Author Archives: Richard Cook

Action-Packed Buddhism

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Saiyuki (vol. 1)
By Kazuya Minekura

In my last manga-related post, I received more than a few reading recommendations in the comments. I plan to give them all a try (eventually), but for this week I took Vom Marlowe’s advice and read the first volume of Saiyuki.

For those of you unfamiliar with the title, Saiyuki is a *very* loose adaptation of the classic Chinese novel, Journey to the West. Rather than a monk traveling West to obtain authentic sutras, Saiyuki depicts the adventures of a monk tasked with preventing the revival of a demon lord, Gyumaoh. As in the novel, the monk is accompanied by three companions, including the Monkey King, Son Goku. Also, the monk is given a dragon that serves as his mount. But instead of transforming into a horse, as it does in the novel, the dragon in Saiyuki transforms into a Jeep (it’s a joke that worked for me precisely because it’s so random).

The story is set in the mountainous fantasy realm of Tougenkyou, (which I presume is like Shangri-la). In Tougenkyo, humans lived peacefully alongside a race of demons called Youkai, but the recent efforts to revive Gyumaoh have caused most of the Youkai to go feral. The monk, Genjyo Sanzo, and his three companions are Youkai as well, but their powers are controlled so they can serve the interests of humanity. The conflict with the Youkai serves as a convenient excuse to include plenty of action, which often takes up the lion’s share of each chapter.

While the plot is simple, I was often confused as to exactly what was going on. Some of this is due to my own ignorance of Eastern myth. For example, when I first read the volume I didn’t understand why Sanzo was taking orders from three giant heads.

After doing a little research I learned that they were the Sanbutsushin, the three aspects of Buddha. There were numerous references to Buddhist mythology (even during the fight scenes), most of which probably went right over my head.

A good deal of my confusion was also due to the amateur translation. I read Saiyuki using Mangafox.com, because I am cheap. But you get what you pay for, because a manga that’s translated for free by fans tends to have numerous spelling errors and grammatical mistakes. While I can’t say for sure, I also suspect that the translation didn’t capture the nuances of the original Japanese prose. Quite of few lines of dialogue felt stilted, and some even bordered on nonsensical.

In the above panel, I can make out the gist of what’s being said, but those lines are pretty damn terrible (and did I mention the spelling mistakes?). Of course, that might be how the manga actually reads in Japanese, but I’m going to give Kazuya Minekura the benefit of the doubt.

Setting my confusion aside, initially I was not very impressed with Saiyuki. The quality of the art (which I discuss below) was uneven. The main characters lacked depth, even by the end of the volume. Now, I understand that this is a shonen manga, heavy on action, light on characterization. But everyone was just so damn archetypal: Sanzo is the stoic leader, Cho Hakkai is the nice guy, Sha Gojyo is the womanizer, and Son Goku is the bratty kid.

About halfway into the volume, however, my opinion started to change. It wasn’t that the characters became substantially more interesting, but that Minekura provided just enough hints that there was more to the story and characters than was immediately evident. There were a few scenes that suggested that the Sanbutsushin are not the flawless embodiment of good, nor are the villains purely evil. There were also brief moments that promised deeper characterization for the heroes. Son Goku, for example, was noticeably hurt when a human girl expressed hatred for the Youkai. Also, the last chapter highlighted that Sanzo is indifferent to the teachings of Buddha, despite the fact that he’s technically a high-ranking monk. I’m not ecstatic about her writing, but Minekura has piqued my curiosity, and that’s enough to get me to try out the next volume (though I’ll probably look for a version that’s been translated by a professional).

The art is hit and miss. Saiyuki adheres to a style that seems (to my admittedly inexperienced eyes) to be the mainstream of manga and anime: big eyes, angular features, spiky hair, lots of speed lines during fights. I don’t find this style repulsive by any means, but it’s never really appealed to me either. It’s more like something I tolerate if I happen to enjoy a story. Even if I was more appreciative of the basic style, there are a few problems with Minekura’s storytelling. Panel layout during the fight sequences can be bewildering, and spatial relationships are not easy to figure out. And big splashy images are sometimes used at the expense of narrative clarity. On the plus side, Minekura doesn’t hold back on the violence, and she knows how to draw a kick that looks like it hurts.

The best moments in Saiyuki are when the book deviates from the typical manga look and instead draws inspiration from traditional Chinese and Japanese artwork. The art becomes much more distinctive, and I get the sense that Minekura is more enthusiastic about these infrequent pages than she is about the lengthier fight scenes.

I particularly like the ethereal quality of the kimono, and the way the hands blacken as they touch the … whatever the hell that is (unless corrected, I’ll call it the evil, octagonal web thing).

To sum up, Saiyuki is a deeply flawed title with the potential to become much better in subsequent volumes. Hopefully, the next volume will read less like a generic shonen story and more like an idiosyncratic blend of Buddhist mythology and road-trip adventure.

Anything But Capes

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Alternate Title: Barbarians at the Blog!

Back in 2000, the world was a better, simpler place.* The American comics market exemplified this simplicity. It consisted of Marvel superheroes, DC superheroes, Image superheroes, a few dark fantasies from Vertigo, and those Star Wars comics that Dark Horse keeps churning out. Not exactly a broad selection, but perfect for aging nerds who grew up reading superhero comics and watching Star Wars.

But something happened over the past decade. Publishers started producing more comics that had nothing to do with superheroes. Suddenly, there were a lot more horror comics, crime comics, science fiction comics, war comics, and even Westerns (you know something big is going down when Westerns make a comeback). If the comics industry didn’t grow much in size, it at least grew in variety.

Over the next couple months, I plan to see what the American comics market has to offer that doesn’t involve capes and tights. Because I’m interested in what the comics industry is producing at the beginning of the new decade, I’ll only be looking at recent titles, not reprinted material. To keep myself focused, I’m going to organize the books into genres and review a sample of titles. I have no intention of reading and reviewing every title of every genre, so instead I’ll rely upon a complex scientific formula to select titles that are most representative of each genre. The explanation of my method is provided in footnote **. After the reviews, I’ll summarize the state of each genre, looking at both its size in the market and the overall quality of its titles.

I’ll begin with a genre that has had its share of ups-and-downs in the comics market … barbarians! For the sake of clarity, barbarian comics are fantasy stories about muscular men in loin clothes killing shit with swords and axes. Of course, there’s room for variation on this basic model. For example, woman in chainmail bikini can be substituted in for man in loin cloth. But barbarian stories are not simply high fantasy tales; there needs to be a significant amount of violence, sex, and characters who never wear pants (as a counterexample, The Lord of the Rings has some violence but no sex and way too many pants). Also, comics about fantasy strongmen who arrive in the present day and fight crime are not barbarian stories. They’re superhero stories that steal the surface appeal of barbarian stories.

I looked hard for recently published barbarian comics, but I found only about half a dozen titles, four of which I chose to review below. None of these titles were selling well in the Direct Market, but all of the titles had prior storylines collected and sold as trades, so presumably the DM isn’t the only source of sales. Now, onto the reviews…

Conan the Cimmerian #16
Writer: Timothy Truman
Artists: Timothy Truman and Tomas Giorello
Colorist: Jose Villarrubia
Publisher: Dark Horse Comics

Fact: The Cimmerians were a real people who inhabited the region around the Black Sea in the 8th and 7th centuries B.C.

Fact: They didn’t look like Austrian bodybuilders.

Of course, the Conan story has nothing to do with history and everything to do with Robert E. Howard‘s testosterone-fueled fantasies. But Conan isn’t just another masculine power fantasy. He pretty much is THE masculine power fantasy, the epitome of violence, sex, and rugged individualism. And no survey of barbarian comics would be complete without covering the latest iteration of the muscle bound brute who started it all.

I lucked out with Conan the Cimmerian #16, because it’s the beginning of a new storyline. There’s no recap page, but I had no problem figuring out what was going on. Conan somehow landed himself a sweet gig as the military adviser to a hot princess named Yasmela. Conan’s in love with her, but she only has eyes for an exiled prince named Julion, who’s girly compared to Conan. We know he’s a girly man because he does girly things, like giving flowers to girls and using multisyllabic words.

So Conan decides to impress her by doing something stupid, which results in his war band getting ambushed, and then Conan almost gets eaten by a velociraptor (it’s fantasy, not history).

As Conan stories go, this isn’t bad. It has character-driven conflict, Conan is a badass but not infallible, and there’s violence and (implied) sex.

The comic falters on the art. Tomas Giorello does the first seven pages and the final page, and his work is perfectly suited to a Conan book. His backgrounds are lush, and he uses numerous small lines to give more detail to his characters, which would be annoying in a different context, but in a barbarian book it gives the characters a distinctly savage look.  But the majority of the comic is drawn by writer Timothy Truman, and his style is far less detailed and far more cartoonish. It isn’t terrible art, but the transition from Giorello to Hutton and back again is jarring, especially in a comic that’s only 24 pages.

Overall, a decent barbarian comic, but not one that entices me to follow the series.

Hercules: The Knives of Kush #1
Writer: Steve Moore
Artist: Cris Bolson
Colorist: Doug Sirois
Publisher: Radical Comics

Reading Hercules, I couldn’t help but take pity on the Nemean Lion. The Nemean Lion was just doing what lions do when a violent Greek showed up and killed him, skinned him, and decided to hear the Lion’s head as a hat.

I spent a lot of time thinking about the Nemean Lion because this comic wasn’t very interesting.

The plot is serviceable: Hercules and his band of misfits arrive in Egypt during a civil war. They decide to work as mercenaries for the legitimate pharaoh, who’s losing the war to his half-brother. It seems that the would-be-usurper has formed an alliance with a sorcerer who leads the titular Knives of Kush.

Unfortunately, nothing else about the comic is the least bit engaging. Most of the characters, including Hercules, lack a distinguishable personality or voice, and in any case they spend spend the entire issue delivering page after page of exposition and occasionally engage in non-witty banter.

The art is also pretty bad. Cris Bolson puts a lot of detail into his panels, but his characters look stiff and plastic. As a result, the fight scenes resemble action figures posed in mid-attack, which robs the violence of any excitement. His sexy women aren’t very sexy either.

Hercules is a hard character to screw up. But he’s also been so extensively ripped off and parodied that creators need to bring something more to the table than just a standard sword and sorcery plot. That’s about all you get here.

Warlord #9
Writer/Artist: Mike Grell
Colorist: David Curiel
Publisher: DC Comics

Warlord follows the adventures of Travis Morgan, a man from the regular world who somehow got trapped in the barbarian world of Skartaris. But other than the occasional war, being trapped in Skartaris doesn’t seem like such a bad deal. Morgan has a hot princess girlfriend named Tara and a hot pseudo-girlfriend named Shakira who can turn into a cat. In fact, hot, scantily-clad women are as numerous as trees in Skartaris. And Morgan seems to have embraced the local dress-code because his outfit consists of boots, a helmet, and armored underwear.

Not much happens in this issue, but that may not be a failure in the writing so much as the fact that this is a “down-time” issue. In a superhero comic, down-time issues are normally where characters sit around and whine about their relationships, but in Warlord the characters just have sex. And there is a lot of sex in this issue. Nothing too racy, of course (this is still a DC comic), but Grell manages to include some nice cheesecake. Though the guitar as phallic symbol is a little too obvious.

As an artist, Grell has his share of strengths and weaknesses. His backgrounds are well-designed and his characters can be quite attractive. But his fight scenes lack any real sense of impact, his characters often seem disconnected from the panels they occupy, and panel layout can occasionally be rather confusing.

Problems with the art aside, of all the barbarian comics I read, this seemed the most polished and one with the most depth to its characters and universe. Not surprising, given that Mike Grell created Warlord, and he clearly knows what he’s doing with this book. Unfortunately, this comic has some dense continuity, not just with the previous 9 issues but also with prior Warlord comics. To be fair, there’s a quite a bit of exposition that’s intended to help new readers catch up, but knowing what happened previously isn’t the same as caring. Like so many comics that have been around (off-and-on) for years, Warlord proceeds with the assumption that its readers are already fans, and there’s only minimal effort to show new readers why they should care about any of this.

But I’m curious enough about Warlord that I’ll probably look for the first trade paperback and see whether my opinion changes.

Queen Sonja #1
Writer: Joshua Ortega
Artist: Mel Rubi
Colorist: Vinicius Andrade (*that is an awesome name*)
Publisher: Dynamite

Don’t let the title fool you. This is not a Female Force bio-comic about Queen Sonja of Norway. Rather, this is the sequel to Dynamite’s Red Sonja comic, but there’s no evident continuity with the previous title. As someone who never read a Red Sonja comic, I can appreciate the fresh start.

As the title makes clear, Sonja is now a queen (of Made-up Land), and the comic is mostly a flashback about how she ended up on the throne. Sonja agrees to avenge an old woman’s late husband and recover a family heirloom, and along the way she’s clearly going to come into conflict with an evil empire. There’s also plenty of violence and gore in this comic, in the best barbarian tradition. But the plot and the action (not to mention the one-dimensional characters) are completely overwhelmed by the massive amounts of cheesecake. Every other panel focuses on Sonja’s perfect body and the chainmail bikini that seems perpetually about to fall off.

Now, I don’t have a problem with cheesecake, I just wrote a paragraph praising the cheesecake in Warlord, but in this title the cheesecake was ridiculously excessive. But when I stopped to think about it, the cheesecake is ultimately what this comic is all about. Let’s be honest: the selling point of Red Sonja is not really the violence and it certainly isn’t the plot. It’s a comic about a hot red-head in a chainmail bikini. Either you want to look at a hot red-head in a chainmail bikini, or you don’t. Giving her a more tasteful outfit would only take away the one thing that makes Sonja memorable. And there’s no point in pretending that readers, especially women, are going to be won over by Sonja’s “personality,” or the slim bits of dialogue.

Admittedly, my interest in barbarian comics is that of a casual reader, not a fan, but a monthly comic seems  like an expensive way to indulge a fetish for barbarian pin-ups. Still, the current Red Sonja franchise has lasted for over 4 years, so there must be plenty of people out there who like this. And unlike superhero comics, barbarian comics aren’t (or shouldn’t be) marketed towards children, so the cheesecake here isn’t age-inappropriate.

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State of the Genre: meager. Very few titles to choose from, and most of them lack truly distinctive features  that set them apart from the rest. They all satisfy the basic expectations for a barbarian comic (fantasy setting, violence, cheesecake, lack of pants), but only Warlord suggests that it might have something more in content.

The next time I appraise a genre, I’ll try one that’s a bit more robust, maybe horror.

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*This is not true.

Xmas Samurai

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Lone Wolf and Cub: The Assassin’s Road (Vol. 1)

Writer: Kazuo Koike

Artist: Goseki Kojima

I never read any manga as a kid. The closest I came to it was watching manga-based anime like Akira, so my impression of manga was that it was mainly about teenagers screaming at each other as they fought to the death (depending on the series, these battles might involve giant robots and/or cat-girls). And the manga digests were alien and weird, these thick, little books with black-and-white artwork.

Now I’m older and a little bit wiser, so I’ve decided to let go of my prejudices and see what all the fuss is about. But the sheer size of the manga industry, along with my total unfamiliarity with the major titles, has made it difficult to find a clear point of entry. And while I try to keep an open mind, I’m not quite ready to jump into yaoi. I’m sticking close to my comfort zone, which just so happens to include samurai.

Lone Wolf and Cub proved to be a great starting point. Set during the Tokugawa era, it depicts the adventures of the assassin Ogami Itto and his infant son Daigoro. The chapters in the first volume are episodic. Other than Itto and Daigoro, characters do not carry over from story to story. Also, each chapter tends to follow a simple formula: Itto arrives in some town or village pushing his son around in a cart, he toys with his target for a while, his target ineffectually tries to get rid of him, and Itto then kills his target and everyone who gets in his way. And occasionally, hot women remove their clothes.

Of course, there’s a downside to the episodic approach. Even having just read the volume, it’s hard to remember the specific details of any one story, and all the chapters feel vaguely indistinguishable. Like every procedural on television, enjoying Lone Wolf and Cub is contingent upon enjoying the repetition of particular themes and events. As someone who enjoys reading about samurai, I found the stories entertaining, but it’s easy to imagine someone with different tastes finding it to be a repetitive bore.

The art is actually the bigger selling point. Goseki Kojima’s style is heavily influenced by traditional Japanese artwork, and it’s absolutely perfect for the subject matter. He’s also a capable storyteller. Panels are attractive and uncluttered, spatial relationships are clear, and the panel layout ensures that the narrative is easy to follow. His talents are particularly evident during the fight scenes. Many Western comic artists have trouble creating the illusion of motion in a medium comprised of static images. Kojima is one of the few artists I’ve seen who can plot a fight scene so that  actions that occur between panels are just as obvious as those depicted in the panels.

As these pages make clear, Itto is a sneaky bastard.

The various chapters touch upon themes that will be instantly familiar to fans of samurai stories (honor, self-sacrifice, bravery, etc.). But the most prominent theme throughout the entire volume is the devotion between father and son that survives even as Ogami Itto follows the “assassin’s road.” Itto clearly loves Daigoro, but at the same time Itto is an essentially violent man, and he chooses to work as an assassin as he plots his revenge on the men who disgraced him. His love for Daigoro is conditional on Daigoro being worthy to follow in his footsteps. In practice, this means that Itto frequently risks Daigoro’s life just as he risks his own life. The potential conflict between Itto’s profession and his love for his son never arises, however, because it’s clear from early on that Daigoro truly is his father’s son.

But for all its high-minded pretentions about honor and family devotion, Lone Wolf and Cub is overflowing with violence and sex. At first glance, the book seems to be an uneven combination of high-brow Eastern philosophy and low-brow exploitation. This is partially deliberate. Kazuo Koike no doubt intended to explore the contradiction between bushido ideals and the harsh reality of feudal Japan. But the book is also clearly nostalgic for an era when men were men. Ogami Itto is Koike’s ideal man: strong, relentless, sexually virile, and honorable in his own way (and ignoring all the times he risks his son’s life, he’s a loving father too). In Koike’s vision of feudal Japan, there is a natural coexistence of philosophy, ideals, violence, and sex because only in this era could men achieve both physical and spiritual perfection.

So Lone Wolf and Cub is retrogressive and occasionally quite sleazy. But I couldn’t help but enjoy it. I may be a bleeding heart, but I appreciate action stories with great art and clever plotting. Here’s my favorite panel of the entire volume:

A part of me is offended by how Itto is so unconcerned about Daigoro’s safety. But a much bigger part of me admires the badassery of killing 10 men while giving his son a piggyback ride.

Ghost World: Pander to Me (Ghost World Roundtable)

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Editorial Update: This is the third post in a roundtable on Ghost World. The first two can be found here and here.

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I read “Ghost World” for the first time last week, and my initial reaction was fairly positive, though it was hard for me to explain why. As I thought more about it, I realized that my appreciation for the comic had little to do with the art. Nor did I care much for the episodic stories, which ranged from mildly amusing to kinda dull. The most appealing aspect of “Ghost World” was the main characters, Enid and Rebecca. And much of their appeal is due to how effectively Daniel Clowes panders to a specific demographic that I belong to: geeks.

It’s easy to see why geeky comic readers love this book. Enid and Rebecca are both social outcasts. They’re alienated, unmotivated, but seem cleverer than everyone else. They’re constantly looking for ways to relieve their boredom (which is difficult when living in an ugly suburban sprawl). Enid, in particular, has mastered the ironic appreciation of pop culture detritus. I can see Enid and Rebecca as the type of kids who would go to a comic convention just to make fun of the fat guys dressed like Green Lantern. And like all teenagers, they’re obsessed with sex but uncomfortable with the idea of adulthood.

If I had read “Ghost World” when I was 18 it would have probably been my favorite comic of all time. I was a typical Gen X’er nerd, an insufferable combination of self-pity and intellectual arrogance. Maybe Daniel Clowes went through a similar phase, because that also sounds like a good description of  Enid. And that’s why I found it odd when Kinukitty argued that Enid was unrelatable, because my inner geek had no trouble relating to her. Admittedly, there’s an underlying narcissism in Enid’s appeal, and that can be very off-putting to some readers. My appreciation for the character of Enid is connected with a nostalgia for my late teens. Clowes makes this easy for me, because Enid is not some unique gem of a character, and there isn’t much that gets in the way of my identification with her. She’s an archetype of geeky disaffection, a bundle of adolescent hangups and amusing idiosyncrasies.

Much of the comic is devoted to exploring the ennui of middle class geeks, and the story is constantly on the verge of succumbing to a navel-gazing sigh. Clowes is a better writer than that, however, which is why “Ghost World” ends the way it does. But even the ending, where Enid gets on the bus to Anywhere but Here, feels calculated to deliver maximum satisfaction to grown-up geeks. In Enid, geeks find an avatar who breaks free of her post-adolescent stasis and embraces maturity. But it’s a maturity without content, which invites that the reader fill in the blanks with their own experiences. In short, “Ghost World” gives comic readers the best of both worlds: a wistful look back on their awkward teen years followed by the endorsement of their adulthood.

My opinion of “Ghost World” is mixed. The jaded, grown-up part of me can recognize that, beneath all the hype, “Ghost World” is nothing more and nothing less than well-crafted pandering to the core demographic of indie comics.  On the other hand, my inner geek is easy to please.

Crime Pays

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Filthy Rich
Writer: Brian Azzarello
Artist: Victor Santos

We live in a society of rules: no killing, no stealing, no coveting thy neighbor’s hot wife. Most of us obey these rules without question, and we tell ourselves that society is better off when everyone does the same. There’s also the fact that breaking the rules can lead to punishment, ranging from fines to imprisonment and even death.

On the other hand, screw the Man! Nobody wants to be a square their whole life. Every now and then a little murder, theft, and debauchery adds spice to an otherwise hum-drum existence. And as much as our society demonizes the criminal, we all fantasize about what it would be like to throw the rules out the window and do whatever we want. This is why crime fiction never goes out of style. In fact, crime fiction gives us the best of both worlds. We can vicariously break the rules and indulge our every depraved fantasy even as we condemn such behavior in others. Crime pays, as long as it’s someone else who suffers the inevitable consequences.

Crime fiction has a long history in American comics, but over the decades it became marginalized or subsumed by the dominant superhero genre. In recent years, however, crime comics have made a modest comeback, and Vertigo is set to capitalize on this trend with its new imprint, the prosaically named Vertigo Crime. And what better way to launch a series of crime comics than to recruit Brian Azzarello, one of the few comic writers with a proven track record in the genre?

Filthy Rich is the story Rich “Junk” Junkin, a broken-down ex-football star who’s been reduced to selling used cars (in crime fiction, used car salesman is one step below crack-addicted prostitute in terms of shameful jobs). Junk is terrible at selling cars, but he’s big and tough, so the owner of the car dealership offers him a different job; shadowing his trampy daughter Vicki around town and ensuring that she doesn’t get into too much trouble.

Of course, there wouldn’t be much of a story if Junk just did what he was told. Enamored with both Vicki and her luxurious lifestyle, Junk quickly gets sucked into a wild plot filled with sex, violence, and the promise of a big payout. If this story sounds vaguely familiar, it’s because Azzarello is relying heavily on the tropes of the crime genre: Junk is the two-fisted hero, Vicki is the femme fatale, and even the “good” characters have ulterior motives. The story is also set during some undisclosed period after World War II, allowing Azzarello to evoke the spirit of classic film noir such as Double Indemnity.

But if Filthy Rich doesn’t exactly reinvent the crime wheel, it’s far more than a rehash of earlier works. Azzarello knows how to craft a pot-boiler, and this story moves briskly even as it throws a few surprise twists at the reader. Another strength in Azzarello’s writing is his ability to give each of his characters clear, relatable motivations. Junk commits monstrous acts not simply out of abstract emotions like greed or lust, but because of the sting of classism and frustrated dreams.

Victor Santos is a good partner for Azzarello. Much like Azzarello’s writing, Santos relies upon the look of film noir and classic crime comics from the 1940s and 50s (if you click on the link, you should check out the covers for Crimes by Women. If ever a Golden Age comic called out for a reboot…) Men are either square-jawed or shifty, women are sultry, nighttime takes up 90% of the day, and even during daytime every room is half in shadow. This look is aided immensely by the fact that the Filthy Rich is in black-and-white. I can only shudder to think how digital coloring would have ruined the contrast between light and dark.

If Vertigo Crime continues to publish comics of this caliber, then all I can say is down with superheroes, up with crime!

Event of the Century!

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Image United #1
Writer: Robert Kirkman
Artists: Larsen, Liefeld, McFarlane, Portacio, Silvestri, Valentino

Working for Marvel Comics may be a dream come true for a lot of young artists, but it’s a raw deal when you think about it. If you just do your job and get your pages in on time, nobody but hardcore fanboys will ever remember your name. But if you’re actually creative and introduce some new characters and ideas, Marvel “rewards” you by taking ownership of all your creations and maybe paying royalties if by a miracle your characters appear in other media. In 1992, several superstar artists said enough was enough and they left Marvel to form Image Comics.

For a brief period, Image was king. Everyone* was excited about the next generation of superheroes, who all had cool names like Spawn and Savage Dragon. But according to Internet wisdom, those early Image comics weren’t any good. Lacking in competent characterization and storytelling, the comics relied instead on flashy art and lots of gore and cheesecake. I can’t personally confirm any of that, as my knowledge of Image was limited to a few issues of Spawn and WildCATS that I borrowed from my brother and neglected to return. I didn’t hate them (I was a kid and easy to pander to) but they must not have made much of an impression because I don’t remember anything about those books and never bothered to collect them.

But that was back in the 90’s. It’s almost 2010 now, and Image is an established publisher (if nowhere near the size of Marvel or DC). And being an established comics publisher in North America means publishing superhero crossovers. Even a cursory glance at the Direct Market sales for Secret Invasion or Blackest Night reveals that everyone** loves superhero crossovers. That’s why the hot shot creators from 1992 (minus Jim Lee) came together to give the fanboys one more thing to buy, Image United. And I bought it too, because what the hell, it’s only money.

So what does a creator-owned crossover look like?

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Right off the bat, I recognized Spawn, Savage Dragon, and Witchblade, but I had no clue who the rest of them were. To his credit, Robert Kirkman seems to understand that Image United could be a reader’s first exposure to Image, so he spends a good portion of the book laboriously introducing everyone. And since these are Image characters they all have hardcore names like Badrock (big guy in back), Ripclaw (below Spawn), Shadowhawk (upper left), Fortress (middle), and the unironically named Shaft. Things get complicated fairly quickly though, as a dozen more characters are introduced in rapid succession. With such a large cast, it’s not surprising that most of the characters lack distinguishable personalities.

With all the introductions, the story just barely gets started. Supervillains are simultaneously causing trouble in various cities, and the heroes don’t know who’s coordinating the attacks. But the readers do, because the main villain shows up at the end. Apparently, the Image Universe is being threatened by none other than Al Simmons! Don’t feel bad if you have no idea who the hell Al Simmons is, I didn’t either. If you look up “Al Simmons” on Wikipedia you’ll find entries for a baseball player and a Canadian musician who specializes in children’s music. But Al Simmons was also the civilian identity of the original Spawn, who I guess lost the job at some point. You learn new things every day.

But screw the story, let’s talk about the art. Six different artists worked on this book, but don’t ask me who did what because … I’m going to level with you guys. I don’t have an encyclopedic knowledge of comic book artists. I don’t know what Whilce Portacio’s style looks like. I’m pretty sure I can recognize what Rob Liefeld drew but only because of the extra teeth in each mouth. Does that mean I’m not qualified to review this comic? If you’re a hardcore fanboy, my opinion probably doesn’t mean shit to you, but I’m okay with that. I’m still going to argue that the art in this comic leaves something to be desired.

(The following image may be offensive to people who hate cheesecake and/or bad anatomy). Let’s begin with this panel featuring Cyberforce.

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There’s a lot of linework and detail, but it’s all in service to a rather drab scene. A bunch of generic, techno-themed heroes are standing in front of boxes and gray walls. That’s not eye-catching. And the woman on the far right is trying her hardest to pull off the brokeback pose.

Moving on to big fight scene. There are about five gallons worth of steroids in this panel.

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This is supposed to be the dramatic smackdown of the issue, but it feels rather flat. Like so many listless fight scenes in so many mediocre comics, the characters come across less like they’re pounding each other and more like they’re posing for a picture. The static nature of the fight is only reinforced by the tendency of the characters to have lengthy chats in between punches. Of course, many superhero fans would argue this is just a convention of the genre. But it’s a shitty convention perpetuated by lousy comics, so why defend it?

Now for the big reveal.

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I have to admit, if I were a 12 year old I’d probably think this was the coolest image ever (except for the left hand, which seems detached from the rest of the body). But how many 12 year olds are actually reading superhero comics these days? I suspect that Image United is geared towards the same adult readership that DC and Marvel compete for. And judging this panel as an adult, Omega Spawn comes across as a design that tries too hard but doesn’t get very far. He looks just like regular Spawn, but with more pointy crap layered on the standard outfit.

To sum up, the creators tried to make a book that was appealing to new readers, but they couldn’t think outside the tiny box that is mainstream superhero comics. While the story is easily comprehensible, only the true believers will give a shit. In my case, I didn’t know who half the characters were but I was able to follow along. But the comic didn’t have any emotional impact on me, as there’s nothing in the story that leads me to care what happens to these people. I’m not terribly concerned that Omega Spawn is going to blow up the Image Universe and deny me the awesomeness of (white) Shaft. The art is also intended for the true believers, relying heavily on genre conventions like talky fight scenes, steroidal men, and ridiculously busty women.

But maybe the Image creators were only ever interested in pandering to the same old base. And if they wanted to produce a crossover as insular and self-reverential as Secret Invasion or Blackest Night, then they’ve succeeded.

*By everyone, I mean 12 year old boys.

**By everyone, I mean 30 year 0ld men.

La Nouvelle Action

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Spin Angels (a.k.a. Cross Fire)
auteur: Jean-Luc Sala
artiste: Pierre-Mony Chan
éditeurs: Soleil/Marvel

Bonjour! Comment allez-vous?

I may have missed out on the Sequential Surrender Monkeys roundtable, but I’m still going to review a comic from the Frenchiest country on Earth — France! However, I’m playing it safe and sticking with the mainstream; none of that artsy-fartsy stuff for me. Surely even their lamest comics must be better than ours, given the lack of decrepit superhero franchises peddled by corporate IP-holders. And one such IP-holder apparently agrees with me, because Marvel has partnered with Soleil to bring mainstream French comics like Spin Angels to the U.S. market.

And what does the French mainstream look like? Think Dan Brown with more cheesecake.

The story in Spin Angels follows the agents of the Vatican’s Secret Office, a clandestine paramilitary team operating out of Rome. These guys don’t hunt demons like your typical Catholic kill squad. Instead, they acquire or steal documents that could cast doubt on the legitimacy of Catholic dogma. Now, some of you may be thinking that this group is about 500 years too late to do any good. But from the Catholic perspective, Protestantism is just a fad, like emo (Judaism is a much older fad, like disco). Sooner or later all those emo crybabies will come to their senses, and the Catholic Church will be ready to take them back.

As for the plot, the lead investigator for the Secret Office, Sofia D’Agostino, stumbles upon a conspiracy involving the Inquisition, a missing book of the Gospel, and the Templars (it always comes back to the fucking Templars). When things start getting dicey, her boss decides that she needs some extra protection, so he calls in a favor with a buddy in the Sicilian Mafia (!) who sends his best hitman to protect her. What follows is a predictable action-adventure with an opposites attract subplot.

Considering all the lazy, unimaginative superhero crap that I’ve read in my life, perhaps it’s unfair to label this book as derivative. At the very least, it isn’t nostalgia porn. On the other hand, everything about it feels unoriginal. It’s as if the creators decided that the best way to tell their story was through a Catholic conspiracy theory checklist: apocryphal scripture, lost Templar treasure, Mafia connections, Vatican hitmen, etc. Then they topped it off with every action movie cliché of the last 30 years.

I found the art to be a bit more agreeable, but it doesn’t quite work with the story. Chan’s style is consistent with traditional Western comic art, but it’s also heavily influenced by manga and anime. For example, the following panel has the “grossed-out” reaction that’s nearly ubiquitous in mainstream anime.

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This style might work well enough for a comedy or even a superhero comic, but it doesn’t “sell” the realistic violence within this story. There’s also plenty of cheesecake shots, but Chan’s style is too cartoony to deliver anything that’s genuinely sexy.

To sum up, Spin Angels reads like a Da Vinci Code knockoff regurgitated by a committee. But while I didn’t enjoy the comic, there’s something encouraging in the idea that even the French are capable of uninspired genre hackwork. We’re one world! There’s no such thing as the French mainstream or the American mainstream. There’s just the mainstream, which happens to be completely devoid of new ideas.