You know what series I should be gobbling up? Bedlam. For starters, it's drawn by my current favorite comicbook artist, Riley Rossmo. His off-kilter, kinetic style has proven to be adaptable to many different tones and genres, and never disappointing or dull in the least. He created my favorite comic of last year, and was the artist of the very first title I wrote a full column about on this blog. His work fascinates me, as does his career, which has very rarely involved Big Two work yet seems to be about as consistent as any artist working in comics today. To have him on an ongoing series, a relatively high profile one at that, should almost automatically mean a commitment from me.
But I'm not ready to go back to Nick Spencer. I spent a lot of time and money on several of his titles, and with a few small exceptions, they all aggravated me with their pacing, lack of payoff, and focus on big, sprawling, cool ideas and events rather than, say, a relatable or even understandable story. He writes great dialogue, and builds strong characters through it over time when he chooses, but sometimes he doesn't even do that. I haven't read some of the work that made his name, primarily Existence 2.0 and Existence 3.0, but I read most of what he did in the year or two after that, and overall it was unsatisfying enough for me to swear off the guy for a while. The concept of Bedlam interests me, because I'm basically a sucker for stories that center on the villains (except DC's Villain Month, which can go fuck itself...but that's for another time), but most of the elevator pitches of Spencer's stories sound like they're up my alley. That's why I started reading his stuff in the past, and kept reading even after it started to wear on me. I kept hoping the books would step up and realize their potential, but Spencer never made it happen.
Bedlam gets good reviews, by-and-large. At least as far as I've noticed. Maybe someday I'll check out the first trade paperback, like if a friend of mine has it or I find it on sale. And I believe in some pile somewhere I actually have the first issue, part of a massive treasure trove from this year's Free Comic Book Day. So if I ever dig it up and get to reading it, and it totally melts my face with awesome, then I'll likely track down the rest of the series. But for now, Spencer is too big a snag, even collaborating with Rossmo.
East of West isn't on my reading list for basically the same reason, except that I don't dislike Jonathan Hickman nearly as much as Nick Spencer. It's more that Hickman has fairly regularly proven to read better in collections than monthly installments. It was true of his Fantastic Four/FF run, and I definitely got more out of S.H.I.E.L.D. when I read it all at once than one issue at a time. Same goes for Secret Warriors, which lost me partway through when it was coming out, but upon a reread I was able to appreciate what it was doing far more. Hickman's narratives tend to have a lot of big concepts and small details both, and to keep track of them all, it's helpful to read everything as close together as possible. So, if anything, I'm trade-waiting East of West, but even then, I doubt if I'll buy the collected volumes as soon as they're available.
For one thing, I'm not eager for another dystopian future setting. I'm not sick of them, exactly, it's just that they've never particularly appealed to me to begin with, and recently they've become so ubiquitous that I feel like I need a really good, specific reason to invest in a piece of dystopian fiction.
Nick Dragotta is just shy of being that reason for now, though he's a seriously talented artist, so I imagine East of West will be something I pick up someday. He's not as high up on my personal list as Riley Rossmo, but that's purely due to my own tastes, not an objective comparison of their technical or storytelling skills. Dragotta is every inch the artist as Rossmo, and with Hickman having a slight edge over Spencer, East of West is more likely to get a look from me than Bedlam, probably.
Those two titles have writers I'm not wild about with artists I adore; Mighty Avengers has the opposite problem. Well, Al Ewing isn't a writer I adore, necessarily, but that's only because I'm not especially familiar with his work. I've read a bit of his Judge Dredd stuff, and it's all been fantastic. What really makes me want to read this series is its cast. Luke Cage? Jennifer Walters? Monica motherfucking Rambeu?!?! Yes, please! Honestly, White Tiger, a new Ronin, and a new Power Man all entice me as well. I could live without Spider-Ock, but I'm not riled up about that enough to be turned off completely, since he'll be just one of many voices in this series, instead of the star character. But Falcon is a definite plus, and so is Blue Marvel, whose debut series I read and enjoyed, so on the whole it's great-looking lineup.
But uggggggh...Greg Land SUCKS. He's the anti-Rossmo, with his stiff, robotic figures and complete lack of vision or originality. Sitting here now, I can't think of a single creator (not just artist) whose name on a project would make me less likely to buy it. I want so much to support Mighty Avengers, for so many reasons. It's mainstream work for Ewing, it's a cast full of characters I love, it stars several female and non-white characters, and it's a team worthy of the name "Avengers," for a change. Yet to spend any more money than I already have on comics drawn by Greg Land...can I afford to do that, really? Not just in my wallet, but in my spirit, I'm just not sure I can.
Showing posts with label Nick Spencer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nick Spencer. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Dearly Departed: The Infinite Vacation
Dearly Departed is a semi-regular column where I look back on recently completed or canceled series.
Despite never fully liking the main character, I quite enjoyed The Infinite Vacation. The protagonist, Mark, doesn't particularly care for himself, either, so at least we agreed on that, and everything else that goes down in this story is so energetic, interesting, and goddamn gorgeous that it's easy to overlook a lame leading man. Also, it's not as if Mark has no redeeming qualities. He's just...more pathetic than sympathetic, a passive force for four issues before finally growing the brains and balls to take action in the fifth. Then again, Mark's passivity ties directly into one of the major themes of the book, namely how technology gives us so many choices that none can ever satisfy. It's hard for Mark to know for sure what he wants because he's never had to settle for any one reality in his life. This is a story about discovering the one thing that makes all other choices seem immaterial, and it is in that discovery that Mark becomes a man I can root for rather than merely put up with.
Let me see how succinctly I can summarize this: The Infinite Vacation is a phone app that allows people to see all of the possible lives they could have led in all possible realities, and then bid on those lives against other version of themselves. If you win the bid, you are transported to the new reality, and get to live the life of a different you for as long as you please. Mark is a bit of a serial vacationer, never happy with the life he's chosen and constantly looking for a new, better Mark to become. The problem is that, no matter where he starts out, he finds himself ending up in the same places over and over again: dead-end jobs, stale romances, disillusionment, boredom, depression. This cycle persists until he meets Claire, the woman who's destiny is to push Mark toward his destiny.
Claire is the strongest character in the series. She's everything Mark isn't, in more ways than one. Decisive, confident, comfortable in her own skin, and, most importantly, she's a Deadender, meaning she does not use The Infinite Vacation at all. One reality suits Claire just fine, which at first confuses and even frustrates Mark. But when they find themselves thrust together and fighting to preserve their very existence, Mark is able to find in Claire an understanding of and personal reason for the desire to lead a single, unique life instead of exploring the endless options of multiple realities.
There is a definite heavy-handedness in the presentation of this lesson. Nick Spencer's script, like Mark as a character, can sometimes be a little much, becoming obnoxious with its repetition of the same ideas and the overt, bang-you-over-the-head delivery of its moral(s). There are a lot complex bits and pieces involved in the high concept of this series, and Spencer takes the time to explain and then reexplain them all, exploring the myriad ethical, technological, and philosophical questions something as powerful and popular as The Infinite Vacation would necessarily bring up. The side effect of that thoroughness is that things get revisited and reiterated several times by different characters with different viewpoints, and the ultimate resolution of Mark's journey is telegraphed many times before the man himself arrives there.
In the opening issue, as a matter of fact, Mark is told in no uncertain terms by a surfer-dude version of himself that he should find one thing in this life that makes him happy and give that one this his all, rather than lily-padding from world to world without knowing what he's even looking for. So there's no great subtlety in Spencer's story, nor ambiguity as to where the book stands. And Mark's decision to choose Claire as his one thing is not at all a surprise, nor is it meant to be. She is set up to fill that role for him from her very first appearance, and never once slips from that position. Mark and Claire's path isn't entirely clear, but their destination always is. How they make it there is where things get more bizarre and unexpected.
I mentioned that Spencer does a thorough job of discussing various problems or points of contention that The Infinite Vacation would raise if it really existed. And he does, with things like "boxing" (i.e. erasing from existence) hostile realities that pose a threat to others, having everyone go to copies of themselves for therapy and customer service, what "identity theft" means in a world where you can steal information from a different you, and so on, covering topics large and small at varying levels of detail. But the biggest and most important of these ideas is the Deadenders, who call themselves Singularists, and the Vacation-threatening philosophy they represent. For the bulk of Singularists, it isn't just a matter of not wanting to participate in The Infinite Vacation. There is a pseudo-religious aspect to their thinking, positing the idea that if, indeed, it is possible to visit any conceivable universe, then there must be a universe out there in which there is only one universe. I know that sounds a bit circular, but it also makes a weird kind of sense. If literally anything is possible, then it must be possible to go somewhere where nothing is possible, right?
The Singularists take this one step further, though, and say that, because this universe-of-a-single-universe must exist, then there must, in fact, only be one true universe. It is here that things become a bit more faith-based, but it's not a totally illogical viewpoint, either. This theoretical one-universe reality would, if you were there, necessarily be the one true reality, so from that point it's easy to say that it is, therefore, the one true reality for all realities. Agree with that or not (and I don't know enough about the theoretical science you'd need to know about to back up and/or refute this argument) within The Infinite Vacation, it turns out the Singularists have it right. There is one true universe, and not only does it exist, but it's going to cause the collapse of every other reality in existence.
This collapse is not a part of the Singularist movement's rhetoric, but instead comes to light when the corporation behind the The Infinite Vacation hires a team to research (and, they hope, disprove) the Singularists' claims. The researchers come back and explain that, in fact, the Singularists are correct, and that the appearance of multiple realities is merely just the one real reality waiting to be "observed." I'll admit, they lose me a bit during this part, but the long and short of it is this: the collapse of all realities into a unified one is not only inevitable, but already taking place, and Mark is the cause. Some action Mark will take or thought he'll have will set off the collapse and make it apparent to all, according to the findings. Why Mark? Well, that's the same question that The Infinite Vacation guys ask, and the best response they get is, "Why not?"
The idea seems to be that it could be anyone, it could be anything, so it might as well be Mark. If the collapse is inevitable and, in truth, an already ongoing event, then there's got to be a trigger somewhere, and Mark's as good as any. He gets to be special and unique and dangerous arbitrarily, which, while a bit frustrating on a conceptual level, is humorous and strangely appropriate reasoning on a narrative one. Especially when The Infinite Vacation's own attempt to kill Mark before he can set off the collapse ends up being exactly what causes it.
I won't spoil the ending entirely here, but suffice to say Mark does exactly what we're told he'll do, bringing The Infinite Vacation crashing down around itself and coming out the other end with only one reality left. It is a satisfying ending where our hero realizes his potential and everyone gets what they deserve. The villainous fat cats lose their wicked, dangerous business and Mark gets the girl. Or, perhaps a better way to look at it: Claire finally gets a Mark worthy of her love. He shifts from being a coward and Vacation addict who can't even work up the nerve to introduce himself into a daring action hero who's powered by his love for this incredible woman. As indecisive and unsure of himself as he is in the beginning, by the end he becomes equally confident that, regardless of what else his life throws at him, as long as Claire is a part of it he'll be ok. That's a lovely if simple sentiment, and one the series hammers hard into the reader's brain. No matter how many options modern life provides, none of them will ever be good enough if we don't first find some constants in our lives that make us happy. It may sound like common sense, but it is nevertheless a point that becomes more relevant every day as technology continues to offer us new products and experiences at ever faster and cheaper rates.
Nick Spencer isn't a writer who I usually associate with tight pacing or structure, but The Infinite Vacation is an exception. The debut alone is a shining example, introducing Mark, Claire (and, through her, Deadenders as a group), the concept of The Infinite Vacation, and several funny and/or important details about how it works all in the space of a single issue. From there, Spencer uses each issue to expand in some way everything we've seen so far, whether it's meeting the amoral head of The Infinite Vacation Mr. Vernon, discovering Claire's heartbreaking reason for being a Deadender, learning about "boxing" of threatening realities, or any number of other bits and bobs, all of which come into play in the closing chapter. That final issue, which is something like triple-sized, brings together every character and concept introduced up to that point, closing the story by revisiting and reusing all of its established ideas. That's not easy to do in this kind of sprawling, head-scratching, sci-fi tale, but Spencer pulls it off without it even seeming like a struggle. He is as sure of himself in the end as Mark, and that confidence is key to the series' success.
However, as well-planned and un-Spencerish as the scripts may be, without Christian Ward's artwork, The Infinite Vacation could've been an absolute dud. After all, even if the pacing is on point, Spencer's script does suffer sometimes from wearing its heart too much on its sleeve and/or over-explaining its bigger ideas. That's a lot easier to look past, though, when you're wrapped up in beautiful and inventive visuals, and Ward provides those on literally every page.
Firstly, the comicbook medium is ideal for this story if only because the art can help to explain or demonstrate some of the larger concepts more interestingly and in less time than it would take for Spencer to write them all out. Indeed, the several-page stretch in the third issue that is largely prose, where Spencer explains the inevitability of the collapse and reasons for it, is the driest, dullest, most confusing part of the series. Any other time we're being introduced to a new element, Ward's artwork is there to lend a hand, showing the reader an example or multiple examples of whatever is being explained so it's easier to digest/comprehend. But more than assisting in our understanding, Ward's art brings a very specific energy to this book, a kinetic and psychedelic look that is at once perfectly tailored to and strangely ill-fitting for the story. In a series about technology and reality-hopping, the expectation might be to go futuristic with the style, something a little more mainstream sci-fi. Ward moves in an entirely different, arguably opposite direction, with tie-dye colors, loose figures, generous and intelligent use of blank space, and pages that are practically standalone pieces of abstract art. These looser, jazzier, more emotive stylistic choices speak to the book's ultimate message of love and being happy with the world you're in more than they relate to the high-tech parts of the narrative, which is a smart call. Mostly, though, what works so well about Ward's art is that it would be compelling, beautiful work even if taken out of context, so when it also serves as one half of a fresh and fun comicbook story, its value is heightened exponentially.
Where Spencer's repetitious, overly-explanatory writing can at times be detrimental, Ward uses repeated imagery to great effect, which in turn softens the blow when Spencer repeats himself needlessly. There are images we see over and over again throughout the entire series, some that are used only within a single issue, and even moments where an individual page or panel has multiple copies of something that will never again return. When Mark learns in the first issue that a lot of other Marks have been dying recently, Ward draws an enormous, spiraling image of a bunch of feet with toe tags on them, like you'd find in the morgue. It's not an image that gets revisited, but it sticks nonetheless, because it is so funny and peculiar and so succinctly yet precisely sums up what Mark is feeling in that moment. Meanwhile, the visuals that do carry over from issue to issue help create some consistency in a story that's all about change.
Ward likes to pack his pages more often than not, so the art is very dense, which, again, goes along with the narrative nicely. Yet the strongest artistic moments, for me, at least, are when Ward instead pulls back and gives us a single, clean shot of something significant. Claire's first appearance springs to mind, where she gets an entire page with a blank background devoted to her. I think my favorite, though, comes in issue #4, where there's a two-page spread of Mark is lying in the snow with a young boy standing next to him saying, "You're not my dad." When it happens, it is intentionally confusing, yet even without knowing exactly what's going on there is an incredible sense of importance on those pages, which are, in fact, the beginning of a deeply moving and significant scene. These quieter, more focused moments, on top of being visually stunning, also serve to remind us of the series' ultimate message. While the world offers innumerable avenues of over-stimulation and distraction, it will always be more satisfying to zero our focus on the smaller things in life that bring us joy and let them drown out the rest of the noise. That's what Ward forces us to do on these pages, and it's what The Infinite Vacation wants us to do in the world beyond said pages.
There is a final visual technique that I'm actually not certain should be attributed to Ward, but since he is credited with all of the artwork I have to assume he's responsible for this, too. I'm talking about the photographed pages. There is at least one scene in every issue where all of the panels are actual pictures of real live humans (except the finale, where we get photos on top of hand-drawn panels). Mostly these are used for Infinite Vacation promotional material, though the video laying out the Singularists' viewpoint is also done with this method. Though it's not immediately obvious why the change is made, over time it comes to light that these ads, done in the photographs, are basically lies, while the truth of the story is hand-drawn. It's a simple but effective reversal, using real people for scenes of deceit, and they're all brief and humorous enough not to detract from the series as a whole. It's also an opportunity for Spencer to discuss or even introduce some of his ideas from the point of view of characters other than Mark, without having to fully hand over the narration duties to someone else. And some of the title's strongest humor comes from these photos, which tend to be emotionally exaggerated and feature characters talking out their asses, trying to convince the world that The Infinite Vacation does more good than harm. Never overbearing and always well-timed, these photo scenes are one more visual flourish that sets this book apart.
The Infinite Vacation is a remarkably simple love story folded into a more complex piece of science fiction societal commentary. Both of those facets are right there on the surface, though, which is, if nothing else, a change of pace for this type of story (and for Spencer as a writer). Though there are plenty of questions, there's not a great deal of mystery, because the series opts instead for transparency, laying out the rules and realities of its world honestly and eagerly. It tells us outright what Mark needs and what he's going to do, and then we watch him do it and, in the process, get just what he needs. Yet it manages to surprise along the way, divulging new details and heightening the stakes gradually until an infinite number of entire universes are destroyed. And Christian Ward attempts new feats of artistic acrobatics all the time, toying with color, layout, medium, non-linear storytelling, repeated imagery, and various other tricks and treats, all the while maintaining narrative clarity and a lightweight liveliness in the visual tone and texture. It's a romp, basically, a sweet and funny day-glo romance bearing warnings from a hypothetical not-too-distant future.
Despite never fully liking the main character, I quite enjoyed The Infinite Vacation. The protagonist, Mark, doesn't particularly care for himself, either, so at least we agreed on that, and everything else that goes down in this story is so energetic, interesting, and goddamn gorgeous that it's easy to overlook a lame leading man. Also, it's not as if Mark has no redeeming qualities. He's just...more pathetic than sympathetic, a passive force for four issues before finally growing the brains and balls to take action in the fifth. Then again, Mark's passivity ties directly into one of the major themes of the book, namely how technology gives us so many choices that none can ever satisfy. It's hard for Mark to know for sure what he wants because he's never had to settle for any one reality in his life. This is a story about discovering the one thing that makes all other choices seem immaterial, and it is in that discovery that Mark becomes a man I can root for rather than merely put up with.
Let me see how succinctly I can summarize this: The Infinite Vacation is a phone app that allows people to see all of the possible lives they could have led in all possible realities, and then bid on those lives against other version of themselves. If you win the bid, you are transported to the new reality, and get to live the life of a different you for as long as you please. Mark is a bit of a serial vacationer, never happy with the life he's chosen and constantly looking for a new, better Mark to become. The problem is that, no matter where he starts out, he finds himself ending up in the same places over and over again: dead-end jobs, stale romances, disillusionment, boredom, depression. This cycle persists until he meets Claire, the woman who's destiny is to push Mark toward his destiny.
Claire is the strongest character in the series. She's everything Mark isn't, in more ways than one. Decisive, confident, comfortable in her own skin, and, most importantly, she's a Deadender, meaning she does not use The Infinite Vacation at all. One reality suits Claire just fine, which at first confuses and even frustrates Mark. But when they find themselves thrust together and fighting to preserve their very existence, Mark is able to find in Claire an understanding of and personal reason for the desire to lead a single, unique life instead of exploring the endless options of multiple realities.
There is a definite heavy-handedness in the presentation of this lesson. Nick Spencer's script, like Mark as a character, can sometimes be a little much, becoming obnoxious with its repetition of the same ideas and the overt, bang-you-over-the-head delivery of its moral(s). There are a lot complex bits and pieces involved in the high concept of this series, and Spencer takes the time to explain and then reexplain them all, exploring the myriad ethical, technological, and philosophical questions something as powerful and popular as The Infinite Vacation would necessarily bring up. The side effect of that thoroughness is that things get revisited and reiterated several times by different characters with different viewpoints, and the ultimate resolution of Mark's journey is telegraphed many times before the man himself arrives there.
In the opening issue, as a matter of fact, Mark is told in no uncertain terms by a surfer-dude version of himself that he should find one thing in this life that makes him happy and give that one this his all, rather than lily-padding from world to world without knowing what he's even looking for. So there's no great subtlety in Spencer's story, nor ambiguity as to where the book stands. And Mark's decision to choose Claire as his one thing is not at all a surprise, nor is it meant to be. She is set up to fill that role for him from her very first appearance, and never once slips from that position. Mark and Claire's path isn't entirely clear, but their destination always is. How they make it there is where things get more bizarre and unexpected.
I mentioned that Spencer does a thorough job of discussing various problems or points of contention that The Infinite Vacation would raise if it really existed. And he does, with things like "boxing" (i.e. erasing from existence) hostile realities that pose a threat to others, having everyone go to copies of themselves for therapy and customer service, what "identity theft" means in a world where you can steal information from a different you, and so on, covering topics large and small at varying levels of detail. But the biggest and most important of these ideas is the Deadenders, who call themselves Singularists, and the Vacation-threatening philosophy they represent. For the bulk of Singularists, it isn't just a matter of not wanting to participate in The Infinite Vacation. There is a pseudo-religious aspect to their thinking, positing the idea that if, indeed, it is possible to visit any conceivable universe, then there must be a universe out there in which there is only one universe. I know that sounds a bit circular, but it also makes a weird kind of sense. If literally anything is possible, then it must be possible to go somewhere where nothing is possible, right?
The Singularists take this one step further, though, and say that, because this universe-of-a-single-universe must exist, then there must, in fact, only be one true universe. It is here that things become a bit more faith-based, but it's not a totally illogical viewpoint, either. This theoretical one-universe reality would, if you were there, necessarily be the one true reality, so from that point it's easy to say that it is, therefore, the one true reality for all realities. Agree with that or not (and I don't know enough about the theoretical science you'd need to know about to back up and/or refute this argument) within The Infinite Vacation, it turns out the Singularists have it right. There is one true universe, and not only does it exist, but it's going to cause the collapse of every other reality in existence.
This collapse is not a part of the Singularist movement's rhetoric, but instead comes to light when the corporation behind the The Infinite Vacation hires a team to research (and, they hope, disprove) the Singularists' claims. The researchers come back and explain that, in fact, the Singularists are correct, and that the appearance of multiple realities is merely just the one real reality waiting to be "observed." I'll admit, they lose me a bit during this part, but the long and short of it is this: the collapse of all realities into a unified one is not only inevitable, but already taking place, and Mark is the cause. Some action Mark will take or thought he'll have will set off the collapse and make it apparent to all, according to the findings. Why Mark? Well, that's the same question that The Infinite Vacation guys ask, and the best response they get is, "Why not?"
The idea seems to be that it could be anyone, it could be anything, so it might as well be Mark. If the collapse is inevitable and, in truth, an already ongoing event, then there's got to be a trigger somewhere, and Mark's as good as any. He gets to be special and unique and dangerous arbitrarily, which, while a bit frustrating on a conceptual level, is humorous and strangely appropriate reasoning on a narrative one. Especially when The Infinite Vacation's own attempt to kill Mark before he can set off the collapse ends up being exactly what causes it.
I won't spoil the ending entirely here, but suffice to say Mark does exactly what we're told he'll do, bringing The Infinite Vacation crashing down around itself and coming out the other end with only one reality left. It is a satisfying ending where our hero realizes his potential and everyone gets what they deserve. The villainous fat cats lose their wicked, dangerous business and Mark gets the girl. Or, perhaps a better way to look at it: Claire finally gets a Mark worthy of her love. He shifts from being a coward and Vacation addict who can't even work up the nerve to introduce himself into a daring action hero who's powered by his love for this incredible woman. As indecisive and unsure of himself as he is in the beginning, by the end he becomes equally confident that, regardless of what else his life throws at him, as long as Claire is a part of it he'll be ok. That's a lovely if simple sentiment, and one the series hammers hard into the reader's brain. No matter how many options modern life provides, none of them will ever be good enough if we don't first find some constants in our lives that make us happy. It may sound like common sense, but it is nevertheless a point that becomes more relevant every day as technology continues to offer us new products and experiences at ever faster and cheaper rates.
Nick Spencer isn't a writer who I usually associate with tight pacing or structure, but The Infinite Vacation is an exception. The debut alone is a shining example, introducing Mark, Claire (and, through her, Deadenders as a group), the concept of The Infinite Vacation, and several funny and/or important details about how it works all in the space of a single issue. From there, Spencer uses each issue to expand in some way everything we've seen so far, whether it's meeting the amoral head of The Infinite Vacation Mr. Vernon, discovering Claire's heartbreaking reason for being a Deadender, learning about "boxing" of threatening realities, or any number of other bits and bobs, all of which come into play in the closing chapter. That final issue, which is something like triple-sized, brings together every character and concept introduced up to that point, closing the story by revisiting and reusing all of its established ideas. That's not easy to do in this kind of sprawling, head-scratching, sci-fi tale, but Spencer pulls it off without it even seeming like a struggle. He is as sure of himself in the end as Mark, and that confidence is key to the series' success.
However, as well-planned and un-Spencerish as the scripts may be, without Christian Ward's artwork, The Infinite Vacation could've been an absolute dud. After all, even if the pacing is on point, Spencer's script does suffer sometimes from wearing its heart too much on its sleeve and/or over-explaining its bigger ideas. That's a lot easier to look past, though, when you're wrapped up in beautiful and inventive visuals, and Ward provides those on literally every page.
Firstly, the comicbook medium is ideal for this story if only because the art can help to explain or demonstrate some of the larger concepts more interestingly and in less time than it would take for Spencer to write them all out. Indeed, the several-page stretch in the third issue that is largely prose, where Spencer explains the inevitability of the collapse and reasons for it, is the driest, dullest, most confusing part of the series. Any other time we're being introduced to a new element, Ward's artwork is there to lend a hand, showing the reader an example or multiple examples of whatever is being explained so it's easier to digest/comprehend. But more than assisting in our understanding, Ward's art brings a very specific energy to this book, a kinetic and psychedelic look that is at once perfectly tailored to and strangely ill-fitting for the story. In a series about technology and reality-hopping, the expectation might be to go futuristic with the style, something a little more mainstream sci-fi. Ward moves in an entirely different, arguably opposite direction, with tie-dye colors, loose figures, generous and intelligent use of blank space, and pages that are practically standalone pieces of abstract art. These looser, jazzier, more emotive stylistic choices speak to the book's ultimate message of love and being happy with the world you're in more than they relate to the high-tech parts of the narrative, which is a smart call. Mostly, though, what works so well about Ward's art is that it would be compelling, beautiful work even if taken out of context, so when it also serves as one half of a fresh and fun comicbook story, its value is heightened exponentially.
Where Spencer's repetitious, overly-explanatory writing can at times be detrimental, Ward uses repeated imagery to great effect, which in turn softens the blow when Spencer repeats himself needlessly. There are images we see over and over again throughout the entire series, some that are used only within a single issue, and even moments where an individual page or panel has multiple copies of something that will never again return. When Mark learns in the first issue that a lot of other Marks have been dying recently, Ward draws an enormous, spiraling image of a bunch of feet with toe tags on them, like you'd find in the morgue. It's not an image that gets revisited, but it sticks nonetheless, because it is so funny and peculiar and so succinctly yet precisely sums up what Mark is feeling in that moment. Meanwhile, the visuals that do carry over from issue to issue help create some consistency in a story that's all about change.
Ward likes to pack his pages more often than not, so the art is very dense, which, again, goes along with the narrative nicely. Yet the strongest artistic moments, for me, at least, are when Ward instead pulls back and gives us a single, clean shot of something significant. Claire's first appearance springs to mind, where she gets an entire page with a blank background devoted to her. I think my favorite, though, comes in issue #4, where there's a two-page spread of Mark is lying in the snow with a young boy standing next to him saying, "You're not my dad." When it happens, it is intentionally confusing, yet even without knowing exactly what's going on there is an incredible sense of importance on those pages, which are, in fact, the beginning of a deeply moving and significant scene. These quieter, more focused moments, on top of being visually stunning, also serve to remind us of the series' ultimate message. While the world offers innumerable avenues of over-stimulation and distraction, it will always be more satisfying to zero our focus on the smaller things in life that bring us joy and let them drown out the rest of the noise. That's what Ward forces us to do on these pages, and it's what The Infinite Vacation wants us to do in the world beyond said pages.
There is a final visual technique that I'm actually not certain should be attributed to Ward, but since he is credited with all of the artwork I have to assume he's responsible for this, too. I'm talking about the photographed pages. There is at least one scene in every issue where all of the panels are actual pictures of real live humans (except the finale, where we get photos on top of hand-drawn panels). Mostly these are used for Infinite Vacation promotional material, though the video laying out the Singularists' viewpoint is also done with this method. Though it's not immediately obvious why the change is made, over time it comes to light that these ads, done in the photographs, are basically lies, while the truth of the story is hand-drawn. It's a simple but effective reversal, using real people for scenes of deceit, and they're all brief and humorous enough not to detract from the series as a whole. It's also an opportunity for Spencer to discuss or even introduce some of his ideas from the point of view of characters other than Mark, without having to fully hand over the narration duties to someone else. And some of the title's strongest humor comes from these photos, which tend to be emotionally exaggerated and feature characters talking out their asses, trying to convince the world that The Infinite Vacation does more good than harm. Never overbearing and always well-timed, these photo scenes are one more visual flourish that sets this book apart.
The Infinite Vacation is a remarkably simple love story folded into a more complex piece of science fiction societal commentary. Both of those facets are right there on the surface, though, which is, if nothing else, a change of pace for this type of story (and for Spencer as a writer). Though there are plenty of questions, there's not a great deal of mystery, because the series opts instead for transparency, laying out the rules and realities of its world honestly and eagerly. It tells us outright what Mark needs and what he's going to do, and then we watch him do it and, in the process, get just what he needs. Yet it manages to surprise along the way, divulging new details and heightening the stakes gradually until an infinite number of entire universes are destroyed. And Christian Ward attempts new feats of artistic acrobatics all the time, toying with color, layout, medium, non-linear storytelling, repeated imagery, and various other tricks and treats, all the while maintaining narrative clarity and a lightweight liveliness in the visual tone and texture. It's a romp, basically, a sweet and funny day-glo romance bearing warnings from a hypothetical not-too-distant future.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Nick Spencer & the Poorly-Paced Mystery (Part 2 of 2)
Part 1 of this column can be found 4 entries below, or jumped to here.
When Morning Glories starts out, it seems like it's going to be an awesome supernatural mystery. But it provides too few clues, and slowly at that, so it becomes overbearing with its questions as time goes on. In some ways, T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents and Ultimate Comics X-Men suffer from the opposite problem. What appear at first to be pretty standard superhero adventure series quickly overwhelm their readers with too much new information too often. Any time an interesting thread is introduced, it is then quickly set aside in favor of some fresh character or concept, and so nothing gets explored or explained satisfactorily. Unlike Morning Glories, Spencer actually manages to complete some of the narratives he begins in these other two titles, but often in ways that undermine whatever made the stories interesting in the first place.
In T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents, the problem is primarily one of trust. Double-double-crosses, sides we didn't even know existed, dead characters who aren't really dead...pretty much every single issue of T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents contains at least one reveal that undoes or contradicts something previously (and sometimes only recently) established as true. The twists never stop, and you begin to expect them, not due to any well-placed hints, but merely because the plot relies on them to move forward. It's one thing to have a book that keeps its audience guessing, but when you give the readers nothing to hold on to, nothing we know to be definitively true, right down to which characters we are supposed to be rooting for...what are we even reading? Why are we reading? Again, I wouldn't mind as much if it didn't happen so damn often, but we never get to catch our breath between gasp moments, and the overall effect is less having the rug pulled out from under us and more lying on the rug and rolling around aimlessly.
Then in the final two issues, Spencer undoes the entire concept behind T.H.U.N.D.E.R.: that its agents give their lives in exchange for their powers. And, again, why does he do this? What purpose does it serve other than to make one more thing into a lie? Toby and Dunn are still dead, and those are the characters we actually got to know, aside from Colleen. Having Dynamo and Lightning living under assumed aliases does nothing for me, except cheapen the promise I was given when this title started that these men were going to sacrifice themselves for a cause.
The possible exceptions to this rule of a steady stream of misinformation are the four issues that tell the Iron Maiden story, but they have a pacing-related problem all their own. Which is that, basically, they should be combined into one well-written issue, rather than stretched needlessly over four. None of the five-page back-up stories give us any information we didn't already have, nor do they paint a particularly vivid or compelling image of the original Dynamo or Iron Maiden. And the main narrative could lose pages upon pages of uninteresting fight scenes, chase scenes, and vegetable chopping scenes. Not even sure anything in issue #7 is all that important. So while there may not be a lot of big reveals in those issues, it's mostly because there's just not a lot of anything there.
Ultimate Comics X-Men lies somewhere in the middle of the Morning Glories-T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents spectrum. There is definitely an overarching mystery that is taking a frustratingly long time to develop (MG's), having to do with all these supposedly dead characters (TA) returning and doling out pseudo-religious missions. We've seen three of them now---Stryker, Xavier, Magneto---but still have no sense of what they are, what they want, who controls them, how, or why (MG's). But what's even more annoying is that rather than stretch out that mystery only, Spencer switches his focus to entirely new casts and locations (TA), so that there have now been three consecutive issues which, as far as I can tell, don't touch on this mystery whatsoever. So in addition to having to remember all the dead people stuff that came before, there's this whole Camp Angel business as well as Jean Grey/Karen Grant's totally unclear role and motive in Tian. Man, that Karen Grant issue (#8) is an example of Ultimate Comics X-Men swinging way over to the T.H.U.N.D.E.R. side of things. Seriously, what am I meant to believe about her and what should I think is a lie? Because I don't know, and Spencer hasn't brought it up since. And the man only has two issues left before a new writer takes the helm, so my hopes are not high to have all the threads tied up before his term on the title ends.
Most disappointing is that it took a while for Ultimate Comics X-Men to really fall victim to Spencer's pacing and lack of focus. By the time Professor X took up the entire last page of #6, though, things had really started to slip, and it's only gotten messier.
What all three series have in common is this: at the end of the day, I'm just not sure what they are about. Ultimate Comics X-Men seems to be about a whole new thing as often as it feels like. Sure, there's the idea that mutants are a government mistake that has more or less been holding things together, but there's no emotional core or even protagonist, yet, and if you can't find that in ten issues then why would you expect it to ever develop? T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents definitely tells a complete story by the end, putting all the characters thorough their own personalized trials and changes, but it sort of feels like it ended up being about Toby, Colleen, and the Menthor helmet. Which I don't know how I feel about, since Colleen is a big fat liar, Toby's dead, and the Menthor helmet is one of the most ridiculous and vague concepts I've ever had the pleasure of trying to understand. Then there's Morning Glories which, in one more issue than the entirety of T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents, has yet be about anything other than a weird school with weird people doing random strange and violent shit for unknown reasons.
Nick Spencer is not a bad writer. His characters are usually quite rich, his dialogue full of humanity and humor, and his ideas are often bold and big and bright. But he can't seem to get the reins on them, for one reason or another, and his writing is worse for it. If he could see the difference between having readers be confused and surprised and having them be genuinely interested in or impressed by a story, I think his work might greatly improve. But of course, he already has my money, and the money of so many others, so there can't be much incentive to change.
Then again, T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents has ended, Spencer is soon departing Ultimate Comics X-Men, and Morning Glories concludes its current arc next issue. Perhaps there's never been a better time to give up Nick Spencer for good...
When Morning Glories starts out, it seems like it's going to be an awesome supernatural mystery. But it provides too few clues, and slowly at that, so it becomes overbearing with its questions as time goes on. In some ways, T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents and Ultimate Comics X-Men suffer from the opposite problem. What appear at first to be pretty standard superhero adventure series quickly overwhelm their readers with too much new information too often. Any time an interesting thread is introduced, it is then quickly set aside in favor of some fresh character or concept, and so nothing gets explored or explained satisfactorily. Unlike Morning Glories, Spencer actually manages to complete some of the narratives he begins in these other two titles, but often in ways that undermine whatever made the stories interesting in the first place.
In T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents, the problem is primarily one of trust. Double-double-crosses, sides we didn't even know existed, dead characters who aren't really dead...pretty much every single issue of T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents contains at least one reveal that undoes or contradicts something previously (and sometimes only recently) established as true. The twists never stop, and you begin to expect them, not due to any well-placed hints, but merely because the plot relies on them to move forward. It's one thing to have a book that keeps its audience guessing, but when you give the readers nothing to hold on to, nothing we know to be definitively true, right down to which characters we are supposed to be rooting for...what are we even reading? Why are we reading? Again, I wouldn't mind as much if it didn't happen so damn often, but we never get to catch our breath between gasp moments, and the overall effect is less having the rug pulled out from under us and more lying on the rug and rolling around aimlessly.
Then in the final two issues, Spencer undoes the entire concept behind T.H.U.N.D.E.R.: that its agents give their lives in exchange for their powers. And, again, why does he do this? What purpose does it serve other than to make one more thing into a lie? Toby and Dunn are still dead, and those are the characters we actually got to know, aside from Colleen. Having Dynamo and Lightning living under assumed aliases does nothing for me, except cheapen the promise I was given when this title started that these men were going to sacrifice themselves for a cause.
The possible exceptions to this rule of a steady stream of misinformation are the four issues that tell the Iron Maiden story, but they have a pacing-related problem all their own. Which is that, basically, they should be combined into one well-written issue, rather than stretched needlessly over four. None of the five-page back-up stories give us any information we didn't already have, nor do they paint a particularly vivid or compelling image of the original Dynamo or Iron Maiden. And the main narrative could lose pages upon pages of uninteresting fight scenes, chase scenes, and vegetable chopping scenes. Not even sure anything in issue #7 is all that important. So while there may not be a lot of big reveals in those issues, it's mostly because there's just not a lot of anything there.
Ultimate Comics X-Men lies somewhere in the middle of the Morning Glories-T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents spectrum. There is definitely an overarching mystery that is taking a frustratingly long time to develop (MG's), having to do with all these supposedly dead characters (TA) returning and doling out pseudo-religious missions. We've seen three of them now---Stryker, Xavier, Magneto---but still have no sense of what they are, what they want, who controls them, how, or why (MG's). But what's even more annoying is that rather than stretch out that mystery only, Spencer switches his focus to entirely new casts and locations (TA), so that there have now been three consecutive issues which, as far as I can tell, don't touch on this mystery whatsoever. So in addition to having to remember all the dead people stuff that came before, there's this whole Camp Angel business as well as Jean Grey/Karen Grant's totally unclear role and motive in Tian. Man, that Karen Grant issue (#8) is an example of Ultimate Comics X-Men swinging way over to the T.H.U.N.D.E.R. side of things. Seriously, what am I meant to believe about her and what should I think is a lie? Because I don't know, and Spencer hasn't brought it up since. And the man only has two issues left before a new writer takes the helm, so my hopes are not high to have all the threads tied up before his term on the title ends.
Most disappointing is that it took a while for Ultimate Comics X-Men to really fall victim to Spencer's pacing and lack of focus. By the time Professor X took up the entire last page of #6, though, things had really started to slip, and it's only gotten messier.
What all three series have in common is this: at the end of the day, I'm just not sure what they are about. Ultimate Comics X-Men seems to be about a whole new thing as often as it feels like. Sure, there's the idea that mutants are a government mistake that has more or less been holding things together, but there's no emotional core or even protagonist, yet, and if you can't find that in ten issues then why would you expect it to ever develop? T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents definitely tells a complete story by the end, putting all the characters thorough their own personalized trials and changes, but it sort of feels like it ended up being about Toby, Colleen, and the Menthor helmet. Which I don't know how I feel about, since Colleen is a big fat liar, Toby's dead, and the Menthor helmet is one of the most ridiculous and vague concepts I've ever had the pleasure of trying to understand. Then there's Morning Glories which, in one more issue than the entirety of T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents, has yet be about anything other than a weird school with weird people doing random strange and violent shit for unknown reasons.
Nick Spencer is not a bad writer. His characters are usually quite rich, his dialogue full of humanity and humor, and his ideas are often bold and big and bright. But he can't seem to get the reins on them, for one reason or another, and his writing is worse for it. If he could see the difference between having readers be confused and surprised and having them be genuinely interested in or impressed by a story, I think his work might greatly improve. But of course, he already has my money, and the money of so many others, so there can't be much incentive to change.
Then again, T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents has ended, Spencer is soon departing Ultimate Comics X-Men, and Morning Glories concludes its current arc next issue. Perhaps there's never been a better time to give up Nick Spencer for good...
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Nick Spencer & the Poorly-Paced Mystery (Part 1 of 2)
I want to like Nick Spencer more than I actually like him. The pitches for his series tend to hook me, but more often than not I find myself disappointed by the actual thing. Now, Spencer hasn't been around all that long, and I haven't read everything he's ever written, so maybe it's too early for me to generalize like that (or to generalize in the ways I'm about to). But I have read all of his work on of Morning Glories, T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents, and Ultimate Comics X-Men, and those are the titles I want to talk about here. On the surface they seem pretty distinct and disparate. The first is a creator-owned series from Image, the second a reboot of a classic DC superhero/spy series, and the third a major title from Marvel's Ultimate Universe. But I found all three to be equally frustrating letdowns, and when I examine them together, the reason becomes clear: Nick Spencer has terrible pacing. Not just because he dramatically decompresses his narratives, which he does, but so do many other writers to varying degrees of success. Spencer's problem is that even while slow-cooking his stories, he can't stop himself from constantly adding new ingredients, and the result is a dish with so many combating and confounding flavors that you can't tell what it was supposed to be in the first place. In their own ways and for their own reasons, all three of the above-mentioned comicbooks suffer from this problem, but the clearest and most aggravating example is Morning Glories, Spencer's own creation.
In its very first issue, Morning Glories doesn't seem like it's going to be the infuriatingly slow, muddled story it has since become. We actually get a whole lot in that initial installment: we meet our six protagonists and get clear, succinct introductions to their personalities; we learn that Morning Glory Academy is full of evil and lies and has an unseen Headmaster behind the wheel; we see that weird giant spinning thing for the first time; and we discover that the school is looking for a particular kind of child (also born on a certain day) and that anyone who doesn't fit the bill---"The boy's not one of them," says Gribbs---is expendable. We also end up with a vast list of questions, like, what does "For A Better Future" mean? What was happening on the first page? What, exactly, does the school want from these kids? Who's that ghost-looking guy and why'd he kill somebody? What is the giant spinning thing? Are Casey's parents really dead? And why? And how could the school get away with that? In fact, how does it get away with ANY of this while simultaneously being so reputable?
The problem is, not only have none of these questions been answered, but virtually every issue that's followed has served only to pile on the confusion and mystery. So now we're seventeen issues deep, and still have little to no understanding of the school's purpose or goals. Meanwhile, the six main characters who seemed so familiar at first have each been given their own twists and revelations, shrouding them now in uncertainty. Hunter has a problem telling time when it matters, but the significance of him always seeing 8:13 is unknown. Zoe's a murderer, but we can't tell if she's aware of it. Casey went back in time somehow and is going to do something to save everyone, maybe. Jun is actually his own twin and the school doesn't know about it. Jade can talk to herself from the future, apparently. Ike killed but also didn't kill his dad who is also Abraham. And yes, all of that is pretty cool...but what does any of it mean? Why do I care? Couldn't these seemingly disconnected facts about the characters be greatly enhanced by telling us why they matter? At all?
It's an awful lot of story space to use up without shedding any light on what's really going on, and it makes it extremely difficult to keep track of the innumerable tiny but supposedly significant hints Spencer drops along the way. Like the nine random images flashed before Casey and the reader's eyes in issue #13. Or the shit Hunter mutters before the explosion in #15. Or literally anything that happens in the whole of issue #6 (by far the most aggravating and unanswered chapter to date). If I were to try and list ALL of the small details provided and the big questions raised by the series so far, my fingers or my keyboard would probably break. Every plot beat is another mystery, but nothing ever gets solved.
I understand that all of this is by design. Rather than give us a few questions, then some knowledge, then some questions, then some knowledge, Spencer chooses to bombard us with the questions first. Then, in theory, somewhere down the line there'll be a turn and suddenly we'll be showered with answers. And it is clear that Spencer does have something planned, because even though we don't know what the fuck is going on, things are confusing in a consistent way. Lots of cryptic phrases are repeated and we see characters like Abraham showing up in the lives of all our main characters, so it's evident that a destination exists. But the longer we go without so much as a snippet of what that destination might look like, all the while dealing with a steady stream of new but not helpful information, the less I care to stay on for the ride. No matter how fully-formed and fun to watch the cast may be, when the stakes of the game they are playing remain so obscure, my emotional investment and interest naturally tapers off.
Spencer has said on more than one occasion that he imagines Morning Glories running for something like 100 issues, which means we're not even though the first twenty per cent of the overall narrative yet, so perhaps I am being impatient. And of course part of the main thrust of the story is the very fact that the kids don't know what's going on at Morning Glory Academy and are trying to figure it out before the school...does whatever it's trying to do to them. So a certain amount of the answers, I am certain, must remain secret for now out of necessity. But Spencer spends pretty much all of issue #17 in a conversation between Ike and Jade that is almost entirely recap. Then there's #12, where all we really get is the briefest of introductions to Miss Hodge---she's popular and helpful but her history and motives are just as unknown as the rest of the staff's---who then acts as a vehicle to check in for a page or two with each of our six kids, offering no new insights into any of them, just sort of reminding us who they are. And as I've said, the worst of the bunch is #6, which takes place entirely in what seems to be the future, uses almost all new characters who we haven't seen since, and devotes its entire last page to a splash image that is an obvious, meaningless dud of a reveal. Even if you have 2,200 pages to work with, that is a waste of space.
So Morning Glories trudges along, inch by baffling inch.
Next time: The more enjoyable but just-as-annoyingly-paced T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents and Ultimate Comics X-Men
In its very first issue, Morning Glories doesn't seem like it's going to be the infuriatingly slow, muddled story it has since become. We actually get a whole lot in that initial installment: we meet our six protagonists and get clear, succinct introductions to their personalities; we learn that Morning Glory Academy is full of evil and lies and has an unseen Headmaster behind the wheel; we see that weird giant spinning thing for the first time; and we discover that the school is looking for a particular kind of child (also born on a certain day) and that anyone who doesn't fit the bill---"The boy's not one of them," says Gribbs---is expendable. We also end up with a vast list of questions, like, what does "For A Better Future" mean? What was happening on the first page? What, exactly, does the school want from these kids? Who's that ghost-looking guy and why'd he kill somebody? What is the giant spinning thing? Are Casey's parents really dead? And why? And how could the school get away with that? In fact, how does it get away with ANY of this while simultaneously being so reputable?
The problem is, not only have none of these questions been answered, but virtually every issue that's followed has served only to pile on the confusion and mystery. So now we're seventeen issues deep, and still have little to no understanding of the school's purpose or goals. Meanwhile, the six main characters who seemed so familiar at first have each been given their own twists and revelations, shrouding them now in uncertainty. Hunter has a problem telling time when it matters, but the significance of him always seeing 8:13 is unknown. Zoe's a murderer, but we can't tell if she's aware of it. Casey went back in time somehow and is going to do something to save everyone, maybe. Jun is actually his own twin and the school doesn't know about it. Jade can talk to herself from the future, apparently. Ike killed but also didn't kill his dad who is also Abraham. And yes, all of that is pretty cool...but what does any of it mean? Why do I care? Couldn't these seemingly disconnected facts about the characters be greatly enhanced by telling us why they matter? At all?
It's an awful lot of story space to use up without shedding any light on what's really going on, and it makes it extremely difficult to keep track of the innumerable tiny but supposedly significant hints Spencer drops along the way. Like the nine random images flashed before Casey and the reader's eyes in issue #13. Or the shit Hunter mutters before the explosion in #15. Or literally anything that happens in the whole of issue #6 (by far the most aggravating and unanswered chapter to date). If I were to try and list ALL of the small details provided and the big questions raised by the series so far, my fingers or my keyboard would probably break. Every plot beat is another mystery, but nothing ever gets solved.
I understand that all of this is by design. Rather than give us a few questions, then some knowledge, then some questions, then some knowledge, Spencer chooses to bombard us with the questions first. Then, in theory, somewhere down the line there'll be a turn and suddenly we'll be showered with answers. And it is clear that Spencer does have something planned, because even though we don't know what the fuck is going on, things are confusing in a consistent way. Lots of cryptic phrases are repeated and we see characters like Abraham showing up in the lives of all our main characters, so it's evident that a destination exists. But the longer we go without so much as a snippet of what that destination might look like, all the while dealing with a steady stream of new but not helpful information, the less I care to stay on for the ride. No matter how fully-formed and fun to watch the cast may be, when the stakes of the game they are playing remain so obscure, my emotional investment and interest naturally tapers off.
Spencer has said on more than one occasion that he imagines Morning Glories running for something like 100 issues, which means we're not even though the first twenty per cent of the overall narrative yet, so perhaps I am being impatient. And of course part of the main thrust of the story is the very fact that the kids don't know what's going on at Morning Glory Academy and are trying to figure it out before the school...does whatever it's trying to do to them. So a certain amount of the answers, I am certain, must remain secret for now out of necessity. But Spencer spends pretty much all of issue #17 in a conversation between Ike and Jade that is almost entirely recap. Then there's #12, where all we really get is the briefest of introductions to Miss Hodge---she's popular and helpful but her history and motives are just as unknown as the rest of the staff's---who then acts as a vehicle to check in for a page or two with each of our six kids, offering no new insights into any of them, just sort of reminding us who they are. And as I've said, the worst of the bunch is #6, which takes place entirely in what seems to be the future, uses almost all new characters who we haven't seen since, and devotes its entire last page to a splash image that is an obvious, meaningless dud of a reveal. Even if you have 2,200 pages to work with, that is a waste of space.
So Morning Glories trudges along, inch by baffling inch.
Next time: The more enjoyable but just-as-annoyingly-paced T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents and Ultimate Comics X-Men
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