Company Lines

Today on Newsarama a new column's debuted: Joe Fridays, or some such. It's a weekly interview with Marvel's Joe Quesada, about whatever comes up. It reminded me why I liked being a comics reader during the early Quesada/Jemas era. They were good at rallying interest, as Quesada is now. Some of the crap that I've seen come out of Marvel recently has been... less than interesting, and even their summer crossover, House of M, has failed to get me too excited. But after hearing Quesada talk, I am almost interested in seeing what it's all about. Almost.

There's an interesting note at the bottom of the page that mentions how a similar offer was given to DC to do a weekly interview, but it was declined. Then a thought appeared in the ether that is my brain concerning the difference in advertising between the Big Two, and how that plays out in the universes, how Marvel and DC are normally at such odds. Marvel can have MAX, or to a lesser extent Marvel Knights, as their answer to Vertigo, but all three of those imprints are vastly different. Characters can be analogous, but still distinctly different. Seeing Marvel's method of advertising being so different from DC's is understandable. I have no idea who DC's Editor-in-Chief is; he's so rarely heard from. I know DC names (DiDio, et al.) but not to the extent to which Joe Q. is known.

After thinking about this all for a while I realized that I don't consider DC and Marvel to really be competition. Competition generally implies two entities that have similar attributes that are at odds to determine (or let others determine) which is the best. The only real similarity I can presently see between Marvel and DC is that they both make comics. There should be no competition as people will choose one company over another not because one is better than the other, but because one is more in line with what they prefer.

(The argument could be made that they both do super-hero comics, but the difference between DC and Marvel superheroics is, I feel, obvious at this point. If this is untrue I'll do a different post on it sometime.)

The premature conclusion I come up with based on this non-competitor relationship is that one of the main reasons comics goes through its up and downs is because people will align with one company over another, then choose to leave comics over jumping ship to a different company. If you were a Marvel reader in the 90s and you hated Marvel in the 90s, my guess is you would be more likely to stop reading comics then look and see what DC was doing. I think this because when I began collecting comics for the second (third?) time in 2000, my reading list was overwhelmingly Marvel. As I look at my list of monthly comics, since April 19, my pull list contains 7 Marvel books, and 19 DC books. As a kid, I would never have picked up DC Comics (due to a fear, at that time, of the unknown comic universe). Now, as a more mature reader, I look for what is good. As you can see from my previous analysis of sales, especially in comparison with general reactions to comics, sales does not always equal quality comic.

I think the allegiance to companies is a poor move on the comic readers part. Not only does the non-chosen of the Big Two lose out, but indie comics also lose then. If you are not willing to look at DC because you read Marvel, there's no way you'll look at AiT/PlanetLar. If you look for good comics for good comics sake, your options open up so much.

This post ends as openly as it began as I'm not exactly sure what the point may have been. It is more the beginning of a long conversation than anything else. I feel that an observation has been made, and in the words of AC Weisbecker, when all is said and done, this post was definitely an example of something.

Preaching to the Choir

Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon’s Preacher started soon after I stopped reading comics, when I turned 16. A fewyears later, when I started reading again it had just recently ended. Today it's probably the best selling Vertigo series besides Sandman. (I've been quite fascinated by comic sales recently). One of the things that I recall from my first reading is my initial reaction as a raised Catholic.

I get tired of people poking fun at religion in an angry, unintelligent and spiteful way (Tom Robbins's Another Roadside Attraction comes to mind as a work that far too maliciously attacks organized religion). To do so is to ignore the good that religion has given to mankind. I remember thinking about how angry Jesse Custer seemed to be, but not completely being able to follow it. The dreadful result that often comes from these types of attacks is something akin to what I imagine I would feel if I saw Fahrenheit 9/11: Great points skewed by the fact that they are so poorly delivered, that I have no urge to support them. They end up becoming sickly parodies of themselves instead of valid commentary.

Ennis and Dillon put together an interesting non-parody here. Though the story is far-fetched it hits several nerves that are close to the heart. They toe that line of making religion seem like the big bad enemy, until you realize that Jesse is a fine Christian. He lays down his life to save his friends, and he treats people fairly. So he gets a bit violent sometimes (ye without sin, yadda yadda); in his heart he is honest and good, if not, at points, grotesquely funny.

Garth Ennis does grotesque-funny well. He got big in the superhero world after writing Punisher, which, if you are like me, is the reason you read Preacher. The first story introduces most of the major players, and hooks the reader in quite well. The second storyline cements the series as a means of telling horrific stories, while still being able to make sex references, and dirty jokes. The third storyline, “Until the End of the World” secures the series' ability to be intelligent and emotional by dealing with God, his relationship to his earthly family, and the earthly family's relationship to itself.

The character of God is shown as a powerful, yet scared being. He knows that his end could be nigh, and that he cannot face the preacher because of the power that the half-angel/half-demon entity,Genesis, gives to Jesse.

God is a coward here, but as much as the reader dislikes him, there is sympathy. It is kind of like watching your father get old. There is a point where he just cannot do the things he use to be able to do, and it scares him. God has been in power too long. His (angel) children have transgressed and created a monster (that could destroy him) and his other kids barely spend the energy to write or call.

God’s family, which makes him complete, has left him. Can you blame him for having a mid-life crisis?

Well, in this instance you have to. You would blame Superman for going crazy when he realizes his best years are behind him, and God is in a similar predicament. He is very powerful, but he is facing a very real threat (For the superheroing world, imagine Superman facing Doomsday; Holmes facing Moriarty that one last time).

The image of God’s family continues on throughout the story, and expands to become a story about all family. Early on Jesse feels that Genesis chose him because they were children with similar parents (parents that broke the rules to be together). Jesse’s father was shot when Jesse was a young boy, and he remembers his father, John Custer, as a mythical figure; a super-dad. The direct juxtaposition to this is Jesse’s relationship with Jody, a man whose family has been serving the L’angelles for a long time.

Jody is the evil twin of John Custer. Both know how to get into, and win a fight. Both can be mean sons of bitches. The main difference is the choice between good and bad. John Custer tells Jesse to “be one of the good guys, because there’re way too many of the bad.” Jody is one of the bad. From his father, Jesse learns about John Wayne, being good, and enjoying life. But from Jody, Jesse learns how to survive it. Jody is the one that teaches Jesse to fight. Like any poor teacher, Jody gives Jesse the technique without teaching about motivation (giving a child superpowers, and expecting them to do the right thing intuitively).

Jesse owes Jody; for the death of his father, and for giving him the means of exacting revenge. In Jody’s last scene, he finally sees hope in Jesse. Jody always saw Jesse has a coward growing up, who would consistently be beaten down. When Jesse finally comes back and stands up to Jody, he does it without The Word, but with the skills that Jody taught him. He fights him, and he wins.

Unfortunately for Jesse it is a pyrrhic victory. He exacts his revenge, but gains no solace from what has happened. He gains only the freedom from his family, and a step in the direction of calling God out for what he's done.

(As I am currently re-reading the Preacher series I may decide to do another post on its later issues. Sadly, this was initially going to be a post about monthly vs. trade. As I typed, it quickly became another monster unto itself. Who knows what will come next. As the next trip to the comic store is not until Free Comic Book Day, We will have to be happy with what is past for the moment, as the future (and in a sense the present), is about a week and a half away for me.)

Green Pieces (Part One)

"It's not that I'm afraid to show emotions, Betty. Just what can happen... if they get out of control.”

on The Incredible Hulk 331-346

It's all there, right from the beginning, if you know where to look. Peter David's run on the book with which he will inevitably come to be identified begins abruptly, unceremoniously, with little indication that these are the first of eleven years' worth of stories. In fact, David's run doesn't actually begin traditionally at all; his first issue on The Incredible Hulk was 328, a fill-in called "Piece of Mind". When he began writing the book regularly three issues later, there was little to suggest that it was, in fact the beginning of anything. In fact, David's beginning seems more like an ending, writing as he was to draw closed Al Milgrom's truncated run on the book, using his first eight issues to clean up loose ends: the dissolution of the Hulkbusters, the defeat of the Rick Jones Hulk (don't ask), the reintroduction of the Leader, even the reinstatement of the (not-so) Jade Giant himself.

But in retrospect, David's style, his predilections, his preoccupations, his intentions all seem self-evident.

In retrospect, this seems like some great superheroics.

But only in retrospect.

To be honest, if David's run had come to an end with 346, the epilogue to the epic (at that time) "Gamma Bomb" storyline that had culminated in the previous double-sized issue, it would be regarded as a footnote, more notable for the contribution of up-and-coming artist Todd McFarlane than for the book's writer. There's little here to overtly indicate what's to come, the rapport that David would establish with the Hulk (arguably more so than with Bruce Banner), the honestly engrossing sense of magic and loss that David would be able to weave, patiently, once it became clear that he wasn't going anywhere. For now, the book's okay. Not great, not bad, just okay.

(Some of the disappointment apparent in this era of the book has to be attributed to Todd McFarlane, artist on every issue here except for the aforementioned "Piece of Mind", a chilling one-off in 335 illustrated beautifully by John Ridgway, and the denouement in 346 penciled--over McFarlane's layouts--by eventual Image-consultant Erik Larsen. Todd would go on to superstardom immediately after this on The Amazing Spider-Man, breathing life into the character with which he's probably still best identified. But while McFarlane's elastic lines and staccato jump cuts were particularly well-suited to our Friendly Neighborhood, they're ill-matched with the Hulk. Where he attempts to create a sense of gravity, the Hulk simply seems slothful and pruny, McFarlane's hyperactive sense of storytelling and dizzying panel placement actually undermining the Hulk's most characteristic attribute: his power. Todd is still, at this point, an unproven artist. The Incredible Hulk was the training ground for what would become his admittedly inimitable style. Unfortunately, it was rarely the beneficiary of any of that training.)

At this point, David's first year and a half on the book is best regarded as a sort of rough draft for what was to come. Eventually, David would claim that the Hulk is a manifestation of Bruce Banner's consciousness, an aspect of his gray matter (pun, in homage to PAD, very much intended) that was present at, if not created by, Banner's boyhood abuse at the hands of his father. The idea surfaces in an observation from Clay Quartermain--rogue S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and brief traveling companion of Rick Jones & Bruce--who opines off-handedly in 339's "Native Son" that "Bruce Banner was a victim of his [father's] violence--and maybe--just maybe--the Hulk is a direct result of that abuse." It's a seed that would eventually bear David healthy fruit, arguably his greatest contribution to the ongoing story of the Hulk, an origin suggesting not where the creature came from but rather why he needed to be.

Slowly, David begins to suggest that the relationship between Bruce Banner and the Hulk wasn't as disparate as had perhaps been previously suggested. These weren't two minds, both tenant in the same body. These were two aspects of the same mind, both given physicality through the freak science of the Marvel Universe.

Another David trademark making its first tentative appearance here is the Issue issue, wherein some social concern or another is considered, human problems thrown into relief through their introduction into a decidedly inhuman context; the most prominent example thereof is 420, wherein the problem of AIDS is contemplated, reflected through the reader's identification with the afflicted Jim Wilson, former sidekick of the Hulk. The issues here are neither as prominent nor as gracefully-handled as in that story, but it's nevertheless clear that David has greater aspirations for the book than a series of slugfests, a sense of the world in which the book's readers live, and recognition of where that world intersects with the Hulk's. As early as 333, David's third issue as regular writer, he tackles domestic abuse, admittedly not as nebulous a problem as the AIDS epidemic, but one that still needs address. In "Quality of Life" Bruce Banner is incarcerated by a small-town sheriff for a liquor store raid perpetrated by the Hulk. In the inevitable confrontation between the blowhard sheriff and the Hulk, the sheriff's abused wife jumps to her husband's defense, incurring his ire when she inadvertently emasculates him. Turning the gun meant for the Hulk on her husband, the woman fires, illustrating the inability to successfully solve the problem of domestic abuse. "You thought you were alone," the Hulk conclusively tells Banner. "But you see, there's monsters everywhere." Subtlety proves elusive here, as throughout David's run, but his dramatization of the issue at hand still proves effective.

But at the center of Peter David's story here is the element that would prove to be at the center of his entire run. For most of 331-346, husband and wife Bruce and Betty are separate; even when they're ostensibly given the opportunity to be together, Bruce's position is usurped by the Hulk. They're never let to rest. But nor do they really ask for the chance. In 346, "Whys and Wherefores," Betty contemplates a life without her husband, apparently killed when caught at ground zero of a detonated gamma bomb (spoiler alert: he survives). Betty finds herself carrying Bruce Banner's child, and briefly considers having an abortion, or as the Comics Code allows it to be nebulously put, "not having the baby." Ultimately, she wonders "how can I kill, now, the one remaining bit of the last loved one I've ever had" and vows "No more death... No matter what the risks, it stops here." Betty's pathos is compelling, her grief more real than a comic starring a monsterous manifestation of a scientist's subconscious deserves to be. Bottom line, this is a story about Bruce Banner and Betty Ross, a man and a woman who never stopped fighting--who never got the chance to stop fighting--to be with one another. That element of David's overall story is here fully-formed, as clear and tall as other aspects are still developing.

Next, in Green Pieces (Part Two): The most idosyncratic era of David's run is considered in The Incredible Hulk 347-367. The Hulk, briefly free of Banner's influence, goes wild in Las Vegas as Mr. Fixit. Meanwhile, David starts to establish the Hulk's place in the Marvel Universe, with encounters between the Hulk and Spider-Man, the Thing and Iron Man, and looks back at the history of the Hulk, with an appearance from the Abomination and a visit to Jarella's world.

Green Pieces (Part Zero)

Before we get started (again), there's a few things you should know, that I should, I suppose, admit.

First, I'm not all that bad. I know we have a tendency to get our complaining on here at the Week, but it's not all that dire. The thing is, as any cultural critic--or kid with internet access and too much time on his hands--knows, it's a lot easier to point out what's wrong than what's right. And it's more fun; "brilliant display" just doesn't have the same sensational ring as "epic disaster". And you know this. But there's good stuff out there, stuff worth spending your time and money on. How do I know this? Because without the good, we wouldn't be able to recognize the bad, and then we'd have nothing to bitch about. Endlessly.

Second, if it's good now, it was better then. I mean, as loath as I am to fall into the rhetorical trap of lamenting the departure of the good ol' days, the fact is that I don't enjoy comics now as much as I did when I was 13, 14, 15. But then, I'm not supposed to. When I say I don't "enjoy" comics as much, I mean just that, not that they're not as enjoyable, but that I don't enjoy them as much as I used to. Nor do I enjoy music, movies, my friends, myself, anything as much as I did when I was a teenager. I don't think it's all defeatist to admit that kids fundamentally enjoy life more than adults (not that I'm Methuselah). And, all evidence to the contrary, I'm no longer a kid. But I can remember the past. And, more importantly, I can use it to inform the future. And recommend it.

Third, I think I'm fairly well-rounded. Literally, certainly, sadly, but figuratively, as well. You want to talk about LCD Soundsystem, or Napoleon Dynamite, or Jonathan Safran Foer, or even, um, current events, and stuff, sure, I can hold it down. But if we talk long enough, see if I don't steer the conversation towards The Invisibles. Bottom line: I'm a geek. But you knew that, didn't you.

So why all the soul-bearing, you might ask, and what has this to do with House of M? Well, I have to admit that it has nothing to do with House of M (which, if I could get a quick zinger in, looks just short of awesome enough), but I haven't forgotten that this is a comics blog.

You see, I've been thinking about the Hulk.

My association with the Hulk began in 1994, with issue 417. It was the bachelor party issue, the prelude to the big Rick/Marlo wedding that'd occur in the subsequent issue. Peter David was at the height of his powers. He had established an apparant rapport with then-artist Gary Frank (still, in my opinion, the best artist of David's run) and was reaching the climax of "The Pantheon Saga", the truly epic storyline that David had begun years before. It was a good time to read The Incredible Hulk. As years went by, I continued following the Hulk's adventures, simultaneously watching where the character went and working backwards to see from where he had come. Eventually, I gathered a complete run of David's Hulk, 328-467 (minus a few holes and plus a few addenda). I read them as I got them, mentally assembling the pieces of the character with whom David is, and always will be, indellibly associated. It's my favorite superhero comic, even better regarded, in my estimation, than the previously mentioned Starman. The run demonstrated a better rapport between a creator and a character that he had not created than one might think is possible. I've reads stories where creators had less of an understanding of characters they'd created than Peter David did of Bruce Banner.

So you understand that I was excited when, after seven some-odd years, David and the Hulk were reunited.

And you understand, hopefully, that I was disappointed when the storyline (still, I admit, uncompleted), proved not to be the greatest of all time.

There's a few things going on here. First, I'm sure that David's a little rusty, after having spent so much time away from the character, and to some degree directed creatively by editorial mandates. Second, and for our purposes more important, I'm sure I've worked up a serious of unfair expectations, romanticizing David's run as something more than what it probably was: a really good comic book story.

So. Here's the punchline: I'm going back home. As I mentioned above, I've collected and read all of David's contributions to the Hulk mythos. And I've read them all. But not in order.

But I'm going to.

The project is: I read these comics, The Incredible Hulk 328-467, minus a few holes and plus a few addenda. Periodically, I stop reading, and I write about what I've read so far, always while considering whether or not these books, more than a decade after I've read them for the first time and certainly too long since I've read them last, are in fact as good as I've made them up to be. (The nice thing about David's eleven-year [!] run is that is can be broken up into a number of big eras, often punctuated by a change of artist.)

I meant to post my consideration of the beginning of David's run here, after this brief introduction, but I've realized that I've neither now nor probably ever written anything that can be unironically described as "brief". So the beginning, 328 (331, techinically) to 346 or so, will be considered in a seperate post, to be, um, posted, tomorrow. So check back, Weeklings! Were things actually better then? Find out soon!

(By the way, check the archives if you're so inclined, but I believe that was the first official Wednesday Week cliffhanger. God willing, it was the last.)

(Um.)

Novelty

Trigger is ending soon. Which is fine. It’s an interesting story, but it's not really that good. I'm not that upset.

Wildcats 3.0 ended some while ago, and it was excellent. It was a fascinating story, dealing with superheroes that run a super-company. It didn't sell worth a damn apparently (at least to Wildstorm standards).

Human Target will be ending next month with #21. It tells intriguing stories about human identity, and how people tell the difference between themselves and others (which is more complex than it may sound). I love when Peter Milligan writes like this. His run on Shade the Changing Man in the early 90s is currently my favorite comic series ever written. I am greatly upset.

Uncanny X-Men has not really been that good since Joe Casey left (and to be honest his run was only getting really good at what turned out to be the end). Chuck Austen was basically horrible. Chris Claremont seems to be getting worse. His original run was, needless to say, classic fun. His first return to Uncanny (nine issues beginning with 381) was confusing, but I believe I’m the only person alive that enjoyed the Neo storylines. Then he left and went to X-treme. I soon got tired of that book, and it finally ended with last year's "Reload". Now he's back with Uncanny which is, as I see on the Diamond's top 300 list for March, is the twelfth best-selling book around.

Trigger is #191.

Human Target is #193.

I doubt either Wildcats or Shade ever got that high in the charts either.

This stinks. Uncanny should not be winning any readers. The stories are not that good, and are obviously written for an immature audience. It's a child’s book. The plot lines are unclear, and there is very little continuity between stories. The Hellfire Club was important a few months ago. Now there is a new evolution of dinosaurs in the Savage Land. I missed the closing of the last story and the beginning of the next one.

The thing is, I like these types of stories. I have no problem with superheroes doing silly superhero things, like flying to the moon, or going to Atlantis. The Savage Land, in X-Men comics, has often been a fun setting for some good ol' fashioned superheroing.

But this story is not good. It sounds like the reverberated echo of old Claremont stories that were once good. But it, in itself is not good. Plot has taken over at the expense of almost everything else. Morrison seemed to introduce Nano-sentinels, and now there are all sorts of nanomites attacking people, such as Rachel Summers, who is suppose to have something to do with the Phoenix (I know this was in X-treme towards the end, but I missed it). Chris Claremont on X-Men has a similar flavor to George Lucas on Star Wars.

I collect Uncanny X-Men, and will continue to get it on a monthly basis. I stopped midway through the Austen run because it was awful. Then I went back and got those issues cheap when I heard Claremont was coming back. I started collecting comics at age 11 with Uncanny X-Men 281. I stopped in my Junior year of high school, then started again when I was 20 with the release of the X-Men movie (383 was my first back). I have every issue of Uncanny from 93 on.

I am part of the reason that Uncanny X-Men is where it is.

It's the last part of x-zombie fan boy left in me. I want to buy these comics. I want them to be decent reads. I want to give Marvel my money for a good issue of Uncanny X-Men. But they're losing me.

It would seem as though I'm unique in that. Meanwhile, Human Target is cancelled at 21.

I understand that comics have to sell to continue going. I understand that superheroes are the most popular genre of comics. I understand that good comics are often overlooked for various reasons (and don’t sell). What I don't understand is the fascination with and allowance for bad comics.

My evil twin, Chris, pointed out the lack of novelty in comics recently, even the good ones. What’s sad is the lack of possible good in the bad comics. I liked Stormwatch: Team Achilles, but those stories stuck sometime. Micah Wright through a lot of shit on the wall, and often enough something would stick. Chris Claremont, meanwhile, has lost his throwing arm. None of it works, and it doesn’t seem like he’s been trying lately. Any day now I’ll take it off my pull list.

(I've discovered lately that if I rant long enough, I get the answers to my own questions).

I want something new. I want something amazing. There is a ton of great stuff out there, but it’s not the next generation.

There's a Way

So. That was interesting. My previous post, a whinathon inspired by the announcement of recent Eisner Award nominees, seems to have garnered some modest attention; an increase in hits (hopefully from returning or planning-on-returning Weeklings) and a pair of comments, one from Troy Hickman, whose Common Grounds received a pair of nominations, and one from Jackie Estrada, the self-identified "Eisner Awards Administrator".

It's the latter's comment which gave my eyebrows a raise.

Ms. Estrada takes issue with my finding of, in her words, "this year's nominations pretty much being a repeat of last year's." She sets out to thwart me the way any rational person would, with a statement of comparative fact and an indication, wherever possible, of quantifiable demonstration. Her logical response fails, though, to recognize that she's responding to an argument that is fundamentally and inescapably irrational.

It appears some clarification is in order.

My problem isn't exactly with the Eisners. Not only do I not take issue with the nominations (for the most part; to say that I don't agree with their selections totally, though, is hardly a slight), but many of the stories and creators they've singled out as being worthy are one on which I've spent both my money and time. More than that, they're among what I'd consider the best of the past year. I've already stated my love for Demo; Ex Machina pleasantly surprised, proving enjoyable despite the fact that in the past I've found Brian Vaughn's work not really my cup of tea; Astonishing X-Men is far better and better-looking than any X-Men book deserves to be; and Stray Bullets has been a favorite of mine since its inception a decade ago, so I'm pleased as punch whenever the community at large remembers that it's still around. But these are exceptions, rather than rules, and only the first and last of these four has inspired anything resembling excitement.

I suppose that's the bottom line. I have no problem with the Eisners; they've made what I think, on the whole, are fair selections for the year's top achievements. And the books are, on the whole, good; on average, they're probably about as good as, or slightly less than, other years. My problem is that the individual books aren't too far off from the average. Comics aren't great, and horrible. They're all just okay.

I can remember being excited about comics, both for individual works and for the industry as a whole. The early years of the Quesada-Jemas era had me shitting my pants in anticipation, actually curious about what's going to happen to these characters (that waned, but that's a discussion for another time). Scurvy Dogs had me laughing as loud as probably any comic book I've ever read, and as heartily as the funniest stories I've encountered in any medium. The "Murderer/Fugitive" storyline in the Batbooks had me actually enjoying a crossover, something I might not have ever done, to that extent at least. But what happened this past year? Grant Morrison left the X-Men, completing the best-received run with the characters in more than a decade, only to see his legacy almost immediately eroding. They killed Sue Dibny, and Ted Kord (I suppose that was technically this year), because they were just important enough to pretend that we cared about them, creating this elaborate dance where DC and the readers of their books both pretended that they cared what the other thought.

But I didn't. This is the year I stopped caring.

To some degree, that's why I decided to help start this blog. (When did this little response become the St. Crispin's Day speech...?) I don't really care about comics anymore. I don't know who's fault it is, and I'm perfectly willing to admit that it might be mine, but somehow, someone convinced me that comics aren't worth caring about anymore. I still know they are, but for the first time in fourteen(ish) years, I don't necessarily believe it. So Ms. Estrada, you'll forgive me if I say that the nominees all look the same; I know they're not, literally. But it feels, with a few notable exceptions, as though they all do the same thing: Beat a dead horse.

I think I'm wrong. I certainly hope I'm wrong. Prove me wrong.

There's a Will

The nominees for the 2005 Eisner Awards have been announced, and I couldn't possibly care less.

Here's the thing. I like comics, perhaps obviously. I like the Eisner Awards, feel that they're probably the best opportunity to honor the medium as a legitimate forum for creativity, rather than a child's indulgence or a field for potential Hollywood development. I'm even fond of a number of the individual nominees, creators and creations both. Still, though, I find it very hard to get at all excited about this, now.

Here's the long way around: In the second year of James Robinson and Tony Harris's Starman, the book featured a storyline entitled "Sand and Stars" (the storyline, by the by, itself won an Eisner, along with nominations for writer, book, and pencil and cover artist). In the storyline, hero Jack Knight travels to New York to consult with Wesley Dodds, a caped colleague of his father's. What captures Knight's attention, though, is the opportunity to meet Dodds's wife, Dian Belmont, Knight's favorite novelist. "When they awarded you the Nobel six years ago, it seemed so overdue, and so deserved, I went out and got drunk," he admits. "Good and happy drunk, like it was me that had gotten the award. I was so pleased for you."

I remember that moment as one of favorites in the series, itself one of my favorite superhero titles. I remember it when I watch the Academy Awards, or see year-end best-of lists from my favorite music rags, or read about Eisner nominees, and eventually, winners. I remember it when I have the chance to watch someone honored, someone who's made my life a little happier, briefly or not-so-briefly, by way of their art. And I look for the chance to commiserate, remotely with everybody else whose life's been made howevermuch better by a film, or a song, or a comic.

I remember it now, but I don't experience it.

Now look, the Eisner, with all due respect to both its history and its namesake, is hardly the Nobel Prize. But it's arguably as close as we get. It's the best chance we get to look at everybody else who loved whatever they loved and say "Yeah, I get it, too."

But I don't get it.

I suspect this has more than a little to do with the particular nominees in this year's batch. There's nothing wrong with them, exactly. All of those that I've read--and it's a fair amount, so I'm not speaking entirely out of ignorance here--were good stories. But they weren't great. Look at, for example, the nominees for Best Short Story. Among them is "God" from the dust cover of the comics-oriented McSweeney's edited by Chris Ware, who also created the story. Let me say that again: this story is from the dust cover. To point this out is, in no way, to slight the quality of the story itself. I, for one, liked it well enough. But as far as metaphors go, the fact that one of the nominees for a category that awards stories appeared on a book's cover isn't exactly a subtle one.

Or: Kyle Baker received three nominations in one category, Best Humor Publication. The Eisner Awards celebrate achievements in comic books. The Best Humor Publication sees 60% of its nominations go to one man. Again, I don't begrudge Kyle Baker, whom, again, I like. And I only point out the etymological happenstance here for purposes of metaphor; I understand that there's nothing fundamentally funny about a comic book story. But it doesn't change the fact that the committee only thought there were only three men worth honoring for their comedic creations in the entire comic community.

And that's another thing (is that a rant I smell...?): Where my girls at? From amongst all of the individual categories, there are only two nominations for females: Laura Martin for her Color and Raina Telgemeier as Talent Deserving of Wider Recognition. I suppose we'll have to wait until Persepolis 3 comes out before we see another woman added to the list.

My problem with the Eisners, overall, is in fact not a problem with the Eisners at all. Rather, it's a problem that the announcements of the nominees brings into light, a problem of homogeneity. These nominees bore me. Not because they're boring, in themselves, but rather because, up against one another like this, one realizes how little quality gets injected into mainstream comics; specifically, as little as they can get away with, and not a drop more. These are the same books we saw last year--even the Best New Series category, somehow, seems to be contemptuously familiar--and the same that we'll see next year. I am, occasionally, pleased (it's nice to see some love for Demo, a series I've long enjoyed) and disappointed (I thought Ed Brubaker and Michael Lark's "Unresolved" in issues 19-22 or Gotham Central, was far and away the best serialized story I read last year, Eisner nod or no), but I find it almost impossible to get excited about these books. They failed to change my life, overall, for better or for worse.

Is it me?

Pull List

Pre-ordering, as I often hear, is your friend. The glory of pre-ordering is that whichever comic shop you order from may go ahead and order an extra copy if you order one. This past Wednesday, for example, I received a copy of God the Dyslexic Dog 2. It is quite possible, since there was one interested party, there may be two (and with a name like that). So, yeah, pre-order.

The joy of the pull list is largely the weekly anticipation. Monday, after 5, Diamond releases the shipping lists, and then for the next two weeks you have a real idea of what is coming out. I find that solicitations are fun because you can see months down the road, but so rarely do those shipping dates seem to really last (and it's much too far away to care).

This week I grabbed issue 2 of God the Dyslexic Dog. Interesting comic. At the beginning of time, the great poet, almost as a joke, says "let there be light." And then there is creation. It has a lot of things that remind me of Morrison's writing. It deals with elements of the Mayan calendar and the countdown to the end of time. The dog that is one of the main characters was the great poet's pet, but sadly he has no memory of anything that is going on.

It is kind of slow, but I'm interested in seeing what happens next. It has the horrible posibility of becoming crap quickly, but I am somewhat confident it will not.

Losers is continuing on strongly, and it is an interesting read. I find Andy Diggle very entertaining, I am loving Adam Strange, and his run on Swamp Thing was the final reason I needed to fork over the money for Alan Moore's run. It is a fun read, but I can't wait for it to be over. I want the conclusion. The problem I have noticed with a lot of new series, specifically Vertigo series, I love them and I want them to be completed. I like knowing there is a definitive end. 100 Bullets is on the countdown to 100, and I love it. Losers is the same way. It is made well for the monthly format, as there are often the cliffhanger endings that keep you excited about the book, but I want to know how long there is until the conclusion.

Speaking of Swamp Thing, 13 is continuing the slow demise. It's good, but it's not great, and it needs to be great. Andy Diggle did it well, but I can kind of foresee the end that was probably how people looked at the series after Alan Moore left, and how it just is ok, but never quite as good (similar to the lull after Morrison's run on Animal Man). I don't know why Vertigo series have done this so much lately, but there is a lot more less successful series than successful. Preacher ended after 66, Transmet after 60, Sandman 75. And those are excellent runs. Most, now, have to finish up after 12-20 issues. Whatever they had, they need to get it back. (Trigger, a 1984-esque series is ending with #8. The most recent Vertigo ongoing to fail.)

Then I caved. I bought Identity Crisis, and GL: Rebirth, as Countdown has made me a DC Hero Junkie. Identity Crisis was well written. I enjyoed reading it, but the story was just strange. It kind of worked sometimes, and was just trite and trying to be too realistic other times. It's an interesting difference from Seaguy, which was obvious superheroics. Metzer writes well, but it has the same issue I had with Marvel Knights 4. It is well written. The stories are kind of silly, but the good writing pulls me back. So we'll see.

Whatcha Buyin'?

And now, for an important question. Asking the contents of one's pull list seems, in some ways, to be a breach of etiquette, like asking a woman's age. Nevertheless, they'll be no standing on ceremony here at Wednesday Week. Here, for all the World Wide Web World to see, is the true measure of a man's heart: On what he spends his money.

6 April 2005

Detective Comics 805: The angel and devil on my shoulder had a good little anticipatory debate about how to regard David Lapham's run on Tec. On the one hand, it means monthly work from Lapham, for a year at least. On the other, it means even less Stray Bullets, a title that tries my patience--it recently celebrated ten years of publication with about three dozen issues to its name--even as it makes me proud to be a comics reader. Back on the one hand, it means that Batman will have at least one title worth reading; I've been following his various titles off an on since '92, and more on than off since "No Man's Land". On the other, it means, as they man said, "just when I thought I was out..." The Batline's been struggling since the post-"NML" heyday of Brubaker, Grayson and Rucka (see, or better yet, avoid "War Games") and I thought after the departure of the undervalued Anderson Gabrych, I'd be able to return $3 to my monthly budget. Over the first third of his run, though, Lapham hasn't disappointed, referencing some of the Dark Knight's greatest old school traits while still injecting a unique sort of darkness into the character. Quality stuff.

Incredible Hulk 80: Peter David on the Hulk is a no-brainer for me. I first got into his run on the Hulk while he was closer to the finish line than the start--417 was my first issue, the story of Rick and Marlo's pre-wedding celebrations, and possibly the funniest issue in a run full of them--but over time I've assemble the entire run, and it's probably my favorite on a super-hero. He'd have to work hard to disappoint here, but I'm pleasantly surprised at what he's doing here. He's acknowledged the past just enough to maintain character continuity, but still seems determined to move forward, the hallmark of his first run. I can't wait to see what happens once David gets going on his open-ended run.

Intimates 6: Joe Casey's an odd one. His name probably wouldn't make it onto a list of my favorite comic writers, and yet if his name's an a book, I'm more likely than not to pick it up. His Wildcats was a favorite, taking what were essentially X-Men clones--and not very creative ones at that--and naturally evolving them into what were not only completely different from who they were, but from any other "super-heroes" on the shelf. Intimates has yet to reach the 'Cats' level of excitement, but it shows great potential. And, as with Wildcats, the book both references tradition and attempts (successfully, mostly) to create something entirely new. As with most of Joe Casey's work, it's not going to set the sales charts on fire nor win any awards, but it's never boring, and Casey's affection for both characters and medium is always preeminent.

Seven Soldiers: Zatanna 1: And then there's Grant (notice that I've praised these books by virtue of their writers?). It's still too early to see the shape that Seven Soldiers is going to take, but the boundaries have begun establishment. This is, arguably, the book-within-a-book that I've most anticipated, for several reasons. First, Zatanna seems to be the Soldier most firmly established within the DCU, so her title should give the greatest sense of the scope of this thing. Second, Ryan Sook is a far better artist than anyone so little-known deserves to be (or is that backwards...?), the Soldiers artist, along with Cameron Stewart, of whom I'm most fond. For me, this is where this project starts in earnest.

"Sin City". Again...

Sin City was a fun movie. It will not win any major awards (or probably any minor ones). No actor did a stellar job, although I think all the actors were, for the most part, fine.

I've read only one Sin City story, the newly titled The Hard Goodbye. It's an interesting story about Marv, the down on the luck yadda yadda yadda, gets girl loses girl, is violent.

I currently realize that describing Sin City sounds stupid. The story, when put into simplest terms, does not sound interesting. Frank Miller, however, makes it great. It's not a new story, but it's a fun story. The movie shows the same thing.

There isn't a whole lot to say about this movie. On his Bad Signal, Warren Ellis points out that the best thing about the movie is that, as an almost perfect translation, it will do good for comics in so much that comic companies will realize comics can be well-filmed, as comics. Marvel can stop creating comics with the intent of selling them to Hollywood. All they need to do is make great comics.

As it's been said, Sin City will generally be enjoyed by comic book people (I'm sure Chris won't, but that's because he hates things). [Note from Chris: Not everything. I like, um, Buffy. Sometimes.] Kill Bill, Pulp Fiction, From Dusk til Dawn fans will probably enjoy it. And people that enjoy movies should. It's a fun movie, and I personally didn't notice any major violence. It went by too quickly as I thoroughly enjoyed getting into the entire world.

My wife and I went to see the movie and she took a good hour or more to figure out if she liked the movie or not. As a non-comic book person, I think that's how a lot of people will feel. There is little redemption in the movie. Good things happen but they come from bad people. No one in this movie, besides maybe Bruce Willis's character, does anything at all admirable, and suicide is hardly admirable, although the character's reasoning for it was justified.

This is going to be the biggest thing to come out of comics movies this year. Constantine was apparently a waste of talent. Or a lack of talent. Fantastic Four looks like a great sci-fi movie, but not the good kind of sci-fi. I will be interested in finding out how Batman Begins goes up against this one, as either it or Sin City will probably be the best ones. And at this point, it looks like Batman will be a good movie. But Sin City is the one that will make a difference.

(Re)start Together

And thus begins the ill-advisedly named Wednesday Week Week. Nearly every day of the week to come will feature a new piece from one or both members of our crack(ed) team, the first and very probably last time we'll ever have the inclination to post this frequently. Today, we start things off right with a review of Countdown (fans of the book are recommended to look elsewhere for validation). Coming up this week: a discussion of Marvel's trade policy; an examination of Superfolks, a long-out-of-print novel by Robert Mayer that Grant Morrison calls "a daft and beautiful little jewel of a book [that] should be savored like silly wine"; and the obligatory Sin City review. So. You know what to do. Read. Tell us what you think. Tell your friends. Come back, do it again.

Perhaps needless to say, here there be spoilers.

Chris: I've always been more of a DC man than you, I think. So I found certain aspects of Countdown to be somewhat... boring? Redundant? Certainly, for me, unnecessary. Interesting, to get the Cliff's Notes version of what's been going on in the DCU over the past year, to get a sense of what they thought was Important rather than just (hopefully) good storytelling, but ultimately I thought that the travelogue aspect of it was pretty and vacant. How'd it work for you, though, as someone who hasnt spent a lot of time (or, to your credit, money) here?

Matt: Since I am the newcomer to the DCU, I'm beginning with questions for you, very much the more established resident here. Before I ask, I think that Rucka, Winick, and Johns did a good job of making this accessible. I understood all of it, I just believe I missed out on some nuance by not knowing certain characters, organizations, etc. (This has also lead to me track down issues of Identity Crisis). Here we go:
1. Who is Maxwell Lord?
2. Why is it such a deal that he's in charge of Checkmate?
3. What's Checkmate?
4. Who were all those villains, and will they be in Villains United? I know Luthor, and I can understand who Black Adam is (though I've no idea why). And I remember Deathstroke from old Teen Titans. Is this supposed to be a good cross-section of the bad guys for the big guns of the DCU?
5. Why do you smell so pretty?
6. Martian Manhunter's a dick, don't you think? (Had to make it a question somehow.)

Chris: I'd like to take the second part first. Or something. I think (seriously, though, folks) you raise some interesting points with your questions. Namely, some of those answers might be easily accessible to regular readers of DC Comics, while some answers are clearly meant to be answered somewhere down the line (one of the four mini-series, maybe, Infinite Crisis itself, whatever form that ends up taking). The fact that it was unclear to you which was which shows a failing on the part of the creators here, a failure to clearly delineate between which parts of the story are catch-up and which are progression. But onto your questions (which shall be answered old-school letter column-style).
1. The short line on Maxwell Lord (I'm not entirely sure of the long view; apparently, he died and got better, if you can believe such a thing as that...) is that he was a member of the Justice League during the Giffen/DeMatteis era. Or rather: He wasn't so much a member as an ambassador between Super and not, a regular guy who put the weight of his salesmanship (to be conservative) behind a collection of B-Listers (Beetle, Booster, the good Dr. Light) and those who didn't always play well or often enough with others (Guy Gardner, Captain Marvel, Batman). Hilarity, unprecedentedly, ensued.
2. Honestly, the big deal seems not to be so much that he's in charge of Checkmate as that he's still around. I mean, he's been back on the scene in Formerly Known as- and I Can't Believe It's Not the Justice League, but those two series almost seem not to count, especially given that another one of the main characters is now dead, all evidence to the contrary.
3. I dunno what Checkmate is. I know basically what it used to be--Government-sponsored Black-Ops of the "doing what needs to be done, cause we're the only ones with the balls to do it" sort--but I have a feeling that this is something entirely different, more of a predatory sort of police organization. Some version of Checkmate showed up at the end of Rucka's run on Detective Comics (a quality run, if you'll allow some brief editorializing), and given that they're supposed to be the focus of his OMAC series, I have a feeling that that fleeting appearance was the first of Checkmate 2.0. (or is it 3.0, 4.0, X.0...?)
4. The short guy was Dr. Psycho, a Wonder Woman baddie. The (other) guy in suit and tie was the Calculator, who showed up in Identity Crisis, pretending like we should care who he was until we all actually did (despite the fact that his biggest moment therein was getting in Mrs. Atom's way, resulting in the death of Boomerang and Jack Drake). The lady was Talia Head, daughter of the (probably temporarily) late Ra's al Ghul and head of Lexcorp during Luthor's presidency. I'm sure we're meant to be scared of this not-a-cabal on behalf of our heroes, but I find it difficult to get that worked up. Luthor's a resourceful son of a bitch, and Deathstroke's probably the most formidable villain around those parts, but Black Adam? Talia? Even if these two weren't occasional Good Guys, I don't see as how they pose much of a threat. And the Calculator? Seriously? The Calculator?
5. I've started showering with a loofa. Bar soap is so not hot.
6. This is my biggest problem with Countdown. There was so much inaccurate characterization, I was legitimately unsure as to whether these characters were being intentionally misrepresented. (Wouldn't that be a thrilling kickstart to Infinite Crisis? The revelation that it wasn't Blue Beetle who died, not our Beetle, but instead that of Earth Prime-and-a-Half or something?) Bottom line: Beetle's one of the Good Ones. He was never really a first-stringer, but his charm was in that he never claimed to be. And, to be sure, he was never regarded as one of the most powerful member of the league. But it always struck me that his word was always regarded as one of the most trustworthy. Look, I've got no particular affinity for Blue Beetle. I can't say I 'm upset by his death, having been looking forward to more of his adventures (and Hell, isn't there a new issue of I Can't Believe next month?). But I'm bothered by the apparent (transparent, really) motivation behind his death. It's clear that before having read the story, the three wise men decided that someone needed to die (otherwise how do we know that this time they mean it?) and it just so happened that Beetle had the perfect combination of emotional evocation and irrelevance to future stories. Basically, it seems as though Beetle was the biggest name that they could spare. Rather than making his death mean something, they tried to give it ironic weight by suggesting that it didn't mean anything. Frankly, it's insulting. To the character, to be sure, but worse, to the very non-fictional readers of his story. Exeunt soapbox.

Matt: I've never read old Justice League stuff, so I never knew Beetle that well. Countdown seemed to make him a bit character... for 80 pages. So I would assume that you are correct. What this brings up is the inability to do a lot of major change in major comics like this. Superman will always come back to life. Batman's back won't stay broken for long. The fans demand Hal Jordan returns as Green Lantern, and he does. It reminds me of why The Maxx was one of my more favorite series. Come issue 20, it completely changed. This brings up the possible issue with Countdown: Is it even going to matter in the end? It took Marvel all of four issues of X-Men to almost completely negate a good amount of Grant Morrison's writing. How long after whatever major crisis is resolved will things go back to the way they were? I like how Martian Manhunter was characterized, as he is often a bit stand-offish, and (he he) alien. I think Wonder Woman was fitting. I think I might like changing the other heroes' opinion of Blue Beetle because it gave this issue a bit more interesting. It seems like secondary characters are getting to be more popular, which is what I think Infinite Crisis is gonna be about: realigning secondary characters in some way shape or form. But it's quite possible I'm wrong. You will now have this document to prove it.

Chris: I don't know what Infinite Crisis is going to be about, nor do I really care. As a sort of teaser for whatever that'll be, Countdown fails fairly miserably. As a story unto itself, the book's marginally more successful, but ultimately disappoints by virtue of the cut-and-paste nature of the plot. Would the book have been any less successful had Booster been the one to uncover Max's plot rather than Beetle? Certainly, the detective work would've been out of character, but that's a liability with which this book seems to have no problem. (Faced, Countdown!) This book, as far as I'm concerned, is a massive disappointment, especially considering the pedigree of the creators (all of whom are generally well-regarded, if not, with the exception of Rucka, my personal cup of tea). Countdown will probably seem different a year down the road, after we're able to retrospectively view what it led to, but for now, it seems sadly pointless. Events like these are generally for editorial function, rather than in the service of a story idea. They realign continuity. They establish new statuses quo. They fix problems. My concern with Countdown to Infinite Crisis is that it'll cause more problems than it's worth.

Tomorrow: Matt on Sin City!

In Response to "Sin City"

A reader review says: "If they allow this stuff to pass for 'R' instead of 'NC-17,' we're going to wake up one day without a first amendment. "

Huh?