tenure of Alan Moore who established the most long lasting aspects of the character. Sweeping aside the previous series’ cast of secondary characters, Moore deemphasized the Alec Holland side of Swamp Thing in favor of the monster, reminiscent in many ways of the eponymous creature of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, especially in Swamp Thing’s grandiose narration and dialogue. Moore introduced the Parliament of Trees, a supernatural group of elementals who speak for the Green, the force governing all vegetative life, for which Swamp Thing became guardian and champion.

Building upon the mythology originated by Alan Moore while tying into Jeff Lemire’s Animal Man mythos, Scott Snyder — author of American Vampire and the New 52’s highly acclaimed Batman series — revitalizes the Swamp Thing name once again. And rather than wiping previous Swamp Thing continuity out of existence, Snyder’s series assumes those events transpired (at least in broad strokes) while reintroducing us to an untransformed Alec Holland — the memories of his monstrous years made fuzzy and foreign to the now human Holland. This has the advantage of creating an entry point for new readers without disregarding previous continuity in its entirety (so for a second time Snyder proves why the reboot may have been unnecessary).

Snyder draws a clear line between Alec Holland and the Swamp Thing of previous comics as Holland’s reclaimed humanity makes him a radically different character. Thus, he can act as the audience’s voice when encountering new, strange sights while not being completely uninformed as well — a good example of Snyder having his cake and eating it too. The only hiccup here comes through an exposition scene early in issue 2 which fails to derail the book’s plot but is nevertheless stilted and awkward. That aside, the book hits all the high points one would expect from a Snyder-penned horror title.

All over the world animals are spontaneously dying in large groups — birds falling from the sky, cattle collapsing in the field, entire schools of fish sinking to their graves — and the superheroes of the world take note. Alec Holland, meanwhile, works construction outside the swamps he once roamed as a monster, tormented by memories he can’t bring himself to call his own. The Green still calls to him but Alec, having finally rid himself of the monster and reclaimed his humanity, will have nothing to do with it. That quickly changes when the Rot, supernatural embodiment of decay and death, gathers its undead forces for yet another war against the Red and the Green, setting sight on Holland, the man destined to be the Green’s greatest champion.

Much like Animal Man, Swamp Thing emphasizes supernatural body horror to chilling effect. As an emissary of the Rot forces an archaeologist’s neck to twist and snap of its own accord while said archaeologist can only wait and scream as his own body turns against him, the hairs of one’s own neck will be standing on end. Emissaries of the Rot (alternatively, the Black in keeping with the color theme) are more frightening than ever, quite the accomplishment considering how well they were rendered in Animal Man. All glory in that regard goes to Yanick Paquette’s artwork which integrates beautiful linework with creative layouts and arrangements that evoke J.H. Williams III. His monster designs give Travel Foreman’s a run for their money but aren’t nearly as spine chilling as the Rot’s supernatural ability to manipulate dead or necrotized flesh, turning tumors and diseases into mutant abominations that kill from the inside out.

And, again, much like Animal Man, the book’s greatest strength is its characters. While Holland’s reluctance to become Swamp Thing again leads to some damnable consequences, you nevertheless sympathize with his situation and never blame him for the tragedies that ensue. The sacrifice of Holland humanity holds greater weight because it’s no longer an accident of science and mutation, and his guardianship of the Green feels more grandiose because it’s something he must choose to uphold rather than a duty foisted upon him by a higher power. As well, Holland’s relationship with longtime Swamp Thing supporting character Abigail Arcane rings true despite the relatively short interval the characters spend together, evoking the romantic connection shared between the characters from previous continuity while also developing into circumstances that can seemingly only lead to tragedy. However, Snyder gives the reader enough hope and establishes the characters so well that one can’t help but root for Holland’s triumph over the Rot.

Scott Snyder brings us another must-read book, especially for any fan of supernatural horror or Swamp Thing’s previous incarnations. Suspense, horror, and action deliver in equal measure, never once battling for a greater share of the spotlight but blending together seamlessly (something which won’t be shared by our next title). As well, Swamp Thing is essential reading for any fan of Lemire’s Animal Man as the two’s intertwining mythologies will soon have them crossing over in the “Rot World” event where the forces of the Green, the Red, and the Rot will finally wage war.

Resurrection Man Vol. 1: Dead Again

Conceived by British writing duo Dan Abnett and Andy Lanning with American Jackson Guice, Mitch Shelley, alias Resurrection Man, originally appeared in a self-titled series in 1997 which lasted until 1999. Written as a “non-traditional” superhero, Mitch Shelley possessed a seemingly immortal body following experimentation by your typical clandestine super-science organization; after each apparent “death”, Shelley resurrects with a new superpower based on how he previously died. Eschewing colorful costumes and superheroics in general, the original Resurrection Man series focused on Mitch’s journey across the United States in search of the truth behind his past and rebirth as Resurrection Man. After cancellation, Shelley made sporadic cameos in other DC books but never received any spotlight attention until eleven years later when Abnett and Lanning returned with a rebooted Resurrection Man for the New 52.

Featuring a rewritten origin that ties Shelley into the larger DC universe, the new Resurrection Man once again follows Mitch Shelley battling amnesia as he struggles to uncover the secrets of his past and his powers. Along the way he’s accosted by a rather demonic looking angel, a pair of lesbian assassins, a retired supervillain, and even crosses paths with some of Gotham’s mentally disturbed denizens. And as exciting as those things sound, the execution largely disappoints.

Next to nothing of the previous series’ continuity remains although enough changes have been made that the book doesn’t retread old territory. Rather, the book’s failings stem from its general lack of focus, the plots aimless meandering, Shelley’s weak sense of agency, and an unnecessary amount of fan service.

With the introduction of the Body Doubles, the aforementioned lesbian assassins (characters introduced in the original Resurrection Man), the book seems to start moving in a plot progressive direction as we learn more about Shelley’s revamped past and his relationship to the Doubles, Bonnie and Carmen. But the narrative swiftly abandons these threads as one of Shelley’s eponymous resurrections spirits him away to Arkham Asylum. Following that diversion, the book then decides it’s time for Shelley to learn the value of heroism as he confronts some meth manufacturers held up in an abandoned Metropolis apartment complex.

This shift isn’t wholly without setup and Shelley never acts out of character, but it nevertheless feels underdeveloped and unearned. Mainly due to Shelley’s poor sense of agency leading up to that point. The book’s narrative primarily focuses on things happening to Shelley rather than him taking any sort of action of his own. We understand the motives of those hunting him more so than his own motivations to avoid them. Supposedly, he’s trying to find answers to his past but he inevitably happens upon those truths by accident rather than discovering them himself. The only time he takes any sort of action is in self-defense against the Body Doubles or his supernatural hunters. It’s also telling that, while other characters reveal personality through dialogue, Shelley’s character mainly emerges through narrative captions rather than his interactions with others. Consequently, Shelley comes off as bland and uninteresting — an ironic contrast to his former life, prior to amnesia, which reveals Shelley’s unfeeling, malicious past as a bastard, a more compelling characterization for no better reason than at least he has a personality.

Abnett and Lanning can’t seemingly decide if they want the series to have a linear narrative or indulge in episodic adventures. As such, the book becomes unfocused and even a bit confused as to what it wants to be, fluctuating between supernatural horror and action thriller, ultimately failing to terrify while the action feels unmotivated and pointless. An extended sequence features the Body Doubles trying to take down Shelley for the sake of transporting him to their boss, but dialogue reveals that Shelley would have come with them willingly just to learn about his past and lost memories. So, basically, the Doubles murdered dozens of civilians and caused millions of dollars in collateral damage over a failure to communicate. Fucking hell.

Pencils by Fernando Dagnino are nothing spectacular though neither are they terribly lazy or incompetent. At worst, panels can seem a bit cluttered or crowded and certain visuals rely heavily on poorly integrated CG and Photoshop effects, particularly any “energy” effects or powers exhibited by certain characters. The colorist puts a heavy emphasis on black ink and darker tones, a trait common to many New 52 books, but here it’s especially overdone despite the darker shades matching the general feel of the book. However, as soon as the Body Doubles emerge on scene, the artwork perks up for a good helping of fan service, including a full page spread of the girls in their underwear, and some panty shots during their action scenes. The spread had to be a request of Abnett and Lanning — a particularly fetishy request, at that, as the girls are surrounded by guns and ammo, posing seductively for…well, no one since they’re alone and seemingly not in the mood to entice each other — but the panty shots are no doubt Dagnino’s choice and completely unnecessary. I’m not normally one to get uptight about fan service, especially in books obviously aimed at a more mature audience, but when the person being eroticized is an unrepentant murderer and generally repugnant in every other regard, I find it difficult to get hot and bothered.

As of issue thirteen, the series has been slated for cancellation and it’s not difficult to see why. While there are certainly worse titles still under publication, Resurrection Man fails to recapture any of the qualities that garnered critical acclaim for its original series. Shelley isn’t an engaging character, the mysteries at play aren’t particularly enthralling (or have obviously telegraphed conclusions), and the whole affair reeks of blandness. I doubt we’ll be seeing another resurrection out of Resurrection Man. (Had to get that pun in there eventually.)

The Manhattan Projects Vol. 1: Science Bad

SCIENCE!

Delicious, delicious science.

Science stays crunchy, even in milk!

The internet certainly loves its enthusiastic exclamations of “Science!” While one could hope that this enthusiasm represents a growing affinity for critical thinking in popular culture, more likely it proves that some spirit of the ‘50s and ‘60s era of limitless scientific discovery and accomplishment still lingers in our society. And likewise, the latent fear of science — the potential unwelcome truths and weaponization of grand notions — still pervades. The Manhattan Projects proves a perfect vessel for both, reimagining the program that would eventually give the U.S. the atomic bomb as a cover story for even deeper explorations into the untapped realm of super-science, leading down heretofore unexplored realms of war, death, and madness.

The book brings together some of the most well-known scientific minds behind the historical Manhattan Project — Albert Einstein, J. Robert Oppenheimer, Enrico Fermi, Richard Feynman, Wernher von Braun (an unhistorical addition to the team), and project director Major General Leslie Groves — and recasts them as a troupe of inglorious bastards, paving the way for America’s future through the paranormal, extraterrestrial, and whatever preternatural means they can get their hands on.

These first five issues focus on the introduction of our cast, each issue giving focus to a different member of the Projects while delivering revelations and secrets that will no doubt play bigger roles later in the series. Indeed, author Jonathan Hickman (Nightly News, Fantastic Four, Future Foundation, and S.H.I.E.L.D.) hints at future plot developments and grander schemes via excerpts from fictionalized records of the Projects which precede and conclude every issue. These excerpts simultaneously build character and expand upon the nature of the world at play, hinting at a vast and marvelous history.

Meanwhile, the characters themselves resemble little to nothing of their personalities (actual or perceived) in favor of gross caricatures which fit the twisted, paranormal world they inhabit. Major General Groves is the hard-nosed, Doc Savage-esque man-of-action never without a live grenade strapped to his lapel. Oppenheimer is the off-putting eccentric masking a dark secret. Feynman, a successful popularizer of science and physics in real life, is an utter narcissist. And Wernher von Braun is your classic only-in-it-for-the-science madman, willing to poison his peers and betray the Cause just for a whiff of steel and rocket fumes. Each enthralls and enriches the story in their own way and the book could easily follow any one of them while working equally well as an ensemble cast.

Summarizing the plot proves difficult because only the inklings of a larger narrative reveal themselves in this volume, opting more for episodic adventures and stories while hopping through the Projects’ timeline. Suffice to say, it involves a lot of science, madness, aliens, and a good dose of reckless abandon.

In the vein of Frank Quitely, Nick Pitarra’s art is detailed, fantastical, and perfectly suited to the madcap nature of the book — especially as a teleporting Japanese Torii gateway spews mechanical samurai into the Projects’ underground Los Alamos base — but will nevertheless be off-putting to those who don’t like his particular stylization. Personally, the art took a moment’s adjustment for me but soon felt perfectly natural for the cartoonish and outlandish nature of the book.

If any make-or-break fault can be found in the book, it’s that it has no relatable protagonist. No one speaks for the audience or acts as the conscience of the book. And while the cast is not without their sympathetic aspects, all of them possess some quality that fundamentally dissociates them from the reader. Whether it’s Feynman’s simple narcissism or General Groves’ fanaticism or Von Braun’s…well, being a Nazi (he never removes his uniform and no one else seems to mind) or the more radical fates of Oppenheimer and Einstein, there exists no character who acts as the series’ moral compass. Rather, the book opts for the unfiltered madness and lunacy that ensues when all these personalities are thrown into a room and given fantastical tools of super-science to play around with.

So, any objections against the book devolve into a matter of taste more than anything. Hickman has the story he wants to tell, knows the audience it will appeal to, and is more than comfortable with how narrow that audience will be. Nevertheless, The Manhattan Projects is compulsively readable if only to see what strange sights and abominations will emerge out of Los Alamos next.

Reviews of WOLVERINE AND THE X-MEN VOL. 2 and MATT WAGNER’S GRENDEL OMNIBUS VOL. 1: HUNTER ROSE

While one of earth’s greatest heroes is wrapped up scrambling for cash to fund his school, one of the world’s greatest villains, a devil in black and white, stalks the streets as we catch up with the continuing adventures of the Westchester X-Men and discover a criminal mastermind’s most diabolical legacy.

Wolverine and the X-Men Vol. 2

After the brief diversion of Wolverine and the X-Men: Alpha & Omega, we return to the regular series with volume 2. For those who missed it, the X-Men have schismed into two groups: Cyclops and his team at Utopia on the West Coast and Wolverine heading the Jean Grey School for the Gifted Youngsters in Westchester on the East. While Cyclop’s Extinction Team confronts world-ending menaces and alien supercriminals, Wolverine confronts the trepidations of running a school populated by superpowered teenagers and the reemergence of the Hellfire Club.

In this volume, Hank McCoy takes the class on a fantastic voyage into the mutant body, getting up close and personal with antibodies, the mutant gene, and a number of the ickier organs, all rather brilliantly illustrated by Nick Bradshaw. Meanwhile, Wolverine contends with the school’s money woes, desperately scrabbling for income from Worthington Industries, a prospect immediately shot to ribbons when the board of executives declares Warren Worthington (alias Angel, formerly Archangel) declares Warren mentally unfit to run the company (and as Warren sheds his clothes on the company HQ’s lawn, it’s hard to argue the fact). Officially hitting desperate times, Wolvie fetches his trusty bag of desperate measures and yanks Quentin “Kid Omega” Quire out of class, loads up in a rocket, and rides to the galaxy’s richest casino. And if thought they treated card counters harshly in Vegas…

Meanwhile, Kitty Pride is…pregnant!? OR IS SHE!? *dramatic music sting*

God, it’s been a long time since an X-Men book has been fun. Fun and not wrapped up in the overdramatics of persecution, prejudice, and people generally acting like assholes. Is a bit of fun adventure so much to ask from a comic book? Not that a bit of drama and tragedy is a bad thing, but when an entire book becomes saturated with it to the point that everyone is miserable and angsting about one tribulation or another…yeah, like any monotone, it gets boring eventually. The characters here aren’t exactly having the times of their lives either, but the overall tone is much more lighthearted and enjoyable. Wolverine and Kid Omega continue their authoritarian/anti-authoritarian rivalry while bonding over the joys of extraterrestrial gambling. Meanwhile, Kitty’s pregnancy gets her questioning her choices in life, the mistakes made and relationships past gone wrong. And as an alien menace invades the school, the students must summon the strength to be heroes — albeit, in Kid Gladiator’s case, the call to heroism means having your masculinity questioned by an uppity white blood cell. Following the events in X-Force, Angel’s delusions smack head first with reality, forcing him to question truths he thought immutable and dreaming of reconciliation. The book concludes with a one-and-done spotlighting Hank McCoy (and featuring the return of artist Chris Bachalo on pencils, always excellent), yet again battling between the beast and the brain as Sabretooth pushes him to the brink in yet another ploy by the Hellfire Club. Overall, it’s all very proactive and develops each character in a positive direction, rather than taking them down the twin roads Dick and Douche.

I suppose the harshest thing to be said about this book is that it avoids all those classic X-Men dilemmas too much. The school comes off as a far too insular a place and you yearn to see these characters interacting with the outside world with non-mutant humans. For a lot of the students, particularly the ones we follow the most like Kid Omega and Idie, how they’re viewed by humanity plays a large part in defining their character, turning Quentin into a lovably diabolical smartass and Idie into a self-loathing bag of neuroses. It just comes off as a lot of missed opportunities passing the series by.

But for what it is, Wolverine and the X-Men is one of the better books being published by Marvel at the moment, a publisher which, like DC, has been pursuing some rather questionable editorial pathways in recent years. When was the last crossover event when the good guys actually fought a villain rather than fight each other? While DC made the mistake of disowning their characters’ pasts with the September 2011 reboot, Marvel makes the mistake of letting their characters’ pasts bog down a narrative to the point that heroes end up bickering among themselves over the tiniest trifle while villains just fade into the background. This is why Wolverine and the X-Men feels so good to read; it’s just so refreshing after the same old overdramatic crap plays out for the hundredth time. Sure, it may not be the most revelatory of X-Men books but it compensates with sheer entertainment.

And now, a tangent…

Conundrum: Is it better to get more trades more often at the cost of fewer issues published per trade or get fewer trades less often but with more content per trade? At the moment, this is one of the key differences between DC and Marvel’s publications. While DC’s trades are being rolled out with at least a six month gap between each publication, each volume contains no fewer than six issues with at most eight issues. Marvel, on the other hand, have taken to publishing four issues per trade while occasionally upping that to five or six. Both companies give some leeway for the storylines to dictate the number of issues per trade so the reader isn’t left with all but the last issue of an arc missing or two halves of a two stories shoved together into a single book. It also shows how each company is willing to let writers decompress their stories. Peter J. Tomasi’s first story arc on Batman and Robin took a total eight issues to unfold and DC kindly packaged all eight issues in one trade. Meanwhile Marvel’s writers have been trending toward shorter storylines concluding in four to five issues. Both schools of thought have their advantages but, coming in at a scant four issues, Wolverine and the X-Men Vol. 2 feels underweight, especially for a hardcover release at its current price.

Nevertheless, the quality of the stories will leave you wanting more and it’s only a few months’ wait for volume 3. Personally, I really hope this title survives Avengers vs. X-Men with the same writer intact but, if not, I’ll heartily enjoy it while it lasts.

Reviews of previous volumes: Wolverine and the X-Men: Alpha & Omega.

OMNIBUZZ

A look at the latest collections and omnibus releases

Matt Wagner’s Grendel Omnibus Vol. 1: Hunter Rose

Inspired by the European noir of Diabolik, Matt Wagner’s Grendel premiered in 1983 from Comico but soon moved to Dark Horse, serialized in Wagner’s own Mage series, after that company went defunct. As years passed, Grendel grew out of its pulp fiction roots into a treatise on crime and aggression, of the strength of the human will and its sublimation by the strong and corrupt. In short, an epic.

What better series to archive into an omnibus collection given its twenty year history, choppy publication history, and the sprawling nature of the work, covering the life and legacy of the world’s greatest criminal mind and the fallout from his vainglorious reign?

Grendel’s debut, Devil by the Deed, is a sophomoric work, indicative of Wagner’s young age (21 at the time of publication) and early exploration into the medium. It’s not so much a comic as an illustrated essay; indeed, the story takes the form of an article, or possibly book excerpts, of a third party recounting the famous criminal mastermind’s deeds. Wagner’s prose is overwrought at times, rarely broken up with dialogue, expositing constantly. Yet the story plays a key role in everything that is to follow. What we are reading isn’t a bildungsroman recounting the rise and fall, life and death of Hunter Rose but rather the legend of Grendel, mythologized like his namesake. What’s important isn’t the twists and turns and intrigue of Grendel’s doings but, rather, how these things build upon his legacy.

At face value, Hunter Rose is very much a Mary Sue, perfect in nearly every way, praised by those around him, unerring in nearly every deed and crime and kill. So Devil by the Deed barely builds upon him as a character, leaving deeper insights into his motivations to the speculations of the narrator. Thus, Grendel’s entire career from birth to death is expounded upon in broadest details, painting Grendel as mythically capable and unimaginably talented, doing most to set the stage for future stories than build a cohesive stand-alone narrative. Everybody knows the tale of Beowulf, whether they’ve read the poem or not, and they know the end before they’ve read it; how Beowulf dies is not important, but rather how he lived and what he stood for matter most. Similarly, it’s Hunter’s singular sense of utter superiority and the fruits he reaps of his latent talents and malevolent deeds that form the centerpiece of the Grendel cycle.

Effectively spoiling the entire narrative of Grendel’s life draws the reader’s focus away from basic narrative conventions — will he survive? won’t he? who will prevail over whom? — and forms something worthy of the Grendel title: a twisted and bastardized rendition of the Hero’s Journey. While Wagner’s prose tries terribly hard to evoke literary sensibilities, ultimately sounding pretentious, the story succeeds in establishing the Grendel mythos, building the framework for what will emerge from the collections to follow and the story to conclude Hunter Rose’s time as the devilish Grendel. What works most about Devil by the Deed is Wagner’s artwork, remarkable most in its composition if not the detailed artistry of each individual image. They complement each narrative passage well, doing more to evoke the necessary emotional resonance than the prose itself.

What follows, the collections Black, White, & Red and Red, White, & Black, compose the heart of what makes Grendel a remarkable work: short stories centered less around Grendel himself and more so those affected by his plans and plots. Those he hunts, those who witness his kills, those who cross him, those who track him, those who fear his name and quake at the thought of that double-bladed staff pointing their way. Each story unravels in its own unique style, assisted by the multitudinous talents of the artists on display here who all make the most of Grendel’s black and white with red spot coloring style.

The book closes with Behold the Devil, the longest of the stories, and one of the few with a full arc. Hunter Rose is in the middle of his career, expanding his reign over organized crime and arranging deals with foreign mobs. But Hunter Rose is feeling off his game as a strange presence stalks him; feeling as though he’s being watched, Rose finds himself uncharacteristically flinching at shadows. Meanwhile, a reporter and detective each find themselves on the trail of Grendel, skirting the edges of his criminal empire but unable to penetrate it. And with Hunter preoccupied by this strange menace, they may just get the advantage of him. The story builds to the ultimate challenge to Hunter Rose’s self-made brilliance, calling into question his own capability and uniqueness in a world suffused with banality.

The biggest fault to be laid against this book is in its publication. Dark Horse has elected to release these omnibus editions in paperback only with glued binding. Given the number of pages, snapping the spine is absolutely required to fully enjoy any double-page spread. As well, the nature of the binding and the quality of the paper makes the book awkward to hold. To top things off, while several of the collected works here were originally published in standard 7” x 10” comic book format — namely Behold the Devil, the longest, piece which easily dominates the book’s page count — all have been reduced to 6” x 9” format. It’s not a book made for repeated readings nor will it have a long shelf life; while the paper itself is high quality, the book feels as though it will fall apart with time. The minimal amount of extras taken with the book price and the above grievances indicate Dark Horse doesn’t intend this to be an archival release so much as a definitive collection of every Grendel story targeted at new and curious readers. However, given the quality of the stories here and the sheer amount of them and the reasonable price, those unfamiliar with Grendel have no excuse not to pick it up and discover a true masterpiece of sequential art.

Grendel Omnibus Vol. 1 is a must-read for any fan of noirish, literary comic books, classic pulp fiction, and unconventional storytelling.

Reviews of DRIFTERS VOL. 2 and SCOTT PILGRIM VOL. 1: SCOTT PILGRIM’S PRECIOUS LITTLE LIFE COLOR EDITION

Jack of All Trades’ first manga review, along with a series inspired by the tradition and styles of Japanese comics, beginning with the follow up to Kouta Hirano’s breakout series Hellsing, and following up with the revamping of a popular indie series courtesy of that mystic northern land known as…Canada.

Drifters Vol. 2

Mangaka Kouta Hirano is best known for his series Hellsing, an ultraviolent supernatural action manga about a clandestine English organization dedicated to fighting vampires — you know, before the sparkly variety took the fore in teenybopper soap operas, when vampires were actual goddamned monsters. Following up that popular series, Hirano took a left turn at the genre crossroads, exchanging the supernatural for historical fiction dosed with a heavy pinch of sword-and-sorcery fantasy. Drifters introduces us to a world where earth’s most famous, or notorious, historical figures are abducted moments before death and employed in an ongoing war between two mystical forces vying over a fantasy kingdom inhabited by elves, orcs, and trolls. A far cry from the Nazi vampires of Hellsing yet no less action-packed, bloody, and coated with Hirano’s trademark goofball humor.

In the first volume of Drifters, we met time-displaced historical figures Shimazu Toyohisa, legendary warlord Oda Nobunaga, and Nasu no Yoichi. Those unfamiliar with Japanese history need not fear; their identities and historical relevance unravel in short snippets of dialogue (though any passing fan of anime or Japanese culture will no doubt recognize the name Nobunaga). Hirano cares more for the legend of these characters rather than their literal historical relevance or factual biographies. The same carries for his depiction of notable Western figures like Hannibal, Roman general Scipio Africanus, the Wild Bunch, and Jeanne d’Arc.

PREVIOUSLY, ON DRIFTERS: Japanese warrior Toyohisa, upon the moment of his historical death at Uto Hill in the Battle of Sekigahara, finds himself transported via a magical doorway to an otherworldly realm inhabited by strange races and imperialistic humans in Western garb. Finding himself in the company of the legendary Oda Nobunaga and the enigmatic (and androgynous) Yoichi, Toyohisa soon learns that he is a “Drifter” in this universe, a human pulled from our earth by a mysterious being to be used as warriors against the forces of the Black King. The Black King wages a war of conquest and absolute destruction for any and all human beings, waging war with his “Ends”, similarly time-displaced historical figures who have been bent and twisted by their past into super-powered monsters.

With all the players in motion, this volume puts aside setup and dives straight into the action as Drifters Nobunaga, Toyohisa, Yoichi, and agent of the Magicians’ Guild Olminu aim at forming their own army in opposition to the Black King’s as well as the conquering empire of Orte. With no true warriors unallied to any nation or superpower to be found, Nobunaga reckons they’ll just have to create some new ones. With that, they descend upon a small village of elves, despondent serfs of the province’s duke. Then, Toyohisa does what he does best: embroiling the spirits of the weak into pyres of righteous anger, and soon our heroes have a contingent of archers lusting of the blood of their oppressors.

On premise alone, this series seems doomed to failure. The elements at play here are just too disparate and contradictory. Either write historical fiction or write fantasy. Sure, Nazi vampires work perfectly for the B-movie action schlock Hirano clearly gravitates toward but this is just too out there of a premise. But Hirano pulls it off with spectacular, ridiculous flare. Once you see the Wild Bunch firing a Civil War-era, hand-cranked Gatling gun into an oncoming army of orcs, one can’t help but nod with approval and say, “You’ve done it again, sir.”

Drifters works best when it’s at its most bombastic and outlandish. And, thankfully, those moments come…well, actually they never stop. A scene never passes without some level of bombast streaking across the page, whether it’s the characters screaming into each other’s faces, butting heads over their clashing backgrounds or approaches to tactics, or the action scenes which systematically set out to top each other every time. Hirano makes no pretense about writing high drama or crafting nuanced characters. Naturally, every character makes up for their lack of depth with bombast and lunacy. Nobunaga, especially, stands out as the magnificent bastard of the group while Toyohisa, the more traditional, straight-laced hero type, avoids the boring, blasé trap that similar characters often fall into — mostly by being the most badass warrior to ever grace Japan. Chopping down a tree with a single sword swipe not part of your regular exercise routine? Pussy! And Yoichi…Yoichi like the creep factor, using his very feminine appearance to give his teammates the heebies. His scene training a group of elves at archery

This is a series that turns the dial to eleven, letting up only to lull the reader into a false sense of security. Think you’ve got a grip on what this series is all about? Fuck you! Japanese fighter plane mowing down mounted dragon cavalry!

The awesome…so…blinding…

In keeping with its standard manga publications, Dark Horse released this volume in standard 5” x 7 ¼” format unlike the higher quality oversized releases you get with Viz, especially those under its Signature imprint. The cheaper paper stock also dilutes the inking, rendering blacks dingy while the white of the paper fails to stand out as well as it should. As a result, Hirano’s more intricate penciling can look muddied. A shame given Hirano’s impressive penciling, at its best after sharp refinement in the latter volumes of Hellsing.

Nevertheless, Drifters remains an exciting, action-packed series with a lot of character, moments of awesome, and fantastic artwork if, albeit, published in an admitted disposable format. Any fan of the lavishly ludicrous narratives comic books can offer need to read this series. There are just too many moments of insane awesomeness to pass it up.

Scott Pilgrim Vol. 1: Scott Pilgrim’s Precious Little Life Color Edition

Scott Pilgrim, following the criminally underappreciated film adaptation by Edgar Wright, sees a second life with the release of hardbound, colorized editions of the original comic series. Previously published in Manga-style digest format in black and white, the Color Edition expands the page format by an inch in either dimension while colorist Nathan Fairbairn fills in the gaps.

Unlike most manga that makes it over to the West, author Bryan Lee O’Malley thankfully eschews most of the tropes of the shonen fight manga that get the most attention from publishers. Most…but certainly not all. In fact, that’s part of what makes Scott Pilgrim a breath of fresh air for a genre grown stale and homogeneous; you’re not liable to find the depth of character and theme in Naruto or Bleach that you’ll find in Scott Pilgrim. It’s all the lunatic fight sequences you expect from Dragon Ball Z but with all the character and charm sorely missing from those books.

For the uninitiated, our story begins in the far off land of Canada — Toronto, to be exact — where Scott Pilgrim is dating a high school girl. The age difference only makes this kinda creepy and Scott’s complete inability to initiate anything more…intimate with Knives Chau, the high schooler in question, makes the “relationship” all the more pathetic and sad, at least in the eyes of Scott’s bandmates and friends. Things get complicated when Scott starts dreaming of a strange-haired girl on roller blades and even more complicated when he meets said girl in real life, growing instantaneously infatuated with her. Ramona Flowers, the girl of Scott’s dreams (see what they did there?), just moved to Toronto and, like Scott, is coming off a bad breakup. Worse, unbeknownst to Scott or Ramona herself (you should really read your emails more thoroughly, Scott), the lass carries a stable of Seven Evil Exes hell-bent on ruining any new romance Ramona may find…and heaven help Scott when she finally gives him a glance.

Even early on, the themes that will define Scott Pilgrim begin to emerge. Primarily, Scott stands as the epitome of any twenty-something young adult growing well beyond adolescence yet repeatedly failing to mature in any real sense. Scott doesn’t have a job, his friends look down on him, his relationships are pitiful, and, in general, Scott isn’t the most likeable of protagonists. He’s thick in the head, a bit callous (though never malicious…most of the time), and has a hard time of facing the consequences of his own actions. The full nature of his character won’t emerge until later volumes, so Scott comes off a bit more likeable here: an underdog down on his luck, looking for simple escapes from the madhouse that is…normal life.

The larger format and the coloring are well worth purchasing the series all over again. The coloring doesn’t elevate the art into the upper strata but, more importantly, complements O’Malley’s simplistic art style. Colorist Nathan Fairbairn opts for more realistic, muted shades early on, though as the plot becomes ever more fantastical and outlandish, the brighter, blooming shades come out, especially with the debut Evil Ex battle. But most of all, the coloring helps distinguish characters with greater ease — O’Malley’s art style gives all his characters similar kidney bean heads, making distinguishing similar looking character difficult in the original black and white books. As well, the inking is a lot cleaner compared to the original volume and certain backgrounds have been cleaned up and given more splashes of detail. Faults in the artwork generally stem from O’Malley’s lack of refinement in the early stages of the series, lacking the energy and punch of the pictures, panels, and layouts you’ll find in later on, as well as a few instances of off-model characters and wonky expressions.

Currently available in hardcover, the book comes in library binding format with the front and reverse covers printed directly onto the hardback rather than the dust jacket format of most hardcover releases. This is a minor quibble and the book doesn’t suffer for it — personally, I prefer the dignity and regality a dust jacket brings but, then again, “regal” and “dignified” don’t exactly describe Scott Pilgrim. Pages are printed on high quality pulp paper stock rather than glossy, giving the inking and coloring a more organic feel as well as tying the book to its digest format roots. The book also comes with a good amount of extras, including an afterword by O’Malley, sketch galleries, and various bits, bobs, and ephemera.

Scott Pilgrim is perhaps one of the most noteworthy comics to emerge in the past decade, and I don’t make that statement lightly. In the same way that Edgar Wright’s comedies set a high standard for all other comedies, Scott Pilgrim set the bar for indie comics and what they should aim to achieve. The sad fact is you don’t find nearly as much thoughtfulness or craftsmanship of narrative in most comic books as you do in Scott Pilgrim. Here, every character walks away likeable and distinct in their own way, they experience arcs and exit a different person than when they entered. Suffice it to say, if you haven’t experienced this series yet, go. Find it. Love it. You’ll not be disappointed.

Reviews of SUPERBOY VOL.1: INCUBATION and SUPERMAN – ACTION COMICS VOL. 1: SUPERMAN AND THE MEN OF STEEL

The boys of steel take flight with the title that started it all, Action Comics, and the superhero that started it all, Superman. Along for the ride we have Superboy, Superman’s half-Kryptonian, half-human clone, created as a weapon for a clandestine organization bent on…well, something nefarious, surely.

Superboy Vol. 1: Incubation

For every positive I can name about this book, there seems to be something to diminish it. The first trade release of three titles helmed by Scott Lobdell, along with Teen Titans and the much reviled Red Hood and the Outlaws. And both books share the same quality as Superboy, complementing each moments of exceptionalism with something to annoy the reader. With Teen Titans, it’s the atrocious art design and the underdeveloped characters, and with Red Hood and the Outlaws…well, we’ll get there eventually.

Best known for his work on various X-Men titles in the ‘90s and co-creating the teenage mutant team title Generation X, it’s no surprise that Scott Lobdell writes Superboy and Teen Titans like a bad ‘90s X-Men title with morally ambiguous characters who have to be goaded into heroism rather than take inspiration from their forebears and pursue of their own initiative. But, then again, maybe that’s what the Teen Titans needs. A radical shift from the norm and a break from the old formula. After all, isn’t that what the reboot is all about? Shaking up the status quo to entice new readers? (Well, of course not — it’s about sales but let’s humor DC for a moment.)

N.O.W.H.E.R.E., a secret, pseudo-military organization so enormous and all encompassing that not even senior staff know half its secrets — or even what the acronym stands for (which is in no way a cheap way of disguising that no one bothered to define the acronym disguised as a joke), with headquarters located, ironically enough, in the middle of downtown San Francisco…okay, no, it’s not, but that’s just as good as any of the “nowhere” jokes that actually crop up in the book. Here, a whole fleet of Dr. Insanos are hard at work engineering a Superman clone spliced with an unspecified human donor’s DNA (a secret which is either horribly telegraphed or building up to a disappointing red herring). Soon enough, Superboy makes his explosive debut, leveling the entire laboratory and killing dozens before N.O.W.H.E.R.E. subdues him and puts him to work.

Now, to be fair, Lobdell’s writing isn’t god awful. On the contrary, he pays more attention to constructing dialogue than an unfortunate number of writers currently working and the construction of this volume and Teen Titans leading up to The Culling crossover event shows that he pays a good deal more attention to plotting than those same writers. But at the same time, it’s immediately clear he’s one of DC’s lesser writers if for no better reason than that he isn’t a match for these characters, either as they were pre-reboot or, worse yet, as the writer tasked to reinvent them.

To wit, Lobdell goes to great lengths to separate this Superboy from previous interpretations of the character, but this turns into another double-edged sword for the book. First, we have the revamping of Superboy’s suite of powers, extrapolated the implied telekinetic abilities of Superman, Supergirl, and other Kryptonian characters (e.g. the tactile telekinesis used to maintain the structural integrity of the large objects they lift, preventing buckling and structural collapse) into overt telekinesis. From an action standpoint, this works well, making Superboy more than just yet another brawler. It also complements his altered personality: where once Superboy was a moody, conflicted teenager prone to fits of berserker rage, this Superboy is very much reserved, emotionally muted and struggles to be more empathic and emotive despite his powers requiring undivided concentration and emotional stability. These changes are executed well enough on their own but in light of previous Superboy storylines, they ultimately add up to the same angsty moaning and groaning about being a clone, being a weapon, not fitting in, and all the same, tired tropes Superboy had already worn to death. So, regardless of all the aesthetic changes made to the character, he retains all the aspects of the character everyone grew tired of years ago.

Given the right material, Lobdell could probably write some exceptional DC superhero comics but that X-Men bug comes around to bite him in the ass. Here, he seems misplaced and I can’t help but pine for someone like Jeff Lemire to swoop in and show me something interesting. Nevertheless, to give Lobdell fair dues, despite much of Superboy’s character being conveyed through narration yet avoids the overwrought prose that comes with excessive narration, though the red text boxes clutter up a few panels. As well, the secondary characters — the female scientist simply known as “Red” for a majority of the book, Rose Wilson, and Superboy’s various handlers who come and go with circumstance — are all fairly well developed at least as far as necessary given the limits of their role. (I’d have liked to see more out of Rose Wilson, personally, but that’s just personal preference and not necessary to the book’s chosen arc.) Their interplay with Superboy and each other feels genuine and well crafted.

The book tries to pose an interesting nature versus nurture argument as Superboy, free of N.O.W.H.E.R.E.’s influence, seeks out a place for himself in the human world and reluctantly comes to the rescue of diners being assaulted by a pair of metahuman criminals after committing several acts of incidental (and accidental) vandalism himself. One gets the sense that Superboy must fight his instincts to heroism from his Kryptonian donor and instincts to narcissism (perhaps even villainy) from his human donor. But this motif isn’t well developed, at least in this book, pairing focus with Superboy’s confrontation with the Teen Titans and the Culling crossover event. So this subplot ultimately amounts to Suberboy moping some more and coming off as a bit of a twat, especially whenever he gets opines over his weaponized clone destiny.

By no means is this book bad, it’s just not the type of book that will appeal to anyone with even a mild knowledge of Superboy and his typical suite of character traits and dramas. Even those who know him from only Young Justice will likely be put off by the radical changes to his personality. Regardless, even if you’re mildly interested in Teen Titans and the event arc Lobdell’s forging in that book, Superboy is necessary reading if only for the foreshadowing and insight into N.O.W.H.E.R.E.’s operations. If you don’t mind a radically different interpretation of an established character, then I can certainly say it’s worth at least a glance, but I don’t think, long term, you’re going to get an amazing Superboy story arc out of this writer or this setup.

Superman – Action Comics Vol. 1: Superman and the Men of Steel

Grant Morrison returns to Superman following an exceptional run on Batman prior to the DC reboot. Given Morrison’s All-Star Superman will make you love Superman regardless of how you felt beforehand, he seems the natural choice for this series of stories recounting Superman’s early days as Metropolis’s Man of Steel. All-Star effectively encapsulates everything amazing about the character — the altruism, the passion, the tireless struggle against evil, the conflict between man and super-man, the unrequited romance, everything — and his entire mythic legacy from Luthor to Doomsday in one twelve-issue mini-series, spanning the Golden, Silver, Bronze, and Modern Ages with nary a hiccup inbetween. With room to breathe here, Morrison draws a narrower focus onto a certain era of the hero’s history.

Here, Morrison returns Superman to his roots, specifically his Golden Age roots, roots many readers and writers had long forgotten — largely for the changing political landscapes the character has travailed for nearly a century now. A brief bit of history: Superman debuted in 1938, a politically charged time as the United States slowly emerged out of the dark days of the Depression and overseas the Second World War broke loose across Europe. The economy as it was, Joe Shuster and Jerry Siegel conceived Superman as very much the New Deal superhero, a hero not merely for criminal justice but economic justice as well. Many of Superman’s early nemeses were not raygun wielding super scientists but corrupt businessmen abusing their workforces and bolstered inequality across the country. Making keen use of the historical parallels at  work here, Morrison gives us a younger superman — more impetuous, more headstrong, more morally righteous, and very much informed by those early, socialist roots of Superman’s Golden Age origins — battling those old enemies at the fore of our economically depressed times: corrupt businessmen.

We begin with Superman assaulting a businessman, dangling him over the side of a fifty story building, demanding he confess to numerous crimes against the law and his workers — someone told Morrison he’s writing Superman again and not Batman, right? A good bit of Supes’ dialogue comes off a bit Batman-ish, as well. This is hardly the noble, high flying Superman we know, as embodied by his early costume of a T-Shirt, farmer jeans and mud-stained boots; similarly, Clark Kent is down on his luck as a reporter for a lesser known Metropolis periodical, assaulting Metropolis corruption in the press. While Superman’s flagrant act of assault goes fruitless, he nevertheless manages to save a group of people squatting in their former apartments (presumably victims of the housing crisis) from a wrecking ball bearing down on their homes but the government is having none of this rabble rousing heroism. Enter the U.S. Army and their special, anti-Superman consultant — one Lex Luthor — who, despite major difficulties, manage to subdue the Man of Steel, exposing him for the alien he is.

Morrison manages to cover a great deal of territory in the space of five issues and, honestly, the initial story arc here could have used the extra three issues to flesh out the story. As is, this is less Superman: Year One and more an extended flashback into Superman’s past before moving on to present adventures. We see how Superman transforms from proletarian firebrand into Metropolis’s resident champion for truth and justice but we also miss out on the Clark Kent aspect of Superman. Working at the Daily Star — the Daily Planet being a far-off dream — Clark’s interactions with Lois Lane and best pal Jimmy Olsen seem limited. You don’t really get why Jimmy and Clark are best friends when they never spend any time together outside their jobs while a majority of their dialogue is shared over the phone. Given how DC has pulled back on the Lois/Clark romance, Lois’s disinterest in Clark here seems natural and their confrontations have noticeably more spark to them.

During the course of events, Metropolis turns on Superman, damning him as an alien. Clark grows disheartened and retires the cape and shield, setting up the triumphant Return of Superman moment that, disagree if you will, never gets old — always puts a flutter in my heart, at least. But this moment is executed mostly in montage with Metropolis’s turn against Superman occupying scarcely a few panels with what could have consumed an entire issue. Worse, in moment of greatest weakness, Clark says “I failed you” to the spirits of Ma and Pa Kent, a scene that could have had immense emotional impact had it not been confined to one panel.

Nevertheless, it’s clear that this is much more a Superman book than it is a Clark Kent story; it’s about a hero growing into his own, becoming something more, so naturally interpersonal relationships take the sideline. Superman’s eventual battle for and championing of Metropolis rings true and I feel this take on early days Superman is universally heartening in that way only Superman can achieve. It’s classic comic book heroism at play as Clark transforms from the champion of the little guy into the champion of all people — rich, poor, big or small.

It seems hypocritical of me to punish Superboy for retreading familiar territory while Action Comics does plenty of that itself, but any amount of retreading or recycling of old material can be forgiven granted that the emotional core of the book shines through and connects, fostering sympathy with the character and their plight. This is where Superboy fails and Action Comics succeeds. Clark Kent doesn’t whine or mope or despair at his situation; her perseveres, conquers, and rises above regardless of the odds or the forces rallied against him.

Artwork by Rags Morales is some of the best produced by any of DC’s titles, especially during flashback sequences to Krypton and Superman’s amazing feats. And while Andy Kubert takes the reins after the first story arc, he produces some ominous imagery for Morrison’s Anti-Superman Army story arc. The book also contains several backup stories, wisely relegated here to the back of the book rather than interrupting the flow of the story (as per Detective Comics Vol. 1).

All-in-all, you have a lot of what Morrison does best here: taking lavishly ludicrous and giving it a heart. While not reaching the heights of Scott Snyder’s Batman, this run of Action Comics is a must for any fan of the Krypton’s last son.

Reviews of THE UNDERWATER WELDER and THE PUNISHER VOL. 1

A dose of the indie and mainstream awaits us today as we look at two opposite ends of the comics spectrum. First, a journey into the moody atmospherics of Jeff Lemire’s latest Top Shelf release, a rather low key story about, well, what else? An underwater welder. And second, Marvel’s foremost vigilante anti-hero, on the rampage once again after a brief hiatus, now helmed by the pen of veteran comics writer Greg Rucka.

The Underwater Welder

Jeff Lemire is one of the best writers working at DC currently, penning both Animal Man and Frankenstein Agent of S.H.A.D.E., two of the more exceptional titles born out of the DC reboot. A Canadian artist emerging out of the indie comics scene with his early works The Nobody and Essex County, and gaining prominence with his on-going Vertigo series Sweet Tooth, Lemire got his start on mainstream DC comics in 2010, making him one of DC’s youngest writers. And his quick rise to prominence is no mystery: Lemire brings a fresh spin to every book he writes, utilizing his predilections toward moody, atmospheric imagery and concise dialogue to create arresting, emotionally involving stories.

In his introduction to the book, Damon Lindelof compares The Underwater Welder to classic, Rod Serling-era Twilight Zone, a realm where the mundane slowly unravels to the bizarre and supernatural, where the ordinary joe becomes the subject of macabre machinations of beings and powers beyond his reckoning. A good comparison, as The Underwater Welder begins ordinarily enough with an ordinary joe about to embark on a…not so ordinary job:

Jack Joseph is our titular underwater welder, working on an oil rig in weeks-long shifts that consequently separate him from his pregnant wife fast approaching her due date. Jack wants to put in one last week at sea before the big day arrives despite his wife’s protests. Jack persists nonetheless; with another mouth on the way, they’re in need of money. But when Jack experiences a hallucinatory freakout while diving, bringing back haunted memories of his father in the image of a busted pocket watch, Jack gets booted back to shore for medical reasons. A great relief to his wife but nightmarish for Jack, who can’t help but think something dark and hidden lies at the bottom of the ocean, waiting for him, calling to him.

Fundamentally, this is a story about fathers and sons, specifically of Jack and his father, the man his father was and the man Jack is slowly becoming. You can almost hear “Cat’s in the Cradle” tuning up in the background of certain scenes — though the line “We’ll be together then, son” takes on a more ominous meaning. Jack’s father, as one may expect, isn’t the best of fathers, divorced from Jack’s mother, often drunk or otherwise getting there, making a living at a job with few prospects, little profit, and high risks: a diver, a collector of junk lost on the sea bed, with aspirations for treasure hunting. Often Jack’s father speaks of lost galleons and sunken gold, of one day venturing to Mexico to search the seas for lost Spanish ships, yet he never seems to go very far beyond the local tavern. The story here is not of a father and son at odds, but of a son admiring his father, taking him as role model, venturing in his footsteps, inevitably repeating the same mistakes. That this relationship rings so true is Lemire’s greatest triumph here, wringing every bit of pathos out of the reader without resorting to any level of schmaltz or forced emotion. Jack’s father is a drunk, but not a mean drunk, more an understated drunk — he doesn’t yell or scream or rave, but he forgets things, loses sight of what’s important. These are characters you can imagine actually exist, making their situations all the more identifiable and sympathetic despite their personal flaws.

“Cinematic” is one of those words that I personally balk at when describing comic art, yet with Lemire’s art “cinematic” is the apt word as panels zoom in or out of certain scenes, flowing together like tracking shots, shifting between wide and focused scopes. The simplistic, sketchy style of Lemire’s characters helps deliver that emotional resonance with aplomb and the monochrome color palette never lacks for detail or nuance.

The problem is that the Twilight Zone comparison proves perhaps too apt to the point that referencing specific episodes which this story resembles would broach spoiler territory. And if you know how this particular brand of supernatural fiction typically unfolds — or have a keen eye for irony — the ending can be seen coming from miles off.  While themes of fatherhood, of natures and predilections passed from one generation to the next, are well explored, they are, in fact, overemphasized as the supernatural elements ultimately serve as a contrivance for delivering Jack’s personal revelations about his past rather than a driving force behind the narrative. As such, any sense of threat or tension diminishes. Yet given Lemire’s focus on mood and atmosphere, losing that tension comes at no high cost; after all, this is no horror title despite the Halloween backdrop but more a mood piece played more for pathos than thrills.

Regardless, The Underwater Welder is a well drawn, entertaining book about the travails of growing up in both the figurative and literal sense. Paul McCartney once asked “Some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs/What’s wrong with that?” and the same can be said of father-son reconciliatory narratives. We all yearn for reconciliation for one thing or another, and The Underwater Welder plays so well off that desire that its excellent execution well outweighs its narrative shortcomings.

The Punisher Vol. 1

Know the quickest way to get me interested in a book I otherwise wouldn’t give two flying fingles about? Put Greg Rucka on as writer. Yes, while I’m a consummate Grant Morrison fanboy, I wouldn’t immediately assume any book he touches will sparkle like gold — sometimes his eye for the bizarre and convoluted backfires in a bad way. Rucka, on the other hand, has proven time and again he can polish the most rancid of turds into a shimmering gem, meaning any title he puts his name to is well worth at least a good look. His body of fantastic comics work includes the superb crime drama Gotham Central, a thrilling run on Wonder Woman, the must-read Batwoman: Elegy, and various Batman yarns all well worth seeking out. With a keen voice for crime and war drama, Rucka also brings a strong sense of character and emotion to every book he writes, immersing the reader in an intriguing amount of technical knowledge while maintaining our investment with well rounded and interesting characters.

So, after cutting ties with DC and moving to Marvel, it seemed a smart fit to put him on a revitalized Punisher title. After all, Rucka knows cops and Rucka knows the military and restless ex-marine Frank Castle waging an underground war against New York’s crime syndicates while police and media rush to keep up feels like the perfect setup for a great Rucka yarn. And volume 1 of this new series does not disappoint.

Though, oddly enough, the book doesn’t begin with Frank Castle. No, instead we begin with a wedding. A wedding gone horribly, horribly awry as dozens are gunned down in a botched robbery, exposing a brewing gang war roiling up through the New York underworld. From here, the book follows the stories of four players: the newly appointed detective Walter Bolt, his partner and mentor Detective Ozzy Clemons, intrepid journalist for the Daily Bugle Norah Winters, and one of the few survivors of the wedding massacre, the bride herself, Marine Sergeant Rachel Alves (née Cole), all hot on the heels of the shooters responsible for the massacre. But a mysterious beast keeps beating them to the punch, leaving only corpses behind — a well armed behemoth known as the Punisher.

One of the clever twists Rucka concocts here involves turning the Punisher’s legacy into a character in itself. Frank Castle remains in the background through the majority of the book, like a vengeful, bloodthirsty monster more than an ordinary man with guns, the very threat of his intervention looming like a sword of Damocles over everyone’s heads. While inklings of his character begin to enter the book in the second half — in a simple yet affective scene with a neighborhood kid whose parents are serving tours of duty overseas while Castle lays low from the police and mob — Rucka mainly chronicles the reactions of those around Castle and his rampage. As such, the Punisher appears more in spirit than in character and much of the drama effectively comes from the supporting cast and their efforts. The double-edged sword here being that long time readers of former Punisher books may be put off by the lack of the title character’s presence (no doubt a problem solved in later issues) as well as the absence of the majority of his previous supporting cast, yet Castle’s single-minded agenda renders him a rather unsympathetic character, a problem plaguing many anti-hero-centric titles, bordering on the one-dimensional, so the addition of this new supporting cast establishes a solid emotional core for the book.

We’re given a brief recap of Castle’s origin story as he slowly moves to the fore, but Frank lets his actions speak for themselves and, indeed, much of his character emerges from Marco Checchetto’s art who draws the Punisher with unmitigated, stark menace, perfectly capturing Rucka’s intent for the character. Every appearance is singular and nightmarish, reflected in the redesign of the signature Punisher skull which is much more ghostly. Checchetto’s rendition of New York falls heavy into grim and gritty territory, evoking the crime ridden cesspool of many ‘70s action films. Colorist Hollingsworth suffuses the world in heavy blacks, a color greatly overused in modern comics yet utterly appropriate here given the Punisher’s strategic use of shadows as well as the book’s stark black mood.

Personally, prior to this book, I couldn’t muster much interest in the Punisher. I like my heroes…well, heroic. Anti-heroes as main characters just aren’t that interesting; despite their dark-and-edgy demeanor, they often descend into abject violence, forgetting all the intrigue to be found in those moral ambiguities they supposedly explore so deftly. It’s the problem that infected much of ‘90s comics and the Punisher is very much the progenitor for it. The fact remains that he’s a character best utilized as a foil against other characters; the reactions of those around him tend to be more interesting and emotionally involving than Frankie’s own personal narrative. And Rucka seems to acknowledge this, building the story on a strong foundation, a tragedy anyone and everyone can easily identify with, investigated by characters with whom we can also easily identify. As such, there’s really only one thing I can fault this book for.

Much in the same way that X-Men doesn’t make sense in a universe that accepts, nay lauds, the likes of the Avengers yet inexplicably shuns mutants, the Punisher doesn’t quite make sense in a universe where Spider-Man can save the day without taking a single life. Can a universe that allows for that level of heroism also allow for Castle’s level of depraved vengeance? Well, I accept the existence of the Suicide Squad in the DC universe, so why not the Punisher in Marvel? Well, that’s the heart of the only real problem I can hold against this book and, really, it’s no fault of Rucka’s writing, I think, but more a problem with the Marvel universe as it’s written and its dedication to New York City. There are moments throughout this book where I can’t help but ask “Where’s Spider-Man?”, “Where’s Daredevil?”, “Where’s the Fantastic Four?”, certainly they’d have some sort of lead here, bursting onto the scene as soon as the first shots are fired. See, Rucka writes a New York suffused in realism with realistic police reaction times, realistic approaches to problems, tactics and strategy really on plausible means to achieving seemingly implausible ends. With posters and newspaper headlines constantly reminding the reader that these super-heroes do indeed exist in this universe, it’s hard to reconcile Rucka’s more realistic approach to procedural drama with the broader Marvel universe. Although, to be fair, action scenes well and often push the borders of plausibility — though following one particularly high flying fight, it’s nearly impossible to not wince at the Punisher’s level of injury — so the Punisher roots in comic book lore remain well evident.

The Punisher has everything you could want out of a Greg Rucka comic book. Thrilling action, likable, intelligent characters, seeds of epic plots and machinations yet to come, and that fine layer of grit that will make you believe such comic book antics could really happen. Where once I couldn’t muster a single care, I am now firmly hooked.

Haven’t gotten your fill of bats yet? With Batman headlining four — now five — titles, how could you not be tired of the old bastard showing up every book this side of the Source wall? Honestly, this is worse than Wolverine at his peak with the shear number of cameos Bruce has been putting in. Nevertheless, today we have two books inspired by the dark vigilantism of the Bat. Barbara Gordon, miraculously walking again, returns to the rooftops of Gotham as Batgirl while the Congo sees its very own Batman patrolling the skies with Batwing, a Batman, Inc. affiliate.

Batgirl Vol. 1: The Darkest Reflection

Now we arrive at one of DC’s more questionable moves with the reinstatement of Barbara Gordon into the role of Batgirl. While not the originator of the role, Barbara Gordon certainly stands out as the most memorable Batgirl, in no small part due to Batman: The Animated Series, a legacy which follows her into the current Young Justice series. In 1988, Babs hung up the Batgirl mantle to pursue a normal life before events of The Killing Joke put any future superheroic aspirations to a permanent end. Since then, rather than vanishing into the annals of DC history, Barbara gained new life as Oracle, information broker and computer expert, providing support for the entire Bat-family as well as the wider DCU when needed. As well, Oracle played a key role in Birds of Prey, an all female team of crime fighters originated by Jordan B. Gorfinkel and Chuck Dixon but perhaps most famously written by Gail Simone, creator of the now defunct Secret Six.

Simone returns to write for a character she clearly has deep affections for as DC’s altered continuity allows Gordon to regain her mobility and return to the role that first got her into the superhero game.

We join Batgirl as she tracks down a set of serial killers, foiling their plot to murder an innocent couple for kicks, but in the process she earns the ire of a new masked villain stalking Gotham’s streets. Mirror, a glass-faced hood with an unique MO: targeting survivors of near-death experiences. And both Barbara Gordon and Batgirl have made his list.

Guilt and miracles suffuse The Darkest Reflection as the book is less about Barbara’s return as Batgirl and more about her personal recovery from the events of The Killing Joke. She isn’t just up and about, swinging from rooftops with the best of them immediately after abandoning the chair. No, recovery takes time, consuming both the physical and the mental. An early incident sees Batgirl frozen terrified by the sight of a gun pointed at her midsection, right where Joker shot her three years ago. As a result, Batgirl misses the opportunity to rescue a victim of Mirror. Naturally enough, Barbara blames herself for this failure and kept help but reflect on her own survival against the odds, both from the Joker’s bullet and her numerous stunts as Batgirl. It’s a smart area of focus given the character’s backstory and a great way of getting Barbara back into action without simply shrugging off a life changing disability.

Regardless, Batgirl lacks the charm of other Simone books. Partly for the darker focus, partly for the lack of compelling secondary characters to complement Barbara’s sweet pea personality. You have her new roommate, Alysia, but in her few scenes she barely has any time to develop beyond a few quirks into something tangible and relatable. More often, she simply acts as a soundboard for Barbara’s current dilemma, delivering ironically appropriate advice or simply listening to Babs extol her woes. Nightwing and Batman put in requisite cameo appearances and while Nightwing’s exchange with Batgirl is rather touching, they don’t really do much beyond their cameos.

The majority of the narrative unravels in Barbara’s head with narrative captions pushing much of the plot. On the one hand, Barbara’s self-aware commentary provides much of the character’s charm; on the other, one can’t help but yearn for some deeper intrigue, mystery, or suspense. Babs’ narration undermines the tone, making light of dark situations and jokes out of action beats; at times you just want her to shut up, let the images speak for themselves, and get on with the story.

While certainly not as bad as other products of the relaunch, Batgirl suffers for the same reasons. Fundamentally, this is backtracking and while in a few years some great Barbara Gordon Batgirl stories may be told, the road their slogs through a swamp of been-there-done-that. Despite the utterly botched execution, at least Green Arrow’s reimagining brought something different to the character (different, yes, if not original). This is Batgirl as she once was, as immortalized in Batman: The Animated Series and as she remains in Young Justice. There’s never any doubt that Babs will overcome her post-traumatic stress and her survivor’s guilt, so Gail Simone’s respect toward the character as a handicapped individual feels more obligatory than anything and blunts the dramatic tension because we know the ultimate conclusion. In the end, this is a story that was necessary to tell given the reboot, but didn’t need to be told in the grand scheme of things. We already had two capable Batgirls in the wings and a comfortable, well-adjusted Barbara Gordon as Oracle, yet here we are going backwards because everything old must be new again.

I enjoyed this book for what it is, to make that clear, though remain disappointed for what it could have been — and a bit peeved for costing Stephanie Brown and Cassandra Cain a role in the DC universe. It’s worth a read for the ardent Batman family fan but perfectly skippable for anyone on a budget.

Batwing Vol. 1: The Lost Kingdom

The Lost Kingdom fairs a bit better than Darkest Reflection, mainly due to focusing on a relatively new character with an unaltered, nay expandable, backstory. Indeed, David Zavimbe, alias Batwing, marks the first in-continuity black Batman and one of the few superheroes headlining a series outside the United States, so already this book has a lot going for it in terms of showing me something new. After all, fighting crime in the questionably stable political climate of the Congo carries a very different set of risks and hazards than Gotham City.

That said, however, the plot of The Lost Kingdom plays things pretty straight, something I can’t quite decide works to the books detriment or advantage. After all, you want to attract new readers with familiar trappings yet consummate Batman fans may want to see more than a non-superpowered hero fighting yet another homicidal maniac. As such, despite all the action and plot complications, the average reader is likely to see many of the twists coming. One in particular isn’t fully resolved in this volume but no doubt any reader will suss out the “twist” coming in future issues given events leading up to it.

Debuting in the pages of Batman, Inc. (though his character design takes inspiration from an obscure issue of Batman, per Morrisons culling from obscure bits of continuity) David Zavimbe works by day as a police officer in the fictional city of Tinasha in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and by night as the vigilante Batwing. Unlike other Batman family characters, Batwing relies primarily on a suit of powered armor with flight capabilities along with the requisite multitude of gadgets. Though like many in the Bat family, he inevitably relies most on his fists to get the job done.

Someone is killing members of the Congo’s former superhero team, the Kingdom, making a show of each kill and massacring anyone who opposes him. Thus, Batwing rises to the occasion and begins a manhunt for the maniacal killer. And that’s all that need to be said plot-wise. It’s a basic setup and an effective framework for establishing David’s character, tying in nicely to his past as a child soldier and the path that led him to Batman, Inc.

Given the setting, certain hot button issues get touched upon, including AIDS, child soldiers, and warlords, but these elements never cross the line into heavy-handed prosthelytizing or stereotypical caricaturing. They’re things that exist given the setting and Winick wisely acknowledges them without giving them undue focus or turning characters into mouthpieces. With the minor exception of some clunky dialogue around introducing the fact that David’s parents died of AIDS, leaving him an orphan, something that could have been fixed with an additional draft or editing.

Thematically, the book dwells on the typical Batman family stable of subjects. The corrupting influence of power. The moral boundary between righteous vigilantism and hopeless vengeance. Confronting villainy while resisting the temptation to kill. Much like the plot, these tropes are played fairly straight. As such, this isn’t an example of Judd Winick’s best writing — a lot more creativity and verve went into Catwoman — but neither is it bad by any stretch of the imagination; quite the contrary, like Batman, Batwing carries the least amount of baggage from the reboot, allowing the book to just have fun exploring interesting, dark, and dramatic directions.

Artwork by Ben Oliver is gorgeous, the right mixture of realism and stylization that is at once stunning, highly emotional, and kinetic, although his backgrounds and exterior locations leave something to be desired. It feels often that characters exist in a void or a barebones location — walls without details, streets without people, like film backdrops that haven’t been finished yet. Nevertheless, the amount of work Oliver puts into a single expression should serve as an example to DC’s lesser artists.

Lastly, a brief tangent, Batwing carries on DC’s dubious ratings system which labels each issue “T for Teen” despite the hefty amounts of gore and bloody violence which skirt well into 16+ territory (and yet again it’s a Judd Winick penned book that inspires me to harp on about this issue). Resident villain Massacre pretty much specializes in dismemberment and senseless slaughter, leading to some brutal images.

A solid book, more so than Batgirl, but, then again, Batwing didn’t carry with it the number of unfortunate implications and glass-walking subjects as Batgirl, so properly comparing the two is a bit unfair. Nevertheless, Batwing remains the more recommendable book, less bogged down in problems, much more straightforward and entertaining. I can’t help but look forward to seeing where David’s story takes him.

The Dark Ages, a period in European history following the collapse of the Roman Empire notably devoid of history, dark not so much for the grim events that filled it but more for our simple lack of knowledge as to what occurred during that time. So who’s to say a mobile empire mounted on the backs of dinosaurs didn’t rend and plunder the borderless nations of Europe aiming to conquer an ancient lost city of great and wondrous power?

Seven Against the Dark collects the first seven issues of the series (get it? number symbolism, you’ll be getting a lot of it here) which, together, form the Demon Knights’ origin story. Seven strangers find themselves coincidentally gathered in the small village of Little Spring, an insignificant township at the foot of Alba Sarum, the aforementioned lost city. They are: Jason Blood, Merlin’s apprentice, survivor of the fall of Camelot, and host to the Demon Etrigan; Madame Xanadu, sorceress and Jason Blood’s lover; Sir Ystin the Shining Knight (Grant Morrison’s Seven Soldiers of Victory reinvention of the classic Golden Age character), a fellow survivor of Camelot born of ancient Celtic stock and the last surviving knight of King Arthur’s court; Vandal Savage, a younger, more boisterous version of the infamous DC villain; and original characters the Horsewoman, an archer never seen unmounted from her namesake horse; Al Jabr, a Middle Eastern inventor, mathematician, and expert in all things scientific (as far as the ancient world knows it); and lastly, Exoristos, a hulking warrioress from a land ancient and long forgotten even for the Dark Ages. Meanwhile, the Horde of the Questing Queen marches on Little Spring with Alba Sarum in its sights and our motley band of seven must come together to protect the tiny village from certain demise.

Not unlike Frankenstein Agent of S.H.A.D.E. and Suicide Squad, Demon Knights is pure fun, especially for any fan of sword and sorcery. High adventure and thrills outweigh the cerebral but the book isn’t without substance to complement its style. While our seven protagonists are certainly heroes in our eyes with their good intentions and strong virtues (Savage and the Demon excepted), the reader will be left wondering whether their actions were ever truly heroic — several lingering images and a bit of ironic dialogue serve to punch that point home. After all, this is the Dark Ages, not the Golden Age, and a bloodless victory is more a fantasy than any dragon or fairy queen.

Paul Cornell finds a comfortable middle ground between the often overwrought high English of certain fantasy epics and the vulgarities of modern English, giving characters diction appropriately arcane for the time without lapsing into the dissociatively elaborate. Similarly, each individual character gets enough time to form distinct personalities without any one of them dominating the book or any one of them left one dimensional and unrefined by book’s end. Nevertheless, Vandal Savage manages to steal the show on occasion with his delightful brand of barbarism as his deceptive brand of civility collides with his underlying maleficent nature. The Demon Etrigan walks away with more than his fair share of memorable moments and along with Exoristos, as the two bruisers of the group, produce the most moments of badass throughout the book.

If forced to nitpick, the only thing I’d hold against this book is the artwork which, while enormously vibrant, colorful, and action packed, often feels claustrophobic. Think on Lord of the Rings and the fantastical visuals throughout those films, many of them will no doubt be the amazing landscape shots of New Zealand. Everything feels grand and vast whereas the scenery in Demon Knights feels tightly packed despite the lack of limitations on visuals afforded a comic book over a live action film. Even wide shots used to take in such grandiose sights as an outsized Apatosaurus with a palace straddling its back seem smaller than they ought to be because the closeness of the frame fails to adequately convey scale. While this style does succeed in making action scenes more intimate and thrilling, it fails to convey the kind of majesty you expect from a fantasy world.

Nevertheless, the artwork excels in every other aspect and the book as a whole emerges as one of the New 52’s standout creations, vastly superior to many reboot creations for no better reason than that it actually feels like something new. I harbor no delusions about my limited readership but please, anyone who happens to read this, seek out this book. It needs all the support it can get to lead a long and prosperous run.

Given my focus on New 52 titles and DC collections, one can easily assume in the ever futile war between DC and Marvel, my allegiances fall squarely with DC. However, I do have a soft spot for a few Marvel characters, mainly those I was exposed to in animated form in the Saturday mornings of my youth: X-Men, Spider-Man, and The Fantastic Four though Iron Man and Hulk flew under my radar. And while what Spider-Man comics I’ve read both engendered and solidified my absolute hatred for the character (at least in comic book form) as well as encapsulates all the things that annoy me about Marvel and their approach to their characters, the X-Men faired a great deal better despite Marvel’s continued efforts to dismantle and obliterate them from the foundation up.

In fact, given the X-Men’s general propensity to act like complete jag-offs in the majority of stories where they appear, you’d think they’d get on my nerves even more than Spidey. But the X-Men, in general, are put upon in a far greater degree than Spider-Man, whose own miseries seem to be self-generated more than anything. The X-Men can’t help being mutants while Peter Parker could easily abandon his role and retire to Nebraska with Aunt May where the supervillains won’t bother them anymore (I’m sure plenty can argue how completely wrong I am, how I fail to graps the essence of Peter’s character, or whatever, but, frankly, I just do not care at this point). The X-Men at least have an excuse for being angry assholes because everyone else in the Marvel universe has shat on them at one point or another. So I cut them some slack.

Journey into Mystery is another beast entirely, but first thing’s first.

Wolverine and the X-Men: Alpha & Omega

Following the events of Schism, the X-Men split into two faction: Cyclops’ west coast group of mutants working to keep the mutant race alive while pursuing their usual superheroic antics resplendent with clones, aliens, super-evolved dino-creatures and so forth; and the newly renovated Westchester school reopened and headed by Wolverine of all people, harkening back to Grant Morrison’s New X-Men which placed heavier emphasis on the operation and activities of Professor Xavier’s school. Similarly, Wolverine and the X-Men takes the usual weird science adventures of the X-Men and suffuses them with a healthy dose of high school drama.

While Kieron Gillen may be my favorite writer of Marvel’s current stable of talent, Wolverine and the X-Men just manages to outdo Uncanny X-Men for the sheer fun of the stories therein. Every superhero and their mother can fight off a cosmic threat or monsters from the depths, but not many can deal with the true horror and evil that is teenagers. There’s just something inherently interesting about seeing Wolverine trying to be the sympathetic headmaster, rising to the occasion despite all the obvious personality problems one would expect to hinder him. Certainly more interesting than watching Cyclops continue to be the same old jerk he’s always been for the past…however many decades at this point.

And Alpha & Omega brings us a new spin on one of the most classic of school conflicts: the insolent, anti-authoritarian student against the stern, oppressive headmaster. Okay, it’s not quite Animal House but it’s got some things going for it. Here, we have Logan as the ornery headmaster and Kid Omega, Quentin Quire, a Grant Morrison creation right out of New X-Men, as the irascible, self-righteous student willing to stand up to that crusty old dean…urr, headmaster. Only, without the bad boy charm of a John Bender, Quire’s revolution remains one-manned.

But rather than the usual schoolboy mischief of tacks on chairs, bullfrogs stuffed in desk drawers, or other Bart Simpson-esque antics, Quentin ups the ante by outright kidnapping Logan’s consciousness, injecting it into a psychic video game-inspired construct. And, of course, everything goes swimmingly, Logan concedes victory to Quire, and our heroes celebrate with punch and pie…Oh, of course everything goes wrong! This is an X-Men comic! Since when has the overuse of psychic powers not led to horrific outcomes? Sure enough, Quentin loses control of the construct while Wolverine’s dislodged id takes control of his body, rampaging through the school on a mad hunt for Quire.

A mini-series composed of five issues, Alpha & Omega deviates from the normal Wolverine and the X-Men storyline to deliver a standalone adventure. Authored by Brian Wood, creator of DMZ and Northlanders, Wood brings a fun sensibility to the book without delivering much else in the way of exceptional prose or characterization.

In fact, the worst that can be said about this book is that it provides few dramatic twists or plot complications. I mean, we’ve captured Wolverine’s consciousness in an altered reality and Wood’s first instinct is to put him in post-apocalyptic/cyberpunk future sure to evoke memories of Age of Apocalypse. Except without the dramatically altered character personalities and circumstances…you know, the things that made Age of Apocalypse interesting.

Here, Logan remains Logan, just without his normal memories and the universe of Quire’s construct never gets explored beyond the surface details. It’s a hodgepodge of various science fiction memes, characters, and tropes, including visual cameos from Appleseed’s Briareos, Panzer troops out of Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade, and an escapee from a Final Fantasy game. Putting Wolverine in Quire’s head seems like the perfect opportunity for some Psychonaut-inspired antics with Logan forced to navigate the self-obsessed consciousness of the Jean Grey School for the Higher Learning’s most troublesome student, each learning a bit about the other until they can begrudgingly admit a bit of mutual respect by book’s end, but the two barely interact until the last two issues and even then it amounts to the usual antagonism we expect from these characters. Quire’s underlying insecurities and self-doubt lead to his loss of control over the construct, yet we get very little of Logan exploiting that or the two characters bonding over their common hubristic foibles. In the end, it doesn’t feel like much has been achieved with this story. Sure, maybe Logan and Quire grow a little closer, a smidge maybe, but it’s nothing exceptional. At most, they gain a modicum of respect for each other.

Regardless, Alpha & Omega remains a fun episodic adventure, a break from Wolvie’s trepidations with the school and confrontations with the likes of the renewed Hellfire Club. Plus, more of Kid Omega’s affably unwarranted narcissism that makes him such a lovable bastard for fans of the character like myself. Nothing essential but harmlessly enjoyable nonetheless.

Journey into Mystery: The Terrorism Myth

Journey into Mystery, beginning with its reinvention during Marvel’s Fear Itself event quickly became one of Marvel’s most noteworthy books. Bringing on writer Kieron Gillen and shifting focus from Thor to his resurrected brother, the god of mischief and trickery himself Loki — now, of course, kid Loki, complete with a new sense of conscience — . While I enjoy Gillen’s Uncanny X-Men and Wolverine and the X-Men, Journey into Mystery is the only book being put out by Marvel that I really love to read.

No doubt due to Gillen’s amount of creative freedom to explore odd and different aspects of storytelling, Journey into Mystery doesn’t read like many other Marvel books. There’s an unadulterated joy and affection for its central character that you rarely see in other books where writers regularly pile heaps of woes on characters to elicit drama and investment rather than developing character and honing dialogue. Meanwhile, Journey continues to build on Loki’s development from one of the Marvel U’s chief nemeses into a good-hearted lad shouldering an undue legacy.

The fallout from Fear Itself continues to plague the Marvel universe in The Terrorism Myth, only now the Lords of Fear once again step to the fore as Nightmare goes about collecting the raw fear created by the Serpent in the minds of those he terrorized. The task falls to Loki and his companions — Hela’s former ward Leah, and Marvel’s resident shirt-allergic exorcist Daimon Hellstrom — to penetrate the victims’ nightmares and strike at the Lord of Fear before he fulfills his…vaguely defined malevolent plan. The Lords of Fear, while bubbling with creative methods for dispensing their namesake, lack in the way of big picture ideas. But none of that before a one-shot Christmas special where Loki must find homes for seven wayward hellhounds foisted on him by Mephisto. It may be July, but I can sure feel the holiday cheer.

In many ways, Gillen’s Journey into Mystery reminds me of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman — and more than for the mere presence of a dream lord. The blending of myth and reality, the bending of traditional storytelling devices, the invasion of the mundane into the mythic and vice-versa, it all has a very Gaiman sensibility. But Journey errs much more on the lighter side of things, eschewing the heavy metaphysics that occasionally assailed Sandman in favor of plucky adventures of an underdog. The focus remains ever fixated on Loki, his friends, his relationships, and his journey for redemption in the face of a monolithically villainous legacy while the mythopoetics remain at the outskirts, complementing the character drama without overshadowing it.

Gillen’s exceptionally well crafted prose also stands out as one of the book’s greatest assets. It simply wouldn’t be the lovable book that it is without Gillen’s snarky, self-aware narrator, Loki’s twists of phrase, and the collision of Asgardian faux-High English with modern speech. In the same way Sandman isn’t quite Sandman without Gaiman, so too follows Journey and Gillen.

So continues the adventures of Marvel’s trickster god, ever enjoyable as they have been for the past two volumes. With Marvel’s recent announcement regarding the revamping of their entire line, the continuation of Journey into Mystery remains up in the air. Frankly, Marvel would be remiss to even consider canceling Journey given all the potential and genuine love for the characters and stories therein.

Well, that’s certainly a tall order but Adam Glass rises to the challenge. While many will mourn the loss of Secret Six, Suicide Squad offers its fair share of action, black comedy, and interesting character developments. Yes, per usual, we’re retreading old material with younger, less rounded characters, but the book establishes a consistent tone and pacing early enough that one easily forgets these facts while getting caught up in the action.

Naturally, the book is a return to its namesake’s roots, a team of supervillains brought together by the government’s secret black ops division, Task Force X, to carry out suicide missions Dirty Dozens-style on the promise of a reduced sentence. Commanded by the now magically thin Amanda Waller, the team consists of sharpshooting hitman Deadshot, the Joker’s unstable yet ever faithful girlfriend Harley Quinn, the monstrous King Shark, the repentant fire powered El Diablo, Gotham’s homicidal vigilante Black Spider, and other rotating members (sidelined due to injuries or more…permanent complications). The book focuses primarily on the aforementioned members, Deadshot and Quinn in particular with the former assuming the leadership role and Quinn his unhinged, wise-cracking second. The book sets up some ongoing plot threads, the rise of clandestine criminal organization Basilisk (how many clandestine organizations is the DCu up to now?), but wisely downplays them in favor of a series of shorter, contained stories tied together by circumstance. For their debut mission, the Squad must take down 60,000 unlucky football fans quarantined in a stadium and infected with a techno-zombie virus.

There’s not really much to delve into as far as underlying themes and ideas in this book. It’s like a fun summer blockbuster action film — though less Michael Bay and more Paul Greengrass or Martin Campbell. The action comes heavy and hard but the characters keep you involved. Deadshot and Quinn form an amusing double act with Deadshot’s pessimistic, dour mode clashing with Quinn’s relentlessly morbid cheer. El Diablo earns some sympathy with his genuine religious quest for redemption and futile pleas for mercy amongst his relentless comrades. Black Spider (among the stable of DC characters like Black Lightning and Black Manta who just have to make a big deal about being black) bridges the moral gap, regretting his actions in Gotham while falling for the bloodlust intoxicating Deadshot and Quinn. And King Shark is King Shark. A giant shark that walks like a man. How can you not love him?

These aren’t exactly Gail Simone’s rich characters but, then again, they need the time to develop and grow into their own. Meanwhile, Adam Glass keeps the dialogue snappy, dealing dark humor in spades, creating fun character moments that could easily go on to define the book and carve out a unique slot in the DC library.

With a rotating bill of artists, the artwork can vary in quality at times. In particular, no one can seemingly get Deadshot’s costume consistent from issue to issue. Pouches disappear and reappear, his silver trimmings alternate between a chrome codpiece and his usual, pre-reboot metallic diaper. Federico Dallocchio especially has problems rendering Deadshot’s helmet which often changes shape panel to panel with the various minor details distorted or asymmetrical. While the pencillers can’t be excused for these errors, Jim Lee bears a good portion of the blame. His redesign of Deadshot is atrociously over detailed and complicated, especially the helmet where lines blur together into an inchoate blob. Personally, I prefer Deadshot’s trench coat and realistic body armor outfit but at least the chrome diaper Deadshot had a clean, consistent look that wasn’t difficult for rotating artists to keep consistent.

And lest we forget, his redesign of Harley Quinn…yeesh. The hair, the corset, the stockings, the goofy little half cape with clown ruff, the two-tone hair, the daisy dukes — it’s all just terrible, over-sexualized, and unlike Harley Quinn. You can’t get more alluring than Harley’s harlequin outfit which left just enough to the imagination while still being shapely. Harley’s new outfit is just too…skanky. Regardless, overall the art is good and suitably fluid and cohesive during action scenes. Given the book’s quick pacing, minor details and inconsistencies aren’t likely to bother the unscrupulous reader.

Putting aside the qualms and comparisons regarding the book’s history and predecessors, Suicide Squad emerges as an enjoyable, solid team book. Whether it will prove a worthy successor to Secret Six remains to be seen but on its own merits and, with enough force of character and fun, could easily defy comparison altogether.