Elsewhere

This week, I wrote about Zero by Ales Kot and a whole slew of incredible artists over at PopMatters. That's been a gratifying book to follow so far, always doing new things and old things with equal skill and care. I also had my last ever Chemical Box"1987 and All That" column go up, on the final issue of Dakota North. The Chemical Box guys have decided to stop with written content on the site, but fear not, because I'm not going to stop writing the "1987" pieces, since they are maybe my favorite thing to work on. They'll have a new home next month, but more on that when it happens.

Something I Failed to Mention
I know that, at some point in preparing the Dakota North post, I made myself a note to talk about the cover. I have a vivid memory of typing that note. But apparently I didn't save it or didn't see it or something, because I made no mention of the cover at all when I actually wrote the thing, and it warrants mentioning. Real quick, check it out below:

What the fuck is happening with her arm? Is it just that the oversized sleeve makes it look misshapen, or is her elbow actually twisting backwards like that? I've stared at this a lot and I go back and forth on that one. There's also the fact that this whole pose is a bit on the brokeback side, inasmuch as Dakota's body is essentially in an S-shape so that her butt can be part of the foreground. But it's that arm that really bugs and distract and confounds me. Especially when I ask myself why, if she was whipping around with a gun out, presumably believing there's danger behind her, she would even have her other hand on her hip to begin with. Or her thigh or wherever it actually is. Like it should be out to the side, right? Helping carry her body through the spin? A very awkward bit of positioning, which is actually a fitting lead-in to the issue that follows.

Elsewhere

This week, my usual Iconographies column was published over at PopMatters, this time talking about FBP: Federal Bureau of Physics and how nothing ever quite stabilizes or settles down in it. That's been a fun and peculiar series, and Robbi Rodriguez's art is phenomenal. My latest "1987 And All That" post always went up at The Chemical Box, discussing Mephisto Vs., a four-issue mini-series about Mephisto fighting, one after the other, the Fantastic Four, X-Factor, the X-Men, and the Avengers. It's a hyper-formulaic gimmick comic, but John Buscema drew it and Mephisto had an entertaining personality, basically a spoiled child but with near-endless magical power, so overall I had a good time reading it. I'll probably never repeat the experience, but I don't regret it, which is more than I can say than some things I've read.

Something I Failed to Mention
My focus during the FBP piece was the book's unpredictability, so I didn't get around to talking about the other thing I love about it (aside from Rodriguez's work, as I mentioned above). In a very understated, subtly-played way, FBP is a crime procedural, and crime procedurals are my bread and butter. Because the problems the FBP handles are all cases of freak physics, the series looks on the surface like more of a string of sci-fi disaster stories. But all of the incidents so far have also involved some amount of criminal human interference or manipulation, making them crimes to be solved as well as scientific mysteries. Of course, the methods that the FBP uses to deal with these human problems, which are technically outside of their jurisdiction, are unusual and ethically/morally questionable. That's part of why it takes a while to see FBP as a crime procedural at all, and it's also what sets it apart from the many, many other such series that already exist in comics, books, TV, and probably other places of which I'm not even aware. Nevertheless, I count it among them, a unique example, and a story that has a lot to offer outside the crime-fighting elements, but that appeals to me through those elements as well.

Elsewhere

I haven't done one of these Elsewhere posts in a few weeks, mostly because I've only published one piece each week this month on any sites other than Comics Matter. Work, weather, and illness have slowed me down, plus I was pumping out those 12 Days of Birthday posts, so I ended up being less productive than usual elsewhere. That being said, I still want to link to everything from here, if for no other reason than posterity. Since, you know, future generations are bound to be extremely concerned with what I wrote, when, and where.

Three weeks back, I did a column on PopMatters looking at what the science of science fiction should do/look like and how it ought to fit into and influence the narrative. There's been a crazy amount of awesome sci-fi comicbook material lately, and it's had me thinking about how the fake sciences of these fake realities function. Last week, also on PopMatters, I expressed my frustrations with the difficulties of avoiding story spoilers while still trying to keep an eye on upcoming comics news. I don't mind when people spoil things that have happened in already-published issues (as evidence by most of what I write) but it's annoying to have solicitations, interviews, or other official promo material ruin surprises or reveal plot points just for the sake of trying to rope in more readers. I understand why it's necessary, and I'm sure if I was a publisher I'd do the same, but I'm a reader instead, so I get to bitch about it. Finally, just two days ago, my newest "1987 And All That" column went up on The Chemical Box. It's been just over a year since I began working on that project, so this time I looked at both "Batman: Year One" and "Batman: Year Two," comparing them while determining that there's no way they could reasonably be viewed as taking place in the same continuity or even being about the same man. They are totally disconnected visions of Batman, having as little to do with one another as they have to do with...I can't think of a decent punchline for that, but whatever, you can read the post if you want to know more.

Something I Failed to Mention
I didn't delve very deeply into the art of the two Batman arcs, except to say that "Year One" was all drawn by David Mazzucchelli while "Year Two" began with Alan Davis and Paul Neary for one issue before Todd McFarlane and Alan Alcala came aboard to replace them, and that the visual instability of that latter tale contributed to its overall less impressive performance. I don't want to get into a long comparison of all the different artists' work on both of the stories, since I'm not sure that would amount to much more than rehashing what I already wrote, just in more art-focused terms. However, I would like to very quickly repeat a sentiment I know many others have expressed before and, I sincerely hope, many more will express in the future: Mazzucchelli knocks it right out of the fucking park on "Year One." It's dark, it's gritty, it's perfectly grounded. The characters are wonderfully expressive, not just in their faces but their body language. You can see the weight of the world on Gordon's shoulders, and the intense drive and focus behind everything Batman does. There are so many unforgettable panels or scenes, my favorite being the panel from part two that I used in the Chemical Box column where Batman shows up to ruin a gathering of Gotham's most elite and corrupt citizens. A close second would be the entire sequence where Gordon's son is dropped from a bridge, only to be saved by some last-minute acroBATics by an out-of-costume Batman. And the full-page splash at the end of part three where Gordon is sitting on his bed in front of his sleeping pregnant wife, staring at his gun, contemplating the problems in his marriage and his city—that's another image that'll stick with me forever. It's lit so brilliantly, and Gordon's depression dominates the atmosphere oppressively. I could continue to list things, and I even considered just going through all four issues and finding a whole bunch of scans to put up here, but I have to guess that, by now, there's probably a lot of Mazzucchelli "Year One" artwork available for viewing online. Also, I'm not saying anything that the rest of the comics-reading world doesn't already know, anyway. Mazzucchelli is an amazing artist, and his work on "Year One" remains some of the best and most famous of his career.

Elsewhere (and also bitching about Cataclysm)

Two weeks ago, I had a post on PopMatters comparing Scott Snyder's run of Detective Comics to his current work on Batman and arguing that the former is far superior. I've written before about my disappointment with Snyder's interpretation of Bruce Wayne in the New 52, and I also just think his Dick Grayson Detective stories were more in his wheelhouse, conceptually. This week, I talked about Unity's original take on familiar superhero comicbook ideas. My hopes for that book are high, even though it looks like Doug Braithwaite may not stick around...? That'd be too bad, unless he either a) comes back eventually, maintaining a semi-regular schedule as artist, and/or b) is leaving to work on more Storm Dogs. Also, my newest piece went up Friday at The Chemical Box about the truly godawful Kobier and Oso. It is truly godawful.

Something I Failed to Mention
Often when I'm writing, I have moments where I have to cut an idea I originally thought I might include, for space or clarity or both. And when I'm working on something for a site other than this one, I try to remember those abandoned thoughts so I can use them here. But in the case of the three above-mentioned columns, nothing in particular springs to mind as being left unsaid. I mean, I'm sure I could think of any number of things that I didn't comment on directly, but none that feel important enough to spend any real time on now. Instead, I'm going to complain about a completely different comicbook I read today, Cataclysm: The Ultimates Last Stand #4.

Now, there is a LOT wrong with this comic on all fronts, but I don't really want to get into a full-on review of it. I haven't been following Cataclysm or any of the tie-in books, except for Ultimate Spider-Man because I was reading it anyway. The last issue of that series said it was going to be continued in this specific issue of Cataclsym, and because I want to know what happens to Miles Morales and his new friends between this event and their upcoming All-New Ultimates series, I went ahead and spent the four dollars to read this stupid thing. What pisses me off about that is, according to the recap page, a whole bunch of important shit involving Miles that I have not seen went down in previous issues of this series, but neither he nor anyone else from Ultimate Spider-Man plays any kind of role here. You see Miles a few times and he maybe has some lines...? But he doesn't matter to anything that happens. I get that this is not his book and I can't expect Cataclysm to read like an issue of Ultimate Spider-Man just because the one was supposed to "continue" in the other. But it'd be nice if, when I followed Marvel's suggested reading order, there weren't huge gaps in my knowledge of what the star of a book I follow has been doing. And it'd be fantastic if, when he was on the cover of a series that his own series told me to buy, I got to see him matter in the slightest. Now I can't decide if I go back and get the first three issues of Cataclysm so I can get filled in, or just not bother buying the next one and keep myself in the dark, forced to figure out what happened when Ultimate Spider-Man reboots and All-New Ultimates begins in a few months. Stupid event comics. I shake my fist at thee with vigor!

Elsewhere

Since the last time I wrote on of these posts, I've actually had two columns published at PopMatters. One last week on the expert pacing of Prophet, and then one this week about Loose Ends and the frustrations of reading an unfinished series in general. By the by, the newest issue of Prophet (#42) is a perfect example of the series telling a compressed story while still expanding on and stretching out its over-arching narrative. Also this week, my new "1987 And All That" looking at the major flaws in the cast and concept of Young All-Stars was posted on The Chemical Box. It was not a good series, but they can't all be.

Something I Failed to Mention
I gave both artist Chris Brunner and colorist Rico Renzi due credit for their impeccable contributions to Loose Ends, but there's one specific thing they both do (or, maybe more accurately, that they do together) that I didn't address because I felt like it required visual aides and I didn't want to clog the PopMatters post with too many scans. There are a fair number of flashback scenes sprinkled throughout Loose Ends, showing various points in the lives of different members of the cast (though they all involve Sonny, Rej, or both, I'm pretty sure). The present-tense action of the series is done in vibrant colors, has non-traditional layouts and panel borders, and is peppered with other surreal or fantastical visual elements as well. The flashbacks, on the other hand, are more solid and steady in their look. Renzi washes them in a single dominant color, typically some sort of sepia tone, though even then he manages to switch up the exact feel/atmosphere by giving each era its own hue. Below are the first three panels of three different flashback sequences, not shown in the correct order, but just laid on top of each other for the sake of a color comparison:

Each one is basically all yellow, orange, and black, but they're all still distinct from one another. The top one is a little brighter and more sandy, since it's set in a desert. In the middle is the oldest memory, a childhood memory, so it's the most faded. It's also the saddest of the three. Finally, there's the warm golden glow of the glory days of high school. The limited, similar palettes Renzi uses here mark each of these scenes as being set in the past immediately, yet he still makes sure that they stand out from one another, because not every memory is viewed through the same lens. 

Brunner also tightens up in the flashbacks, all of his panels bordered by straight lines, neatly set next to or on top of one another in nice, even rectangles. Sometimes there's a panel overlapping another, but even then, they are perfect geometric shapes. Everything is more traditionally composed, which places memory and reality in sort of reverse positions in this book. In our world, real life appears consistent while memories morph and warp and become permanently distorted. Loose Ends has the opposite dynamic, where the shape of the present is hard to pin down, but the characters' views of their past never waver. I don't know if this was an intentional flip-flop or something that came organically out of trying to make the flashbacks look distinct from the other scenes, and probably it's somewhere in between. It's a neat and effective artistic tactic no mater what the motivation behind it, and just one of many such impressive tricks Brunner and Renzi pull off.

This is Immature (but so are the Young All-Stars)

My latest "1987 And All That" column went up today over at The Chemical Box, this time looking at the dreadfully disappointing first seven issues of DC's Young All-Stars. In the 1987 posts, I always make an effort to pick a particular angle (ideally the most important or resonant point I want to make) and focus on just that one thing, leaving out any stray thoughts I might've had on the series in question that don't naturally fit into the case I'm arguing. This is for focus, purpose, and clarity, plus it tends to help me write the things more quickly if I have a destination in mind before I start.

Often, if there's something especially interesting or relevant that I forgot to include—or chose not to include for thematic reasons—in the actual column, I will save it for one of my Elsewhere posts here on the blog, because that's the space I've set aside for such things. However, in the case of Young All-Stars, there's nothing that significant that I feel like I left out of the Chemical Box piece, because 2,000+ words on my problems with the book's concept and with each individual member of the titular team is (probably more than) enough to cover all the necessary ground. However, there's a single panel in issue #4 that struck me as vaguely sexually suggestive in a really weird, distracting, amusing, and probably unintentional way, and so I wanted to very quickly call the Internet's attention to it now so I can walk away from this comicbook forever without feeling like anything was left unsaid.

As a quick bit of set-up/context, what we're looking at in this panel are three members of the series' primary villain team, Axis Amerika, as they monitor the Young All-Stars through a giant retro sci-fi screen in their secret headquarters. They've just finished watching the heroes make a big mess of their first public appearance, and now the question the villains have to ask themselves is whether or not it's worthwhile to kill these kids when nobody else is watching. Here's how that conversation goes, but pay more attention to the faces, body language, and positioning of the three baddies seen below:

Since I don't name the creators in the body of the post, Script: Roy & Dann Thomas, Pencils: Howard Simpson, Inks: Malcolm Jones III and/or Dan Bulanadi, Colors: Gene D'angelo, Letters: Jean Simek

From left to right, these three men are (as they conveniently mention in the dialogue): Kamikaze, the newest member of Axis Amerika; Übermensch, their leader; and Sea Wolf, the nastiest and most vicious member of the group. Now, I'm sure this isn't on purpose, and probably has more to do with trying to fit these three guys into a single close-up shot than anything else, but the first thing that popped into my head when I saw this was, "Whoa...are they jacking Übermensch off?"

Because they seem pretty snuggled up in that image, don't they? And both Kamikaze and Sea Wolf have their bodies angled toward Übermensch, who is facing straight ahead. And Kamikaze, at least, seems to have his eyes trained on Übermensch's groin, and is wearing what I would describe as a coy, playful grin. And I'd argue Sea Wolf's eyes are pointed in the same direction, though it's admittedly debatable. And I can't see anybody's hands. What really ties it together is the way Übermensch has his head slightly raised, with a look of pleasant calm on his face. It just feels like an intimate, tender moment between the three of them, and I can't shake the notion that if the panel went a few inches lower, this scene would be downright pornographic.

Make no mistake, I am not the least bit bothered or offended by this idea. If these guys want to quickly service each other, or if this is foreplay for a wild all-night three-way, or even if they're in a committed three-man relationship, that's fine by me. More power to them. But since they're supposed to be, you know, freakin' Nazis, and there's nothing else that's questionably sexual in this comicbook anywhere that I can find, it's probably a safe bet that the romantic atmosphere of this panel is an accident. And seen in that light, it makes me chuckle, because it just looks so much to me like there's a handjob taking place. In costume, no less! That's an awkward, uncomfortable, bizarre way to perform such a simple sex act, but leave it to the supervillains to overcomplicate everything, amiright?

Also, "It cannot come too soon for Sea Wolf!"? Maybe it is on purpose.

Elsewhere

It was one of my more productive weeks outside of Comics Matter. I published two reviews on read/RANT: Kings Watch #3 and Mighty Avengers #4. The former was another excellent installment in a reliable series, and the latter was the dullest issue of its title yet, but still had some comedic merit and a few spots of nice characterization. Also, my new "1987 And All That" piece went up on The Chemical Box, the first of two planned posts about Uncanny X-Men from that year. This initial column is all about Storm, without her powers, having some interesting solo adventures. Finally, I wrote about Six Gun-Gorilla for PopMatters, focusing on its message the importance of people looking for and valuing good stories.

Something I Failed to Mention
Because I didn't really need to address it to make my point, and it's sort of a complicated place to explain, I never went into the details of the setting of Six-Gun Gorilla, referred to in the story as "The Blister." Right in the first issue we learn some of the more sci-fi-oriented facts about it, like that combustion and electricity don't work there for some unknown reason. This means no traditional bombs or explosives but, instead, clockwork and pneumatic weapons. That alone feels like enough to make the environment of the narrative interesting and distinct, but it's really just the tip of the iceberg. Every day at high noon, the sun gets so intense that it literally disintegrates any living thing exposed to its rays. There are strange, semi-intelligent plant creatures called tumblesquids living underground all across The Blister, and they sometimes pop up like sand-krakens to attack people and pull them under. All of these things are revealed pretty early on, but none of them are properly explained, because the human characters in the comic don't fully understand The Blister. They use it as a resource and a war ground, but haven't entirely grasped what it is or why it behaves the way it does. However, toward the end of the series, main character Blue finally cracks the code with a little help from his gorilla partner, though even then the answers are fairly vague. The Blister is some kind of blend of the real and the imagined, a place where people's thoughts or fantasies can be given physical form and interact with reality. Whenever new people arrive to continue the war effort, The Blister reacts, which is how things like tumblesquid attacks happen. Even the gorilla, a major player in this story and the book's title character, is just a creation of Blue's, at least to some extent. He's a character Blue read about in an old pulp comic and then inadvertently brought to life when he needed help and guidance. So The Blister was a really imaginative and cool location, and it added to the general sense of mystery that pervaded this series, as well as being an important part of the conclusion. Si Spurrier and Jeff Stokely both put a ton of creative energy into this comic, as the complexity of the setting evidences.

Elsewhere

Last week, right after the holiday, my newest "1987 And All That" column went up at The Chemical Box. It's on a two-part Flash story that handled its villain interestingly but didn't do much else of note. This week, I did a review of the last issue of Reality Check on read/RANT that was none too positive, plus a piece on what makes a good second issue over at PopMatters. I feel like people talk a lot about first issues, and then beyond that it's more about "the rest of the series," but second chapters have as much or more riding on them as firsts, so I wanted to look at them more closely.

Something I Failed to Mention
In that second issues piece, I used Brain Boy #2 as an example of a second issue that didn't do as much as it could or should have. Also, a couple weeks ago, I reviewed the third issue and talked about how excited it made me for the future of the series. Turns out, as I learned for the first time during Fred Van Lente day, Brain Boy was actually a mini-series, meaning issue #3 was the last (for now). Obviously, that changes things. The second part of a three-part limited series doesn't necessarily need to do the same kinds of things as the second issue of an ongoing does, so it wasn't the strongest choice for my PopMatters post. To be fair, everything I said about the pacing of all three issues as a whole still stands—the first was great, the second dragged its heels, and the third got me excited again. But if all it was ever going to be was those three installments, that pattern is less aggravating than it would be as the opening arc of a longer project. Of course, it would still have been better if all three parts had been equally terrific, but I can live with two out of three if three is all I'm getting. I wish I'd realized earlier that Brain Boy wasn't continuing, at least not in the immediate future. It likely would've changed some of the things I've published recently, and also, I'm disappointed to lose a series I only just committed myself to as a fan. Hopefully, this first tiny run did well enough that Dark Horse will bring the character and creators back for more soon.

Elsewhere

This week, I wrote a pretty quick and positive review of Brain Boy #3 over at read/RANT. Also, my latest piece went up on PopMatters, looking at Ultimate Spider-Man's most recent arc. I quite liked how Brian Michael Bendis and David Marquez handled the story of Miles Morales becoming Spider-Man again after a year-long hiatus, in that they split their focus pretty equally between that story and the introductions of some new characters. Namely Cloak and Dagger, who I love always, and was happy to see in a new setting.

Something I Failed to Mention
Although I mentioned the character of Luisa in passing in my Brain Boy review, I didn't talk about her in her position as romantic interest for Matt Price (the Brain Boy of the book's title). And partly, that's because I'm not too wild about her in that role yet, but at the same time, the comic and the character are both so new that I don't want to jump to any conclusions. I guess I just wish Luisa had been developed a bit more. While of course Matt was going to get most of the spotlight, I thought Fred Van Lente did a pretty good job at making supporting cast members like Faraday and Georgina memorable and full in a relatively short space. Luisa, though, leaves less of an impression. She's so angry when we first meet her because her father has been unfairly imprisoned, but over the course of this opening arc, Matt manages to save her dad and protect him from further harm. That calms Luisa down and cheers her up considerably, which makes sense, but I've seen so little of her in that mindset thus far it's hard to know how I feel about her. That in turn makes Matt's obvious attraction to her a little harder to understand or support. So I'm still hopeful she'll be good for him, and good for the comic, and so far she certainly hasn't been a bad or weak or unlikable cast member in any way. But right at this moment, there's also an underlying apprehension about her and Matt's budding romance.

Elsewhere

Since the last time I did one of these posts, I've had a couple things go up on PopMatters: a pretty lengthy piece on the latest arc of Hawkeye from two weeks back, and a shorter column this week examining what being a comicbook fan can teach us about loss. This week also saw the publication of my newest "1987 And All That" about Tales of the Cyborg Gerbils, as well as two reviews over at read/RANT on Batman Black and White #3 and Catalyst Comix #5.

UPDATE: I just got an e-mail from Max over at The Longbox Project letting me know that they put up a piece I wrote for them about the importance of Sensational Spider-Man #0 in my personal history as a collector. TLP is a very cool idea, and Max is a super nice guy (and easily the strongest writer on the site), so I am honored to have been invited by him to submit something. I'm definitely planning on contributing to them again in the future.

Something I Failed to Mention
Because I talked about each section of Catalyst Comix #5 individually, I didn't really delve into this, but there is a general sexism in that title I find troubling. Yet at the same time, it seems a less offensive or overt sort of sexism than is often found in superhero comicbooks, so it may actually be a step in the right direction. I nodded to this problem in the read/RANT review when I discussed Frank Wells' female villains always trying to bed him. That's just one instance of what Im talking about. Amazing Grace is the most intelligent, interesting, competent character in the series, and her costume choices go practical over sexy every time. That's all great. But her story is all about an alien who's powers make it irresistible to human women trying to hit on her for the purpose of mating. Less great. It makes the fact that she's a woman central to the story in a way that, for example, Frank Wells' gender doesn't factor into his narrative. Make Frank a woman and not a lot else has to change. Not true with Grace, where you'd have to also reverse the gender of basically every other character, too, in order to tell the same story with the hero as a man. All of the Agents of Change have histories they dislike, but Ruby's is the only one that involves selling her skills for sex. In some way, her prostitution days are connected to her powers of inflicting pain with her touch. It makes her an ideal dominatrix, to be sure. On the other hand, it feels easy and even lazy to have the one girl on the team have a background in the sex trade, while the men come from things like reality TV shows and just plain bumming around. Basically, I think the problem is that none of the sexism in any individual one of the three stories in Catalyst Comix would bother me. Taken all together, though, they send a message that the roles for women in fiction are either to be the objects of sexual desire or the desirers themselves. There really aren'y very many other depictions of them in the comic, which is irresponsible at best, and actively damaging at worst.

Elsewhere

This week, I've got two columns at other sites: a piece for PopMatters on the struggle between loving specific characters and loving specific creators, and one at The Chemical Box about the 1987 issues of Vigilante. Both of them were kind of short, which is sot of a bummer, but what can ya do?

Something I Failed to Mention
A number of different artists contributed to the twelve issues of Vigilante that I discussed, but the two most regular were penciler Tod Smith and inker Rick Burchett. I'd call them the primary artistic team on the book, as when geust artists did step in, the seemed to stay more or less in line with what Smith and Burchett were doing. Unlike the maniacal main character, the art of Vigilante is very connected to reality. There's a lot of violence, and therefore a decent volume of blood spilled, sometimes in rather graphic fashion. Smith and Burchett never make it garish, but they always make it count, so that the pain and consequences of all the fighting are felt by the reader in full. The costumed characters always fit when standing next to the regularly-dressed humans, so that Vigilante's brand of masked guns-and-fists street justice is always at home, no matter how outlandishly he and/or his foes are acting. Smith and Burchett do a good job of adding some realism to the world that surrounds Vigilante, making his delusions all the more striking by comparison.

Elsewhere

I've been silent all week on Comics Matter, huh? Tomorrow I'll have to remedy that. For now, all I've got is what I've published in other places. Thursday I did a not-so-positive review of Lazarus #4 on read/RANT. I still feel like it could turn around for me, though, pretty easily. It's early on, and it's an alright comic, just not quite what I was looking for. I also wrote about how much fun Archer & Armstrong is for PopMatters. That series has been in a groove for a while now. Friday, I wrote another read/RANT review on the debut of Vertigo's Hinterkind. Much like Lazarus, I'm not super into it yet, but it was a first issue that made me want to see a second, so that's something. And finally, Friday was also when my new "1987 And All That" went up on The Chemical Box, looking at Fantastic Four #301. I read several issues of that series, not sure what my focus would be, but that one got to me because I'm a sucker for well-done kid stories. I've worked with kids in the past, and accurately expressing their understanding of the world is not an easy thing to do, so I like it when I see it.

Something I Failed to Mention
It's a small detail, but one I found amusing and a little odd. In Fantastic Four #301, the primary villain is The Wizard, who had just teamed up with Mad Thinker and Puppet Master in the previous issue to try and screw up Human Torch's wedding. Puppet Master betrays the other two because Torch is marrying his stepdaughter and so he has a sudden change of heart. Part of the villains-vs.-villains section of that story includes a reveal that Thinker is not himself but a robot body that the real guy is sending his consciousness into through his great mental abilities. The actual Mad Thinker is incarcerated, which is where we see him at the start of issue #301. He then sends his mind into another fake body, so that he and The Wizard can meet and regroup. Except here's the thing: as soon as they get together, Wizard suggests using Franklin Richards against his family, and Thinker flips out because he won't hurt a child. He then self-destructs his new non-self and never shows up again in the story. From that point on, it's The Wizard's shows. It seems like a very weird thing to spend a whole scene taking a character off the board who already had a perfectly good reason to be off the board—he's in prison. After already destroying his stand-in, couldn't he have just not been shown sending his mind into another one? If Wizard had decided in issue #301 to cook up another scheme against the FF all by himself, would anyone really have been, like, "Um...why isn't he working with Mad Thinker anymore? Shouldn't he be secretly meeting with another robot body?" I'm just not sure what the point of the argument/self-destruction conversation was, and it seems like a funny thing to wedge into a story for no reason. Bad guys disagreeing about how bad to be, just to have one of them bail.

Elsewhere

Last week, I made my regular contribution to PopMatters with a quick look at how secret identities seem to matter and exist less than before. This week I was more productive, with a couple reviews for read/RANT on T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents #2 and Thor: God of Thunder #13, a new "1987 And All That" for The Chemical Box about G.I. Joe Special Missions, and another column at PopMatters discussing the interesting and accurate depictions of teenaged attitudes, morals, and flaws in Young Avengers and Harbinger. I always like it when I get to have stuff come out on all three of the sites I write for outside of Comics Matter in the same week, so that was nice.

Something I Failed to Mention
The column about Harbinger and Young Avengers was more of a character examination, so I sort of intentionally didn't really discuss the real-life creators behind the titles. However, one of the key things that sets those two series apart is the fact that Young Avengers is the collaborative product of a single amazing creative team, while Harbinger is basically just writer Joshua Dysart's project, with many different artists working on it, sometimes even within an issue. As is to be expected, this distinction gives Young Avengers the edge, making it more of a standout, signature piece. Kieron Gillen, Jamie McKelvie, Mike Norton, Matthew Wilson, and Clayton Cowles have been the steady hands at the wheel of their book from the start (with the seriously perfect pick of Kate Brown subbing in on art for issue #6), and the clarity of vision they share is evident every month. They get to really play with the comicbook medium, not necessarily breaking the mold but definitely doing some unexpected, experimental bits here and there. To his credit, Dysart is writing well enough that the visual ups and down in Harbinger don't ruin it. The acting isn't always clear, but the characters' voices have the strength to support that. Where the art has the most potential to hurt the book is in the action scenes, but that also tends to be what the various artists do best. So all-in-all they're both series I feel very connected to and invested in, but Young Avengers has the not-insignificant advantage of looking consistently fantastic.

Elsewhere

This week, I put out another "1987 And All That" column on The Chemical Box about Ninja High School and wrote a piece for PopMatters on Dial H. Normally I would say a little more about each of these, but I just got back a few hours ago from a brief but exhausting trip to Austin for a comedy festival, and I am too wiped out to elaborate much. That being said...

Something I Failed to Mention
In the Ninja High School post, I focused on Ben Dunn's main narrative, since it's what the comicbook is really about. However, the first issue of the series also has an excellent back-up feature written and inked by James Hanrahan with Dunn on pencils. Titled "Arnie: Gives a Speech," the story open with relatively minor character Arnie delivering a lecture to his classmates about the finer details of the M-16 assault rifle. This leads Professor Steamhead, for no apparent reason, to start arguing with Arnie, claiming the AK-47 is a superior weapon. The two of them begin shooting at each other while at the same time continuing to debate the pros and cons of various guns. Eventually, the police are brought in to stop the violence, but they, too, mostly just discuss what firearms they're using before throwing a grenade into the situation. It's an absured but highly amusing little tale, basically just an excuse for Hanrahan to show off some of his weapons knowledge through the mouths of fictional characters. But the approach of having this conversation take place in the middle of a firefight is very funny and well-done, and because the whole back-up is only six pages (including the inside back cover) the concept is delivered and heightened effectively and efficiently. It may be my favorite thing about Ninja High School, so I figured I had to give it recognition somewhere.

Elsewhere

This week, a new "1987 And All That" went up at The Chemical Box on Dr. Fate. I didn't link to it it last week because it was the only thing I published elsewhere, but I wrote a column on Storm Dogs at PopMatters. And this week, one comparing Revival and Rachel Rising.

Something I Failed to Mention
I didn't really find a way to fit this point in naturally in the PopMatters piece, but one more thing Revival and Rachel Rising share is a child character, Cooper and Zoe, respectively. Technically, Zoe is much older than she appears, I guess, but she's relatively childish even though she's been through so much and continues to be a killer. It's a jaded childishness, admittedly, her emotions stifled by her past. Cooper has a more muted personality as well, though he's not as dismal and frightened of the world as Zoe. Where they most remind me of each other is their secrecy, wrapped up in their connections to supernatural forces. Cooper has been slowly but steadily learning to interact/communicate with the strange creature slinking through the woods. And Zoe's whole character is based on the fact that she was a longtime host for the demon Malus. Both kids keep these things to themselves, Zoe largely because she doesn't have anyone to really trust, and Cooper because...I'm not sure why. It feels like it's just one of those kid secrets, where they want to keep something they've discovered but know is dangerous so they stash it where their parents won't look. Cooper values someone to share his toys and thoughts with, and he won't spoil that by telling anyone. Zoe would rather ignore her bond with Malus entirely, and "I was inhabited by a terrible demon for many years" isn't the easiest introduction to make. So she lives with her pain and shame quietly. There's a strong sense that, for both characters, things will eventually come to a head, and they'll be forced to face their secrets in a harsh light.

Elsewhere

This week, the only straight review I wrote was a fairly glowing one of Young Avengers #8 for read/RANT. After initially seeming only so-so, that series grows on me more and more.

Over at PopMatters, I published a piece on Francesco Francavilla's Black Beetle, looking at what works so well about the balance he strikes between complex, groundbreaking artwork and more familiar, straightforward scripting.

Finally, I put out a new "1987 And All That" on that year's issues of Avengers.

Something I Failed to Mention
In my Avengers column, I focused on the traits that all of the heroes shared, the things that made them worthy of being called "Avengers." In order to keep that discussion focused and a bit simpler, I talked only about the actual superhero characters, and only in terms of the primary creative team of Roger Stern, John Buscema, and Tom Palmer. However, Avengers #280 was done by a different set of creators entirely, and the whole issue was told through the memories of Jarvis, the Avengers' longtime butler, as he recovers from serious wounds given to him by the Masters of Evil. Written by Bob Harras with art by Bob Hall and Kyle Baker, the story acts as both an abbreviated history of the team and an examination of why a normal, somewhat softer man like Jarvis would choose to work for them in spite of the dangers of the job. It's not exceptionally exciting, but it definitely fits in with the rest of the issues of that time, insofar as it displays that Jarvis possesses the same attributes that I point to in my column as being necessary to be an Avenger. Well...maybe Jarvis doesn't have the same strategic smarts in combat, but he does have to make tactical decisions about how to interact with the team. As their employee, and as a butler specifically, there are some things that are arguably not his place to say or get involved in. But at other times, Jarvis' council is needed and appreciated, and knowing when to intervene is a key part of his role within the group. As for the bravery and trust I pointed out in the rest of the team, Jarvis has got them in spades, which is why he chooses to stay on as their butler even in light of the savage beating the Masters put him through. So even if Avengers #280 isn't the most bombastic of issues, it's a solid and enjoyable story reminding readers why this average man deserves a place, however minor, in the series and on the team.

Elsewhere

In addition to the work I do here on Comics Matter, I occasionally write for other sites as well. Up to now, this has primarily just meant my bi-weekly feature over at The Chemical Box on comicbooks from 1987, the year I was born. But recently, I've also been fortunate enough to be added to the review team at read/RANT, and offered a weekly Iconographies piece at PopMatters. So I figure once a week or so, I'll throw up a post on here with links to the work I've done elsewhere.

My first PopMatters column won't be published until next week, so in the meantime, here are my first 3 read/RANT reviews, two from a couple weeks ago on the debuts of Larfleeze and Lazarus, as well as one from this week on Six-Gun Gorilla #2. On top of that, I've got my two most recent Chemical Box columns, on Matt Champion (also published two weeks back) and Green Arrow: The Longbow Hunters from this past Friday.

Something I Failed to Mention
I'm also going to do my best to include a small bit of original comicbook criticism in these posts, because a) In an ideal world everything I put on Comics Matter would include fresh material, and b) As hard as I try to write comprehensively, there's almost always going to be one idea or detail or character or creator or something from any given comic that I don't find room to include in whatever I write about it. Something that doesn't line up with the points I'm trying to make, or that I simply forget to mention, or even sometimes a bit that doesn't occur to me until the column in question is complete.

This time out, I wanted to take a second to point out that, in The Longbow Hunters, Mike Grell wrote Oliver Queen with an amazingly strong and impressive love for Dinah Lance. He respects her and admires her enough to let her do her own thing, cares about her enough to drop everything and risk his life when he realizes she's in danger, and generally treats her as an equal and tries his best to give her what she wants, to make her happy. And Dinah's love for Oliver matches his for her. This kind of legitimate, two-way, mature romance is depressingly rare in any fiction, let alone superhero comicbooks, where men often get to be outright assholes and still have the women they're with remain loyal to them. See Reed Richards, Tony Stark, and Superman in current continuity if you need examples. Even though Dinah gets brutally tortured in Grell's mini-series (see the original column for more on that), the relationship he establishes between her and Oliver is admirable, and it lays the groundwork for his excellent treatment of both characters in the Green Arrow ongoing that followed.

That's it for now. More links to outside writings to follow soon.

Some Links to Other Things I Wrote

There's a part of me that hates to do this, but if you can't shamelessly self-promote on your own blog, where the hell can you? I've had a few things published on sites other than Comics Matter this month, so I'm just taking a minute now to link to and discuss them briefly. I want to continue to support the sites that allow me to contribute work, and of course I want as many people as possible to read anything I put out. So here they are:

My latest "1987 And All That" piece for The Chemical Box went up yesterday, this time tackling the six issues of Louise Simonson's Power Pack published that year (they came out bimonthly). I've been thoroughly enjoying my work on that series of columns; it's fun to dig into these older, more established/settled titles and see what makes them work. Or, in the case of The 'Nam, which I wrote about in the preceding column, why they ultimately fail. As often as possible, I try to read every issue with a publication date from 1987, so I can get a real sense of what each series was like for the entirety of the year. I don't always discuss every issue with equal weight, but I do at least read them and let them influence, however subtly, whatever I write. Analyzing year-long runs like that is a rewarding and sometimes challenging experience. By the time I've put the final touches on a column, I can feel intellectually drained, but it's worth it because I'm proud of "1987 And All That" as a project, and continue to be enthusiastic about its future.

I also tapped out a short recommendation of Steve Gerber & Kevin Nowlan's Infernal Man-Thing over at SquarePop. I loved that series when it was coming out, even though Marvel didn't publish it in the most intelligent way possible, especially when it came to reprinting the original story to which the new book was a prequel. Gerber's crazy, almost stream-of-consciousness script and Nowlan's lush painted pages came together in beautiful harmony and produced something very much their own. You can read more of what I love about it on SP.

Ok, that's all the plugging of things I have for now. Keep your eyes on both The Chemical Box and SquarePop for more stuff from me, and everything they publish. Talented-ass people run both sites, and there's a lot of good material to be found on either.

Robin, Robin, Red Robin, and Robin

On Wednesday, the current Robin died. Yesterday, I published my second "1987 And All That" column on The Chemical Box, about Max All Collins' revamp of the Jason Todd character, who would eventually become the first Robin to die. The pseudo-coincidental timing of this was unplanned (I committed to writing my Robin thing a couple months ago), but the result was that in the days leading up to the publication of my piece, I got to read a TON of other online articles about the Boy Wonder, exploring the character's history, purpose, necessity, and so forth. They were mostly good, often educational, and sometimes enlightening. But there was one thing that none of them touched upon*, and it's been worming around in my brain for the past couple days, so I thought I'd spew it out here:

Explaining the present state of Robin to anyone not currently reading comicbooks is a difficult and frustrating task.

In the New 52, Batman has had 4 Robins in five years. One of them has died and returned, and another is Batman's now-dead biological son. Neither of those two, however, is Dick Grayson, the Robin with whom most people are familiar (by origin story if not name). And the remaining guy isn't technically Robin but Red Robin, a mantle he's always used in the New 52 for reasons still unexplained. I'm losing myself a little in trying to summarize all of this, and I already know that I know what I mean.

I've had a couple of conversations with lapsed or non-readers about Batman's sidekick and how much turnover the position sees, and in general the response if bafflement ("Wait, which one is this?/How many are there, again?/Who is the son's mom? Talia what?"). Now, it's certainly not anyone's duty to make the history of the Robin role (or that of any ongoing character) easy to digest or understand, so I don't even think I'm complaining here. It's just something I have noticed and been reminded of in recent days. "Robin" now includes a complex, confusing, chronologically improbable legacy that has only been widened by the death of the most recent child to carry the name. Damien Wayne will now be replaced by a fifth kid, who I believe we already know is going to be a young woman, although that may just be Internet speculation. It's exciting, I suppose, to see who the newest Robin will turn out to be, but that doesn't make her addition to the greater Batman tapestry any less complicating. In an industry that needs fresh fan blood, a female Robin might potentially bring some in, which is great. Yet at the same time, every additional piece of the ever-expanding continuity puzzle means one more obstacle for any hypothetical new reader to overcome.

And it raises the question, in my mind, Why does Batman keep bringing in new Robins, anyway? Evidently it only takes like a year to graduate out of the job anymore, and now that there is a Batman, Inc. in place, including all of the previous Robins, the hiring of yet another short-term underaged personal assistant seems somewhat redundant. With the convoluted history surrounding Robin, maybe its time for DC to give it a bit of a rest, let Batman and his gaggle of former proteges handle things on their own for a while. Or maybe I am just zeroing in on a pointless detail that doesn't matter. Could be both.

*That I saw. If this was, in fact, covered elsewhere, my apologies for missing it and repeating the sentiment.

And Many More

It's my birthday today. I'm 26. Guess I should take stock of my life, right?
     Yesterday, I debuted a new column on The Chemical Box all about comicbooks published the year I was born. I feel quite honored and grateful to have been given the opportunity by Alec and Joey and the rest of that crew, and I love that the whole project got to kick off one day before my birthday. Seems fitting, considering the unifying theme of titles from 1987.
     Last week, I also put up my first piece on SquarePop, the culture/entertainment review site I signed up to write for a few months back. It's about "Jeff, Who Lives at Home" and "Safety Not Guaranteed", two films that hold a lot of the same meaning for me. It was an enjoyable diversion to write about something other than comicbooks for the length of one piece, and I'm equally thankful to the managers of SquarePop for letting me do so on a (hopefully) somewhat regular basis.
     All of this is to say that, here at the end of my twenty-sixth year, I'm in a pretty great place as far as my writing. I've been keeping up with all of my personal deadlines for publishing columns on Comics Matter, and been lucky enough to have a few chances to branch out from this blog and write for other people. I don't always love everything I write because, you know, who does? But I keep on keeping on with it, and it is rewarding more often than frustrating so far. So thanks again to The Chemical Box & SquarePop, and to the Internet in general, for the awesome, free gift of a platform from which to jabber about comics and movies and why I dig 'em.
     Ok, writing: check. Check-plus, even. But how goes the reading?
     That's a tougher call. Obviously there are some damn great titles out there right now, but even though I've been on a mission lately to tighten up my pull list, I still find myself reading some real garbage almost every week. And some incredibly mediocre stuff, too, which can be just as annoying. The DC titles I follow, of which there are only six, definitely have a lot to do with the sense of a lack of quality. I would consider all of the following books to be on the "chopping block" as of now: Batman, Birds of Prey, Dial H, and Earth 2. They're all maybe two bad issues away from being dropped completely, except Batman which I may well cut before issue #18 is released next month. The conclusion to the "Death of the Family" story this week was profoundly disappointing. For most of the event, Batman was pretty bad at being Batman, and then in the final chapter The Joker decided to suck at being The Joker, too. Yes, I get it, he totally blew up the trust amongst the Bat-family, and yes, that is a pretty nasty thing to do. But you know what would've been truly evil? Actually HURTING one of them. At all. In like a permanent, maybe even fatal way. The Joker can slay countless innocents, but he keeps himself contained with characters who have their own titles to support. That's stupid. And yeah, he did technically have a plan that could've resulted in their deaths if Batman and company hadn't been able to thwart it, but even that was needlessly flimsy and complicated and, ultimately, the Bat-kids and Alfred beat The Joker's final play inexplicably. They overcome what is supposedly a new and improved Joker toxin by wanting it badly enough. Weak sauce.
     So I am going to probably give that series one last reread, and if it somehow surprises me I'll keep it around. But not even the promise of a Riddler story is going to convince me to spend any more money on a book about a superhero who's off his game but stubbornly refuses to see it.
     Birds of Prey has a new writer starting soon, so I'll wait and see if Christy Marx can return that book to its former glory. It hasn't been the same since Jesus Saiz left, but I'll give the new creative team a fair chance before letting it go. As for Dial H and Earth 2, those titles both had strong debuts, but for the past several months have been in a slump, and the longer their respective downswings last, the less I believe they'll ever climb back up. So if they haven't made clear shifts in the next couple of months, I'll be too tired of waiting to do so any longer.
     If all of those books got dropped, the only DC titles I'd be reading are Wonder Woman and Threshold, the latter of which is new enough to still be in its three-to-five issue probational period, so it, too, may well be dropped soon. And Wonder Woman, while strong overall, has several looming problems. It made the Amazons into rapists, but only after killing them all. It has a tendency to get caught up in the Greek god soap opera elements, sometimes becoming too melodramatic and/or clever in its dialogue, which is tiresome. And of course, there is the fact that it barely stars its title character, and even when she is on the page she is one of the least interesting or developed members of the cast. So, truth be told, two or three shitty issues in a row might well convince me to abandon that series, too.
     So DC is not doing it for me right now. Marvel is better off, no question, with a couple reliably great titles like Daredevil and Thor: God of Thunder. And, though I did not enjoy either of them nearly as much as it seems many others did, Young Avengers and Fearless Defenders both hold great promise. But nothing else I am reading from them gets me noticeably excited. I know Hawkeye is supposed to be one of the best current superhero books, but I don't see it and disagree. It's fine, but not great, sometimes fumbling its humor and often telling boring stories. Ultimate Comics Spider-Man is in basically the same place as Dial H or Earth 2: several issues in a row that were not up to snuff are making me reconsider it. Dark Avengers is solid but rarely incredible, and Uncanny X-Force has only had one decent-but-not-great issue so far, so it's in the same boat as Threshold.
     That leaves Journey Into Mystery, which I actually love right now, but eventually the current storyline will wrap and new creators will be brought in and it could look like anything when that happens. Marvel has the edge over DC nowadays, but it's a slight edge at best, and neither of them compare to Image's current output.
     Change, Prophet, Revival, Saga, Storm Dogs, Where Is Jake Ellis?, and Witch Doctor: Mal Practice are all as good or better than any of the Big Two titles I named above. Same goes for Valiant's Archer & Armstrong and Harbinger, though I admit it took the former some time to get warmed up. I look forward to these titles more than anything from the "mainstream," and month in, month out, they deliver the goods. My reading may not be at the overall level I'd like every week, but there are plenty of gems in there keeping my love alive and well.
     Oh, just for the sake of being thorough, there are only four titles on my pull list that I didn't mention yet: The Answer!, The Black Beetle: No Way Out, Hellblazer, and Rachel Rising. The first two are new but had stellar debuts, and the other two are almost always the best comicbook of whatever week they're published. Hellblazer is a Vertigo title, so technically it's also from DC, but it only has one issue left, which is infuriating, so even though it's good it counts as a point against the company.
     There'll always be more to read, though. My dad has been following some Marvel NOW! titles that I have not, and for my birthday he shipped everything he's collected so far to me as a present. So now I have some catching up to do with those. Plus my fiancee, Katie, and her parents each got me gift cards to the biggest local comicbook store, so I have a day of digging through back issues ahead of me that I can't wait to get started.
     In fact, I think I'll do that now. This masturbatory summary of my feelings on every comicbook I currently follow has been my birthday gift to myself. And, if you're still here, then reading it has been your birthday gift to me. So thank you for that. Sincerely. Now it's time to put someone else's gifts to me to good use.