Emiko Superstar

Posted by Graig on October 24, 2008

(DC/Minx)

The penultimate book in the all-too-short-lived Minx line of comics for young women, Emiko Superstar isn’t the highlight of the line but another fine example of what Minx was all about. As Johanna Draper Carlson succinctly put it “[Emiko Superstar] is just like the rest of them: the story of a significant (and visual) event that teaches a girl more about what she wants from life, forces her to stand up to her parents, and gives her the possibility of a boyfriend.”

Now, I have to say, this isn’t a bad thing. The rhythms of this story may feel familiar, especially when placed beside the other Minx books, but the voices are always different, the characters stand out on their own with different experiences, different habits, different friends, family and lives lead separating them. But key to it all is they’re identifiable, if not immediately so, then in an empathetic way.

There are many paths to growing up, discovering life and possibly finding love, and the Minx line has been a good (sometimes great, sometimes merely passable) at exploring them with young female protagonists. Now, I’m not a teenaged girl, nor was I or will ever be, but the experience of finding yourself is never ending, and even something like this, directed at a complete other audience than me, can still resonate. It’s a shame that the Minx line has been pulled, a result of low sales (for reasons which I can only speculate about, but likely due to lack of awareness in its target audience) because I think it was an important venture. There’s hundreds of comics every month for guys, which aren’t always at the exclusion of female readers, true, but so very few are constructed with them in mind.

Set in Toronto, Emiko Superstar feels unusually comfortable, more like an extension of Scott Pilgrim’s Toronto than something I actually recognize as the city I live in (probably the same way New Yorkers feel about the comic book NYC when they see it in, say, Spider-Man or Fables). The book’s teenaged protagonist, Emi, is a self-described geek trying to redefine herself. She’s failed at her coffee franchise summer job, and has started babysitting for the new (American) next door neighbors (it’s a truthiness representation, where we Canadians know we aren’t that different from our “neighbours” to the south but there’s still something alien about them), earning some nice money while being stuck in the middle of their relationship drama. She discovers an underground performance art scene, and finds the venue to reinvent herself… but breaking into the group isn’t going to be easy. She finds help from an apparent suitor, though oddly knowing of the scene, he too seems an outsider. She also needs to find the right clothes, the right style, the right attitude, and the right art to make her way in.

Emi does break into the scene, where she finds that the ideal of make-up and fairy wings she’d constructed isn’t nearly as glamorous as it first seemed. It’s a community of people who, though united under a similar purpose, have some of the same issues, insecurities and as everyone else. Though our story’s protagonist, Emi is often a conduit for observing the the stories of others like the neighbours or exploring the people and terrain of an underground art scene.

Writer Mariko Tamaki, a bit of a Toronto scenester herself, constructs a tangible, realistic life for Emi to live, tapping into insecurities, improprieties and far from atypical teenaged drama. It may not be your life, but you could envision it being someone’s. It does venture into twee from time to time, but it avoids TV melodrama nicely.

Vancouver native Steve Rolston handles the art chores and for many non-teen, non-girl readers will be the key draw. A veteran of Queen and Country and his own creator owned works like Pounded, Rolston’s cartoonish style lends itself nicely to simplistic but distinctive characterizations. Emi is drawn like many young women, still growing into their skin, mannerisms often awkward. Rolston is great with physical and facial emoting, helping carry the story forward when the words don’t.

I have to agree with Draper Carlson that the story of the neighbors - of a mother struggling with living in a new country, of being a new mother, while also struggling with her marriage and her sexuality and her husband who tries to be oblivious to it all - is a far more fascinating story, which hopefully Tamaki can expand on elsewhere.

There’s nothing quite explosive about Emiko Superstar, just a quiet, light drama about suburban coming-of-age. When you envelop yourself in superheroes, sci-fi and horror (you know, “boys comics”) as much as I do, this kind of thing, despite its conventions, is refreshing, even more so when it’s well done.

3 and a half out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] Punk Rock and Trailer Parks

Posted by Graig on October 16, 2008

(SLG Publishing)

One flip through this new original graphic novel from alternative cartoonist Derf and I was preparing to hate it. It wasn’t specifically the illustration, which is odd but not unappealing, or the cursory glance at the subject matter, which seemed full of potential, but the combination of the two. Punk Rock and Trailer Parks appeared to be yet another loser-outcast-nerd-rebel-hero drawn in underground comic style, and while I do try to read and enjoy all types of comics in all different genres, the subgenre of agony-humor featuring “angry and/or ignorant geek protagonist v. the world” (typically semi-autobiographical), from even top-talents like Jeffrey Brown to Chris Ware (well over three years later and I’ve yet to finish reading Jimmy Corrigan) is one I have the most difficulty sustaining interest in. I’ve been through my awkward stages in life, and I’ve grown from them, and while I can relate to all different kinds characters, the redundancy of the stunted man-child incapable of resolving their past and facing the real world without hostility or fear of rejection wears predictably thin, and is, quite frankly, something I can’t relate to. Within 20 pages of Derf’s new book, however, I realized this wasn’t the same old story.

Set in the turn-of-the-decade 1980’s in Akron, Ohio, we’re introduced to Otto, a towering geek, replete with nerd glasses, bad acne and a tragic sense of style. Otto is the prototypical rebel; having been branded the outcast he’s embraced his role. He does things to his own tune, like recording every fart on tape for his senior project, and doesn’t really care what people think of him anymore. Instead of hanging his head he looks up to the sky. Though the sense of inferiority has been, literally, beaten into him, he’s come to the realization that maybe in his school he’s the bottom of the food chain, but he’s one of few who can actually escape the food chain altogether, which in a sense makes him better. An optimist and dreamer, Otto devises the guise of “The Baron”, a persona which he refers to always in third-person that lets him be tough, hyperintelligent, sexual, and uber-geeky all at the same time.

Two sophomores befriend Otto, primarily to get a ride around time, and through them he’s introduced to the punk scene in Akron, which at that time was “the” punk scene in the country. Otto quickly feels a kinship with the music, it’s rebellious attitude and it’s do-your-own-thing mantra, and a series of events winds up placing him smack in the heart of the scene, getting a job at “The Bank” as bouncer/courtesy ambassador to the bands that come through town (like the Ramones or Joe Strummer ). Otto winds up becoming a legend in his own right throughout the punk scene, eventually joining a band himself, and actually enjoying the dichotomy of his dual life as both loser and icon. His relationship with his junior friends grows as he exposes them to his life in the trailer park and his philosophies, varying between the absurd and the all-to-real.

The book is more romantic about the past than it is nostalgic, with exuberant highs and some pretty gut-wrenching lows. Though not a true story, Derf obviously draws upon his own experiences and his own knowledge of the punk scene in Akron to craft the tale, and deftly recreates the atmosphere for the reader to vicariously experience what it was like to be there. Otto’s life as a teenager is obviously not one of great joy, but by the end of it he found a way to cope and a way to live that didn’t conform to all the other people who would put him down.

There’s very little that’s typical about Punk Rock and Trailer Parks, I found from one moment to the next that I had no idea what would happen, which is to say that Otto is unpredictable, yes, but also that Derf is never out to get him. Too often in underground comics, the writer/artist hates their character (or themselves) and puts them through shame after shame in attempts to break them. With Otto, Derf doesn’t. He admires his character and has him triumph even when he fails, which seems to be another punk philosophy (where getting arrested is a good thing).

If I were to sound byte the book, I’d say it’s Freaks and Geeks by way of James Kolchaka, illustrated in a style that alludes to a theoretical offspring from a cocktail of Ed “Big Daddy” Roth, Robert Crumb and Don Martin, but it’s so much more. It’s funny, smart, and insightful, and presents something different but not so different as to be off-putting (except that there is punk rock, sex, nudity and language, which obviously may not agree with all audiences). There’s no South Park-style extremes here, the book isn’t out there to push buttons. It’s creator has a story to tell and he tells it with a style all his own.

4 and a half out of 5 Vikings

4 out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] Essex County Vol. 3: The Country Nurse

Posted by Graig on September 16, 2008

(Top Shelf)

Strolling through the artists’ alley at the recent Toronto Fan Expo, stopping to admire Cliff Chiang’s handywork and exchanging a few words with Peter David amongst others, I came across Jeff Lemire’s table where he had a few advance copies of the latest volume of his award-winnng Essex County series for sale. While waiting in line - anxious as the small stack of copies depleted - the trio in front of me spoke to the artist as he signed the second-last copy of The Country Nurse. “I hope this one ends on a more upbeat note,” one said, “because the last two were kind of depressing.”

“Really?” Lemire questioned. He mentioning that he thought at least this latest ended optimistically. Next in line, I said a few words of appreciation as I got the last copy he had available (he signed the book with a little crow doodle inside the front cover). After finishing my tour of the convention floor, I returned to the booth I was helping man and one of the other people working there looked at my new acquisitions. Coming across Essex County Vol. 3 he said, “You know, this series is really good, but man it’s depressing.”

That was two “depressing” comments within the span of half an hour, and to tell you the truth, I can see it, but I don’t think that’s necessarily the appropriate adjective to describe these wonderful books. Atmospheric. Solemn. Pensive. Reflective. These books aren’t exactly jubilant, but they’re hardly dark and moody either.

The first two volumes stand apart from one another as independent stories, different tales that span multiple time periods, bridged to one-another using some of the same characters. The first is primarily about young Lester, an orphan living on his uncle’s farm, his imagination his only escape from a life he has no control over. There he befriends Jimmy Lebeuf, an ex-hockey player messed up by a concussion, who joins him in his fantasy role-playing, but his uncle doesn’t want them hanging out together. In the second volume, we learn about Jimmy’s father, Vince, and his uncle, Lou, both aspiring professional hockey players. The tale weaves between the past, as Lou and Vince get their shot at the big leagues, and the present, where Lou is alone, estranged from his family, old, deaf and senile, haunted by the past.

This latest volume brings it all home, as we follow the area nurse, Anne, as she journey’s between patients, passing by Lester and his uncle’s farm, checking in on Lou, and visiting Jimmy at the gas station where he works. Anne is a widow, raising a teenage son who wants little to do with her. She has a lot of compassion for what people are going through, her son included, and gives him his space as much as she can allow. She does have a busybody streak though, and involves herself in the private lives of her patients, knowing she shouldn’t, but unable to help herself.

The tremendous impact of the first two volumes makes it difficult to see this as a stand alone story, but it still holds its own. Although it does follow Anne about her daily routine interspersed with flashbacks to Essex County, 1917, it involves some important events in the lives of the players introduced in the previous volumes. The historical elements presented throughout all three books give a history spanning nearly 90-years of the community, all made even clearer by a family tree showing the connection between all the players introduced. The richness of the storytelling makes the tree unnecessary, but useful for quick shorthand to see how it all comes together.

Lemire’s storytelling craft is superb, in this volume truly tightening the laces and tying the bow on the entire series. His inking has tightened up tremendously since the first volume, with crisper, tighter lines, although not losing his defining freehand aesthetic. His characters are fantastic, both in personality and in graphical representation, each uniquely defined, each relatable in their own way, full of nuance in language and movement. Lemire fills the pages with leafless fall and snow-covered winter landscapes, giving them a cool atmosphere, which may be what people are interpreting as “depressing”. But rather than being depressing, it creates an environment in which the heat of the characters emotions can cut through… anger to kindness to compassion to love to regret.

The masterstroke is indeed the density of the overall project, the weaving of the history with the present day, the overall sense of this Southern Ontario landscape, and the community Lemire has built are all tremendously affecting. Each book has a definite impact, but together, they’re brilliant.

(And yes, it does end, I feel, quite optimistically.)

Volume 3 - 4 out of 5 Vikings

Series - 5 out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] The New York Four

Posted by Graig on July 11, 2008

(Minx)

I have to give DC a lot of credit for their Minx imprint, a line of books that feature young female protagonists in naturalistic situations directed at a younger (pre-teen/teenaged) female audience. It’s an audience that’s barely targeted, if at all, and recognizing the gender and age group’s interest in manga might translate into interest in western crafted comics was not only smart, but necessary.

Luring talent from throughout the comics medium and without, the Minx line is something very different than what any other mainstream publisher is putting on the stands today. Smaller presses, on occasion, put out books geared towards this audience (SLG, First Second, Fantagraphics) but for the most part there’s genre fiction (superheroes, fantasy, horror, etc.) and whiny artist books cluttering the stand, with few other non-manga publishers devoted to attracting female readership directly, nevermind a younger one. That there’s a dedicated line and identifiable trade dress for girls or their parents to identify age-appropriate dramatic storytelling is an exciting step for the medium. Even more exciting is many of these stories don’t fall into the “Mary-Kate and Ashley”-realm of young girl storytelling, but instead provide something that will interest people even outside of their target. (After picking up this weeks batch of books my wife - a straight-up superheroes-only comics reader - asked me “was that a Minx book you got? Oh good, I like those.”)

I have four Minx books on my bookshelf now, having been drawn to each by creative talent I know from works elsewhere, and each have matched the quality that I’d expect of the talent, but the entertainment level, given the line’s focus, was surprising. I come to the The New York Four following the same pattern, as the book features Local’s creative team of Brian Wood and Ryan Kelly (if you were wondering why there was such a delay between issues of that series, I’d surmise this is why).

The New York Four follows Riley as she ventures out into the world seemingly for the first time. The product of Brooklynite literati parents, Riley is extremely intelligent but also cripplingly shy. She’s lived her life until now on her computer and Blackberry, all her friends virtual ones. Now a student at NYU she’s sees the potential for transitioning her life, perhaps not to full extrovert, but at least scaling back on her introversion. Part of this is a result of a sudden encounter with her sister, Angie, long-estranged from the family. Angie encourages Riley to participate in life, make friends and be adventurous and in baby steps, she does. Befriending a trio of classmates, Riley finds each has their own peculiar neuroses which makes her feel more at ease about her own, but when she finds a mysterious email address in her coat pocket, she threatens to undo all her progress and even her education by descending into a text messaging obsession. The enigma of “sneakerfreak”, the intangible yet alluring romance threatens to destroy Riley’s new life, one way or another.

Wood’s story doesn’t play out in the typical three acts, but instead as an excerpt of life with a lot of little moments, and a few big ones. It starts at the beginning of an integral point in Riley’s life, and ends with yet another beginning. This isn’t the story of Riley, just a story. Taking a nod from Scott Pilgrim’s hipster captions, Wood peppers the story with kitschy explanations about settings and characters and threads through an undercurrent of quiet cool. Like a barely-legal Sex In The City New York City acts as a fifth member to the titular four, and in many ways the story is a love letter to the city and a guided tour through it, as Riley explores and explains the neighborhoods and boroughs, the culture and the nuances, and how she fits in.

With the setting elaborately rendered by Ryan Kelly, it’s almost like being there. Apartments, cafes, subway cars, taxi cabs, libraries, bars, the interiors breathe NYC just as much as the skate parks, street scenes, museum exteriors and city parks. Over his 12 issues with Wood on Local Kelly has developed a definite knack for visually capturing the feel and ambiance of a place, just as Wood is able to subtly identify its charm with words. Kelly not only groks the streets and surroundings of NYC, but the people as well, able to define a unique fashion for every character in the book, as well as distinctive hairstyles, make-up and visual personality, all in the absence of color. If there’s perhaps one niggling point about Kelly’s art, it would be his Four are all far too attractive. True none are waifs or big-chested glamazons, but they’re also blemish-free and there’s not an overweight girl (or guy) to be seen. Even toned down from superhero standards, I guess comics still present a visual ideal.

As I said, the book ends with another defining moment for Riley. I can see this being a sticking point with many readers, as it does pose the anguishi-filled question “what happens next”. I’m not sure if there’s plans for another round of the four from Wood and Kelly, but it would be most welcome. This is a book, had I a daughter entering her teens, or even about to exit them, that I would excitedly place in her hands. The characters are empathetic and relatable, probably moreso for women than men but Wood still brings a sense of champion to the characters, Riley especially, that puts the reader behind her, excited to see her bloom, wanting to catch her she falls. It’s the type of book comics could certainly use more of.

4 out of 5 Vikings

Local #11 (of 12)

Posted by Graig on May 1, 2008

(Oni Press)

Local has had its share of delays and late-shippings, something which usually causes me much consternation, but even though this is Brian Wood and Ryan Kelly’s first issue since August of last year, I’m not as fussed. It could be because this issue is set in my fair city of Toronto, which always excites my Canadian blood, but more likely it’s the fact that the series is comprised of stand-alone stories, meaning no cliffhangers, no dangling story threads, no messes to clean up, and no knuckle gnawing wondering, “What happens next?”

Starting out as a storytelling experiment by Brian Wood, attempting to capture an aspect of a city using his character Megan as a common cypher to explore, the tables naturally turned on the writer and he found that the character was taking the focus and the city was taking the role of atmosphere, which has actually turned out quite well. Each issue is a step forward in time, and we reconnect a year later with Megan, sometimes directly, other times indirectly, like in this issue where a coworker of hers, Nancy Bai, a student at the Ontario College of Art and Design (OCAD), makes her the subject of her graduate showcase The art exhibit reveals Megan’s curious, semi-nomadic, semi-enigmatic past and finding her at the cusp of having grown up and moved beyond her old ways.

As I said, this issue takes place in Toronto, and as captured by Kelly (who also co-wrote this issue), it acts as a vibrant, living environment in which Megan an Nancy feel part of. Without quibbling over minuscule details in the illustration, Kelly nails this city, both it’s corporate culture (much of which are open-concept offices in repurposed garment buildings) and one of its many cultural scenes (many of which coalesce at the Drake Hotel, as featured).

That I could both appreciate (and scrutinize) the locale and also feel the resonance of the story on the central figure of this series is a testament to both Wood and Kelly’s dedication to the project, it’s original intent and it’s shifted character focus. They could have relaxed and tossed off the final few issues quickly but they committed to the series and seeing its evolution through to the end. Between each Local is a period of growth and understanding from both the writer and artist in what it is they were attempting to create together, and like any organic work, it shifts a little more as time goes by. Kelly mentions in his closing essay this issue that he had seeded a few easter eggs in previous issues that even he didn’t know would pay off as big as they did this issue. I’m sure only the most dedicated of readers picked up on that, but once revealed, the effect it has on the story is huge.

Is it the best issue of the series? No. But it does make the series a series, if that makes sense. It sews a thread between the disparate elements of each issue and, for the first time puts a figurative and literal spotlight on Megan, which at times Wood has purposely avoided. She’s never been the star of Local, but now she’s no longer is she just an empty vessel for random storytelling. If you haven’t read the series, and plan on catching up with the final issue, or waiting for the inevitable compilation, let’s just say it’s a unique, sweet and bumpy ride, both from city to city and the traipse through these slices of Megan’s life, but certainly not one to miss.

4 and a half out of 5

Young Liars #1

Posted by Graig on March 5, 2008

(Vertigo)

I really don’t know where to begin talking about the first issue of David Lapham’s Young Liars (and I’m not even sure whether I should bold the “David Lapham’s” as part of the book’s title or not… but checking the small print it’s only Young Liars so until someone points out something in the Chicago Manual of Style, I’m going to keep it like it is), obviously. Should I discuss Lapham’s brilliant (and lamented) Stray Bullets which I only just got into after he stopped publishing? Or should I mention the generally mediocre mainstream work he’s done with DC and Marvel over the years? Should I even bother to mention I remember first seeing his “house-style” work in the early days of Valiant? Should I discuss the fact that Vertigo’s having a tough go as of late launching new series that are sustaining popularity or having that Sandman/Preacher/Y:The Last Man/Fables resonance? No, no, god no, and maybe(?)…

I picked up a few months ago the first issue of the Vertigo series The Vinyl Underground. It was one of those books that failed to make any sort impact immediately, and probably would require a full storyline for me to decide whether I truly liked it or not (hence why it wasn’t reviewed here). Young Liars unfortunately is having the same level of influence with me. It’s got some snappy patter, an askew cast, and some quirky bits that all just scream prototypical Vertigo fare. Even visually it looks the part, with Lapham’s first full-color work (by Lee Loughridge) looking just as murky and bland as most Vertigo books and his lines playing the part, not too dissimilar from Simon Gane and Cameron Stewart’s work on the aforementioned Vinyl Underground, which itself is not far removed from the Philip Bond’s, Richard Case’s or Steve Pugh’s of Vertigo Past.

There’s some nice design elements going into this book, like the cassette-credits on page 1 or the unabashedly in-your-face kewl cover design (were the book colored like the cover image, it would provide a much different visual experience), or the rad logo, and I think the story could use a bit of that flair within its pages itself.

The first issue introduces us to protagonist and narrator Danny Noonan, a small-town kid who made his way to the big city with not much other than a few bucks and a guitar in hand, with a little talent to spare. He’s made a place for himself in the city, with an odd array of friends, some whom he likes, and others not so much. Really, his life’s not great, and he could it leave at any time were it not for Sadie Dawkins, the daughter of a grocery chain mogul and head-trauma victim. She took a bullet in the brain a while back and ever since it’s made her behavior erratic, prone to drastic mood swings, violence, and sexual urges… a one-woman party. Danny’s in love, but she’s barely grounded in reality, which only spells heartache for him. Why we have to get a wet rag like Danny to be our guide through this world when the more interesting view would be from inside Sadie’s brain, i don’t know (this “everyman” point of view is so dull), but there it is.

Sadie, as witnessed by her dramatic posturing on the cover, is the star of the show, the main attraction, and if anything is going to bring me back to this book, it’s her. Lapham’s created a spotlight character, just he hasn’t found the correct wattage of bulb to shine on her yet. She’s living on borrowed time, that bullet lodged in her brain threatening to kill her any second. Is it really reacting with her mental status or is she getting away with things because she has the excuse to? And then there’s the weird stuff like being bulletproof, which obviously isn’t possible… right? There’s other characters here too, in this punk rock soap opera, but they aren’t given nearly as much attention or importance to readily invest in yet, despite some definite shenanigans going on in their lives already.

I don’t think this is Vertigo’s next breakout hit, but there is something here that could provide for an interesting couple years if developed properly. Lapham may be giving Vertigo something back which it lost some time ago, though, which is a series that isn’t best served by trade collections, but rather a monthly comic best read that way.

3 out of 5 Vikings

Y: The Last Man #60

Posted by Eric on January 31, 2008

(Vertigo)

And so it goes.

Five years ago I walked into my local comic shop and in browsing the week’s new issues, I saw a cover that I found a bit odd; it was a guy in a straight jacket with a monkey. I asked what the story was about, and I was told that it was a series about the last man on Earth after some sort of plague wiped out every living being with a Y chromosome. Being only sixteen at the time, I think the zenith of my ability to express something that was different and exciting was “That sounds awesome!” I took the issue to the register and as I opened up my wallet to purchase this book I was told “I can’t sell this to you Eric, it’s mature readers only.” I remember being thoroughly annoyed at this prospect, as I’d been a customer there since I was ten years old, and the fact they wouldn’t sell it to me was preposterous. So, the only alternative I found was I put each issue on hold until my eighteenth birthday, and on that day I went in and bought every issue that had been released up until that point, and ever since that day I have been in love with Y: The Last Man.

Recently, in preparation for the final issue of this series, I read the entire series yet again, and it was as if I was reading it for the first time, only with a tinge of bittersweet melancholy. I’ve spent the better part of the past five years with these characters, and I also feel as though in certain ways that I’ve grown with Yorick from a snarky know-it-all kid, to an adult and all that encompasses. There have been too many discussions and arguments about what the central focus of this series has been, and in many interviews Brian K. Vaughn has always maintained that it was a mixture of many different ideas and philosophies. For me, it’s been about the transformation of a boy into a man. The central mystery of what caused the plague which wiped out all men was a means to an end for Yorick Brown, and all of the women he met along his arduous journey across the globe molded this young man into a person who was still able to function with the weight of the world and human existence on his shoulders. WAIT! There is more to read… read on »

[Trade Winds] I Killed Adolf Hitler

Posted by Graig on January 29, 2008

(Fantagraphics)

The British actor/comedian/novelist Stephen Fry wrote a book called “Making History” in which a Cambridge history student meets a scientist who has developed a portal allowing limited access to the past. They decide to stop Adolf Hitler’s birth by transporting oral contraceptives into Ma and Pa Hitler’s water supply. Unfortunately, their tampering with the past causes a chain reaction, making the present one vastly different from the one that should have been. With Hitler out of the way an even more ruthless figure stepped into his place, victory given to the allies where before they only met with defeat.

In Norwegian illustrator Jason’s I Killed Adolf Hitler, the writer/artist crafts an equally high-concept, but his execution is entirely different than what could ever be expected. It’s a world where contract killing is a legal profession and an everyday occurrence, and one of these killers is hired by a scientist to use his time machine to go back into the past and kill… well, you know. The killer accepts, but fails in his mission, and Hitler steals his time machine returning to the future. But the killer, now an old man, having lived a whole new life since the 1940’s is there to greet the Nazi and shoots him, fulfilling his contract. Unfortunately, Hitler is saved by the bible in his pocket (I guess Jason doesn’t watch Mythbusters) and escapes, leaving the killer to turn to his ex-girlfriend (now fifty years younger than him) and enlist her help in discovering where Hitler would be hiding out.

There are some strange twists and turns in the book, but none of the concepts, such as “what would the world be like if Hitler had disappeared?” or “how would society changes were contract killing legal?” are ever explored. Jason’s pacing is own, slow and mundane. For a story of this scale, keeping the momentum at a crawl is an odd choice, but also just part of what makes this book so unique. Jason is more interested in the dull, sad reunion between the old killer and the ex-girlfriend who is the only person he really knows. But even here, there is little spoken between the two and if there’s a rejuvenation of a lost love, there’s only the minimalist of hints towards it.

I Killed Adolf Hitler is made even more odd by Jason’s typical use of animal figures in place of human characters. Anthropomorphized dogs, bunnies, and ducks inhabit this visually colorful, uncluttered, and utterly subdued alternate world. It’s altogether an atypical reading experience, frustrating as much as it is interesting, but perplexing more than insightful… think Woody Allen channelled through Wim Wenders and you might get the gist.

Indie comics readers are accustomed to introspective material like this and will find it differently entertaining, genre comic fans will find it dreadfully pretentious. In either respect, it’s really somewhere in the middle of both in quality and concept execution.

3 out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] Rotting In Dirtville

Posted by Graig on January 14, 2008

(Gigantic)

Zombie stories officially played-out in 2007, at least for me. It’s time to give the sub-genre a break and move on to something else for a while. If, during that time, I need a zombie story fix, there’s only one place I’m turning, and that’s James Callahan’s original graphic novel Rotting In Dirtville.

Now, the book isn’t really a zombie book, and I’m not saying that because it’s really a martian-made plague that blends technology with organic tissue and seeks only to replicate until its cannibalized the whole planet, but rather it’s really a story about how small town life, and how it’s affected (or not affected) by the changes in the world around it. It’s also about a young man, Milton Bloom, and his struggle to survive…

…and it’s about Giant Robot Zombies from Mars. But, quite frankly, it’s the smartest, most affecting Giant Robot Zombies from Mars story you’re ever going to read. It’s really a beautiful piece of work, genius even. I don’t know where this Callahan guy came from, but if ever someone wants to figure out what “it” is, well, study him, ’cause he’s got it.

I don’t really even know where to start talking about this book. Okay, design. Rotting in Dirtville is set in a timeframe of unknown origin. Everything looks old-fashioned Riverdale-gang style (there’s even a souped-up version of Archie’s old jalopy) with a modern “retro” feel (horn-rimmed or black plastic-framed glasses, tattoos and punk-band t-shirts). The townspeople are all quaint, and the teenagers rampage through town disturbing them all, obviously because they’re bored. This combination of older sensibilities with modern habits and dialogue puts this book immediately in its own little world.

The characters are brilliantly designed, especially Milton. He spends all day out in front of his house chopping wood, selling it to pay for his parents funeral and to afford a train ticket out of there. The house is a marvel, remaining standing somehow after a jet engine fell on it and exploded. It’s obvious Milton was an outcast even before it happened, but somehow this kid has become even more an outsider to his peers. The girl across the way, Betsy, befriends him, if for lack of anyone else worth befriending, comments on Milton’s bare feet. “I don’t like wearing shoes in the summer,” he says. “Milton, it’s almost November!” His lack of response is equal parts as if he knows and doesn’t care, or he didn’t know but wonders if he should care.

Through the various interactions Milton has, from the people he sells wood to, and through conversation with Betsy, we learn about the Martian invasion (there’s also scattered placements of TV broadcasts throughout the book which give minimal, but perfect amounts of detail about the whole affair), how it’s affecting the economy nationally, and how it’s affecting the small town. It’s assumed that it was as a result of the martian invasion that Milton’s house was half-destroyed and his parents killed, but it’s never outright stated. The fact that the economy has tanked has meant Betsy and her snotty brother Russell are left alone, as their parents have went elsewhere for work. Other than that, nobody seems to be too affected by the big cities getting trampled on by Giant Robot Alien Zombies, as, well, big city problems ain’t the same as small town problems.

Through the simplest of actions (and Callahan’s physical language is some of the best I’ve ever seen in a comic book) Callahan fleshes out the bulk of this small town’s youth, their attitudes, their relationships to one another, and their relationships with their elders. You get a sense through Callahan’s visual pacing immediately the slow rhythm of the town (the amazing pan through town is followed up with six incredibly composed panels of Milton chopping wood). Leafless trees, a cloudless sky, body language and movement of clothes in the wind all capture the feel of October, long before Betsy informs us what time of year it is.

The dialogue in this book is packed with meaning, and yet never even borders on overwraught. In fact, it’s through an economy of words that more is actually being said. It’s all so naturally constructed but it’s also exact to each character while relating more and more the state of the world as Callahan conceives it to the reader. There’s some brilliant lines, like Betsy’s response to being called “bran” by her brother’s friends, or the old farmer’s interaction witht he kids. There’s even just some utterly pointed remarks, like “Don’t be stupid, boy, America is the world” that so simply, yet effectively define small town attitudes, arrogance, and naivity.

By the time the robot alien zombies hit, it’s… well… not a surprise, and yet it is. Here are a group of people, watching things happen remotely thinking “sad, but doesn’t affect us” and therefore are completely unprepared to deal with it. The plague hits and within an hour it’s rampant, trampling over and absorbing everything. Betsy and Miltong fight back, but there’s just no point. Running is the only option. Even though the second half of the book silently documents Milton’s escape, it’s over so quickly. Callahan so effectly quadruples the pace that that savouring of words and pictures from the first half is gone. Sure you want to stop and marvel at Callahan’s amazingly detailed, visually stunning artwork (kind of like a cross between Seth Fisher and Steve Dillon), but the book sweeps you away through to the conclusion.

I’ve read this book a half dozen times, and each time I fall in love with it a little more. There’s not a single thing I can think wrong with it. Each panel, each word seem so precisely drawn or written. It’s full of quiet moments, awkward moments, and some smiles and chuckles too. The action is incredible and the creatures are amazing, scarier than anything cinema has done with zombies in decades. It’s surreal, it’s bizarre, it’s cool, and it’s absolutely unique. It’s absolutely one of the (if not the) best horror genre comics I’ve ever read.

5 out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] Long Hot Summer

Posted by Graig on November 25, 2007

(Image)

This 2005 original graphic novel from writer Eric Stephenson and Jamie McKelvie is so potent, has such resonance that I really don’t want to review it, but intstead I want to have a book club discussion on it, I want to sit down with some friends like a group of giddy girls after watching The Hills and jaw on about it. I mean, it’s not tackling any real societal issues or highlighting solutions to international disputes or anything, but Long Hot Summer presents its characters and their environment with such reality and the conflicts between them are all so familiar that it invites the reader to compare to their own experiences.

The story is an extract, an episode, a small segment in the lives of the people involved. We don’t know how they got to this point, and we don’t really know where they’re going afterwards, but for an all-too-brief 75 pages, we get to peer in on the lives of this clique of post-graduate friends. We’re not so much as introduced to everyone as we’re dropped in on them. The central figures are Ken and Steve, but there’s also a rich supporting base of friends, and the interaction between them all is so very natural, as natural as the characers themselves. Some people come off as dicks, others come off as pretentious, still others come off as kind or sweet… but all of them come off as normal people you’d likely meet or even have in your own circle of friends at age 22. At that age, just at the tail end of your post-secondary education, you’re life is really just starting, and your clique just can’t hold itself together the same way. People are off looking for jobs and finding new relationships outside the group. Some people start to find themselves, while others seem more lost than ever. As a circle of friends begin to spread out into the larger world, it first grows and then fractions. The differences in personalities and objectives begins to change and friendships splinter. It’s how life progresses, and Long Hot Summer provides a glimpse at such an evolving community and their complex (but common) interaction.

The protagonist, if you can call him that, is Steve. He’s good looking, stylish, well mannered, average intelligence… he’s nice, to a fault. That fault is Ken, Steve’s best friend, who’s average looking, less sensible in stile, but nice enough except that he has an attitude that occasional verges on unjustly extreme. From the outsider’s perspective we’re given, we see how their friendship works, and at first, it’s sweet how Steve sticks up for Ken, puts his neck out for him time and again and how Ken is unfairly derided and ostracised by the clique. As much as we’re supposed to identify with Steve, I think just as many people will identify wih Ken. Can you relate to being one of the gang, or being the outsider, or both? After a while though, it’s understood just how much Ken takes advantage of Steve’s good nature, borrowing money, bumming rides and slagging their group of friends… there’s a hostility there that we’re never sure where it stemming from. It’s actually readily apparent that the group doesn’t like Ken very much and that he sort of came as a package deal with Steve, and for as much as Steve thinks they are all friends, he expends a lot of effort trying to minimize the tension.

The thick of the story arises when Ken meets sexy and stylish Ashley, and in the familiar “timid nice guy” role that seems all-too familiar, he befriends her when his true intention is to date her. Steve’s happy that Ken’s happy, but after he’s introduced to his best friend’s new love interest, suddenly trouble is brewing. In a series of all-too-common events Ken soon finds himself stuck in the “friend zone” when he thought he was making progress, and Steve catches wind that Ashley actually has her eye on him: an unreciprocated-love triangle.

Steve winds up seeing Ashley behind Ken’s back, bu soon realizes the mistake he’s made: he’s killing his friendship with Ken over a girl who is controlling and needy, whom he doesn’t even like very much and knew it was wrong all along. Like real life, Steve’s motivation is never clearly explained, but investing yourself into the story, it’s easy to see why it happened. McKelvie’s illustrations give us handsome, affable Steve, whose body language shows a man who doesn’t know his own attractiveness, and Stephenson accompanies with a nice guy who can be easily controlled. They give us the gorgeous Ashley, with lust in her eye, and McKelvies illustrations of her flirting with Steve while being cool with Ken (in the same panel at times) are impeccable. Steve didn’t have a chance.

I loved the simplicity of the story that Stephenson has crafted, that’s coupled with a realistic social dynamic. This is the way things happen, how people act and talk and interact, whether friends, antagonizers, acquaintances, lovers, or just passers by. Stephenson never outright explains the characters or their motivations. They act and react and it’s up to the reader to invest in them to understand why they do the things they do. McKelvie gives us just as much reality in his immaculate art, so clean and refined, every line precise, his people not just figures on the page, but characters, actors, conveying real language beyond what they say, something he would continue to do with Phonogram and Suburban Glamour.

The ending is unceremoniiously abrupt, and in no way a resolution. Then again, unlike books or film, life rarely has a finite resolution. The end of each day segues into the beginning of another, and there’s no forecasting what could happen. It’s a testament to the strenght of Long Hot Summer that I’m left wondering how Steve’s life and his various friendships are going to continue to play out.

4 and a half out of 5 Vikings

Scott Pilgrim Vol. 4: Scott Pilgrim Gets It Together

Posted by Adam on November 14, 2007

(Oni Press)

“Scott, if your life had a face, I would punch it in the balls. Seriously.”

As a goofy, oversensitive, slacker man-child from Toronto who hates real jobs and falls for girls who are way out of his league, I“m always a bit surprised at the success of Scott Pilgrim. That is to say, I“m surprised that people enjoy it as much as I do, considering that it seems tailor made to speak to me, and me alone. Literally, this is me reading Scott Pilgrim: “Oh, look, it“s the CityTV building! Oh, and Dundas Square! Oooh, Sneaky Dee“s! I hate that place, why would Scott hang out there? Hey, I think I“ve been to that Vegan restaurant…” etc. But I guess the zany spirit of fun and universality of the characters and situations speaks to just about everyone, as witnessed by the popularity of this comic, which gets better and better with every installment. WAIT! There is more to read… read on »

Astro City: The Dark Age, Book Two #4

Posted by Adam on October 8, 2007

(Wildstorm)

Astro City has been one of the greatest pleasures for superhero fans in the last decade or so. It’s also been one of the greatest frustrations, thanks to its sporadic publishing schedule. I’m not saying anything new here, but it seems to me that if you’re going to have a comic that takes place in “real time” as opposed to traditionally distended “comics time”–which is to say, the characters and the universe advance a year for every year that takes place in the real world–then surely it’s got to be extra-important to get the book out on time. And that goes double when the authors are currently going through an extended storyline taking place in the 70s–it’s now been several years with only a very brief glimpse at the present day Astro City. Heck, apparently the next special one-shot issue will focus on a character who was a young child back when the series first started, but is now in college–and there’s STILL a ton we don’t know about the many other characters who make up the Astro City universe. WAIT! There is more to read… read on »

Trade Winds: Notes for a War Story

Posted by Graig on August 19, 2007

(FirstSecond)

In a country of indeterminate origin (could be any of the war-torn Eastern European countries of the past decade), three young, undereducated men, Christian, Stefano and Guiliano, forge out along the countryside, scavenging and squatting, searching for a life that’s different, if not better, than the one they know. Christian was bandied between foster homes, Stefano abused and hardened, now called Little Killer. Guiliano is the odd man out, from a good family with some money, and no matter what happens, he’s constantly reminded by his friends, he always has the option to return home.

These men, still boys, are quite naive in the ways of their country, aware of the war around them but mostly oblivious to it. They have their own little code of manliness and honor that pushes them through extreme situations. But despite being a gang of their own, they’re lost, directionless and impressionable. Enter Felix, who takes the cold Little Killer under his wing and puts him in charge of the other two, sending them out on deliveries and collections, teaching them violence as well as street smarts. Eventually, given a little confidence and a little money, the boys become Felix’s, they’re his to do as he pleases, and we learn that Felix is in many ways just as impressionable, the lot of them enlisted into the war, not entirely sure what they’re fighting for.

Notes for a War Story is a tale that translates across boundaries, one person’s war-torn country is another’s gang-riddled neighborhood, where young men are curried into servitude by clever leaders who are more charming or brutal or more intelligent, offering wanting children that which they don’t have. Is it a father figure? Money? A home, a family, a purpose?

Told from Guiliano’s perspective, Gipi’s story is a young man’s story, the subtleties of which explore the needs and emotions, fears and desires that teenage boys have, and how easily swayed they are by predators who know how to give them what they both want and need. It doesn’t matter the intelligence or the class, it’s just predator and prey. Guiliano, unlike the other boys, always has an out, and as such, he’s always able to see past the situations they get into, and if there’s ever any doubt he can’t get out, he will leave. Guiliano dreams of his friends (and occasionally himself) headless, a metaphor for their aimlessness, their lack of control, and perhaps their inability to think for themselves.

Notes… is a potent and compelling read. Gipi’s roughly scrawled lines washed over with different hues of greyish-green watercolor representing the dark, dirty and ugly terrain in which these boys transgress. The character illustrations themselves may feel overly simplistic, but Gipi’s cartoons are well defined, his naturalistic dialog (well-translated here) and vague-yet-detailed environments suck the reader into this alternately believable and cinematic world.

4 and a half out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] Good As Lily

Posted by Graig on August 17, 2007

(DC/Minx)

It struck me as funny yesterday riding the subway home from work, my wife-to-be next to me, that was I reading a graphic-novel marketed towards teen and pre-teen girls, and she reading a collection of Lovecraft stories. Good As Lily was a voluntary purchase on my part, the Lovecraft collection foisted upon her and her English-major sensibilities kicking in, stating “I probably should expose myself to this stuff.” This is probably the only review of this book that you will find mention of Lovecraft, and really there’s no Lovecraftian metaphor extend to the title’s story, I just found it amusing. Turn-of-the-(20th)-century stories featuring tentacled monsters and eerie, creepy things have their appeal but somehow I think this wistful high-school comedy-drama with some supernatural underpinnings appeals to me more. I realize I’m probably in the geek minority on this, but it’s a surprisingly entertaining read.

In a previous review of a book from the Minx line, I commented on how Re-Gifters felt like a modern take on the John Hughes teen comedy. Good As Lily equally fits into the mold, and this isn’t to say that the Minx line in total is trying to emulate the success of much of Hughes’ 1980’s repertoire, but rather just to point out that he set the gold standard for this kind of story, and matching or exceeding that level of quality and entertainment is a great accomplishment. I think, in this case, writer Derek Kirk Kim (perfectly fulfilled visually by artist Jesse Hamm) crafts a story that in tone matches a Hughes movie having the same sense of comedy, with delightfully mature and insightful interaction between the “cast” while not being too Dawson’s Creek/Joss Whedon clever, and the occasional moment of madcap or slapstick that pushes the believability without spoiling the fun.

Grace Kwon has just turned 18, has been accepted into a prestigious college, and has a tight-knit group of friend. Her parents are supportive but she’s always felt that she’s never measured up to her older sister, Lily, who died suddenly at 8 years old. Grace has a mad crush on her drama teacher and is the lead actress in the school’s year-end play. There’s a lot going on, and a lot to think about, but things only become more complicated for her when she encounters 6-year-old, 29-year-old and 70-year-old versions of herself in a park. While hiding her alternate selves from her parents, she tells her friends they’re a cousin, aunt and grandmother, respectively. These other-selves seem to be wreaking havoc in her life, just at the moment when the funding for the school play falls apart and a rescue operation needs to be launched.

There’s a lot of wildly entertaining concepts involved here, all of them revolving around having the opportunity to both look back upon your life at different stages and to look forward and see what’s to come. The 70-year-old Grace sees such potential in her younger selves, but only sees a life wasted in her own past. The 29-year-old Grace, nervous about the big 3-0 sees an opportunity to recapture what she felt she missed, hitting on her old drama teacher (which doesn’t go down well with her 18-year-old self), and it’s through her 6-year-old self that Grace sees where she came from, the distressed child that she maybe hasn’t yet grown apart from. Grace looks back and forward upon herself to see things about herself she never noticed before, both things she likes and doesn’t.

There’s a few very powerful moments, one where Grace confronts her parents, asking them if they ever wish she had died instead of Lily. I do have to admit the scene brought me to near tears (reading it on the subway, I managed to choke them back). The other involves a scene where the 70-year-old version has a conversation with one of her high-school friends and suddenly sees something she’d missed. There’s a touching sense of triumph in the resolution of that scene which should make any hardened heart soften at least a little.

There are awkward moments, some goofy parts, and occasionally a sense of mis-characterization, but overall Good As Lily is exactly what you want out of your entertainment, something comforting, rewarding, fun and leaving you with a smile on your face… even if there is no Cthulu.
Recommended .

4 and a half out of 5 Vikings

Killing Girl #1

Posted by Graig on August 16, 2007

(Image)

Taking a page from Luc Besson, writer Glen Brunswick and artist Frank Espinosa introduce the latest young female assassin, Viper. At a young age, Sara was torn away from her family, brought into a criminal organization and forced into prostitution. But even as a child she had a vicious streak and during an attack she tore out the jugular of one of her assailants, earning her the nickname Viper. Her toughness identified, she was subsequently pushed into a different (though perhaps less dangerous) line of work, trained in combat and, at 19, a ruthless assassin.

This book opens in a conventional manner, showing off Viper’s skill on a job. Her narrative is intelligent, street-wise rather than intellectual, but insightful into her nature and the rough-and-tumble New York environment in which she lives. Before she even has time to calm down and down a slice of pizza, she’s called onto her next job upstate, taking out a family snitch hiding in the Witness Relocation Program. It’s here that Viper’s present clashes with her past, as one of the agents assigned to the snitch’s protection spots her and recognizes her… but not as an assassin, but as his wife’s long-lost sister.

There’s a familiarity to this story - with shades of La Femme Nikita and O-Ren Ishii’s story from Kill Bill - that are not quite tired cliché and yet they’ve been used enough to undermine some of the characterization of Viper. There’s a grindhouse-meets-soap operatic aspect introduced that should play out more evenly over subsequent issues.

Espinosa is handling strictly art chores, and Rocketo fans will know exactly what to expect in terms of a loosely structured yet highly animated aesthetic. Espinosa’s style isn’t as tailor made for this style of storytelling as it was for his highly fantastical debut, and at times some of the action can be difficult to interpret, but overall, it’s a unique pleasure to read in a style defiantly his own. Just be aware, while Espinosa’s youth friendly style proved to be good all-ages reading for Rocketo, this is more teen-plus in sensibility.

3 out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] Run, Bong-Gu, Run

Posted by Graig on July 19, 2007

(NBM/ComicsLit)

I’m not entirely certain I understand all the nuances of this simplistic, naturalistic manhwa (Korean comics), from the shifts in visual textures to the disparate title, I get the sense that I’m missing something. But for all that I feel I may be missing, I do still get a lot out of it.

Korean storyteller Byun Byung-Jun shifts from pen to ink wash to watercolors to oils throughout the story as we follow Bong-Gu and his mother as they make their first journey from the provinces and venture throughout Seoul in search of Bong-Gu’s father. There they encounter a homeless man and his granddaughter Hyemi, who help them make their way through town. It’s a journey that spans an afternoon but it’s the kindness these strangers show one another (as hokey as that may sound), and not the journey itself, that is at the core of this tale. Without tokenizing or weaving clich�s, these characters live and breathe and move through space and time, amidst an exceptionally tangible setting.

In some respects, Run, Bong-Gu, Run, reminds me of the Wim Wenders film Wings Of Desire, not in so much story or character, but more the tone and pacing, and even more so in that it’s truly a love letter to the city in which it’s set. Although much of the story revolves around the hardships faced by modern Koreans, the difficulty in supporting families and raising one’s status, amidst it the city is never portrayed as depressed. Neither is it viewed through rose-colored glasses, but Byung-Jun captures the city in his illustrations and paintings as a place where you can lose yourself as equally as you can get lost, where you can feel as crowded or as lonely as you like. There’s a majesty to what are quite tangibly life studies (or at least reproduced from photo), the details abundant but fuzzy, or a background only partially developed, leaving the rest to the reader to sink into and fill up the space around them.

I don’t know that this book has made me, a hesitant traveler, desire to visit Seoul any more than I already had planned, but via this comic, there’s a captured moment in Seoul’s history that I can always go back to. This will certainly be a book I pull off the shelf routinely just to flip through its potent scenic imagery. While that does sell the story a little short, Byung-Jun has immediately made himself a creator of notice on the strength of his imagery alone.

3 and a half out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] 110Per%

Posted by Graig on May 28, 2007

(Top Shelf)

I’m sure everyone, at some time, has had an obsession (or two, or ten)… something they get really worked up about, excited, angry, divested in perhaps more than they logically should. For me, at times, it’s been comics… or action figures… or DVDs… or music. I have one of those personalities that tells me that I shouldn’t go gambling, because I’ll play until I lose it all.

Tony Consiglio’s 110Per% is a book about unruly and illogical obsession. Three women, Cathy, Gerty and Sasha, are highly devoted, mature fans of the boy band 110Per%. They are friends and members of “MOFO 110Per%” (”Mature Older Fans Of…”). Cathy is awkward and overweight, single, uncomfortable about herself, and treated nastily by her coworkers. 110Per% is her way of escaping her life. Gertrude is a mother of two, a wife, and a no-nonsense woman when it comes to her fandom. 110Per% is the ultimate fantasy for her, and her obsession is blind (we meet her tailing the 110Per% tour bus and reclaiming their garbage). Sasha is 50-years-old, married to a loudmouth but she swears he’s a sweetheart. To her, 110Per% is a silly indulgence, which she can’t see she’s taken too far.

This original graphic novel follows these three friends at the peak of their obsession, for some of them, it’s going to consume them, for others it’s going to be a sharp awakening to reality. For anyone who has obsessed about something, this book will be easy to relate to. But even if you can’t exactly relate, it’s incredibly funny (the pathetic “MOFO” meetings and the opportunistic man who frequents it for the desperate-to-be-accepted women an absolutely crazy-but-plausible scenario) without being mean towards those caught in the thrall of their own indulgence. The cover of Cathy, Gerty and Sasha, the standout figures amidst a see of colorless teen-aged girls summarizes the story perfectly. The art is expert cartooning from Consiglio, and every moment of drama and comedy is nailed in his simplistic yet perfectly detailed style. Highly recommended.

4 and a half out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] P.L.A.I.N. Janes

Posted by Devon on May 24, 2007

Somewhere between Vertigo and Oni, someone realized something.

Someone realized there are stories without gothic sensibility. Someone realized the quiet ones often have alot to say. Someone realized there was more to comics than “BIFF!” “BAM!” & “POW!” Someone realized that there was something greater than myth. Someone realized there are simply stories need telling.

The Minx comics line is that realization.

This week sees the release of its first offering, The P.L.A.I.N. Janes.

Jane was the ultimate Jane. A city blonde who wore her hair long, who wore the right flats. The right flats to perfectly accentuate her messenger tote and as quickly as it takes for her to put it all together, her whole world falls apart. Months later, the once-popular Jane finds herself friendless in the suburbs. That is, until she meets three other girls by the name of Jane. All three, outsiders like herself and sick of lives with the promise of new shopping malls, they form the P.L.A.I.N.- People Loving Art In Neighborhoods, an art movement meant to save art. Little do they know, that in trying to save art, they just may be saving themselves.
WAIT! There is more to read… read on »

Hunter’s Moon #1 (of 5)

Posted by Graig on May 15, 2007

(Boom Studios)

There’s a lot of these Hollywood-types infesting comics these days. From Joss Whedon and Allan Heinberg to Thomas Jane and Rosario Dawson, the comics landscape seems to be riddled with talent from a completely different pool. Sometimes the marketability to the comics crowd makes sense: “creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer” or “star of Sin City, Clerks 2, and Josie and the Pussycats” actually has some mileage with the comic shop haunters, but somehow “From the writer of the Academy Award-winning film ‘Ray’” probably elicited a few more giggles that “oohs” from your average comics reader. Not that there’s anything wrong with Ray, it was a solid biopic, but there’s nothing there that would lead you to believe that its writer, James L. White, had the jones for scripting comics. We comics fans can sometimes get defensive about who is invading our domain. When there’s no obvious genre ties, we have to wonder what they’re doing here.

But with the first issue of Hunter’s Moon, White proves he belongs. Though there’s nothing in the book that couldn’t be easily replicated on TV or in film, White tailors the story to best fit the format. It helps that he has Dalibor Talajic with him. Talajic takes White’s busy and dramatic script, which calls for a lot of dialogue and face-to-face character moments, and breaks it down into flawlessly executed layouts that see many 9-panel pages configured for maximum dramatic effect and perfect flow. Though Talajic’s figures can be stiff on occasion, he nails facial expressions and his sense of detail brings a realistic and natural feeling to the book… and natural is exactly what the story needs.

White’s central character, Lincoln Greer, is a self-made success, a confident businessman whose only failure is as a father and husband. When a planned romantic log-cabin getaway falls apart, and Linc is saddled with his son, Wendell, for the trip, he sees it as an opportunity to reconnect with his boy, and to perhaps teach him the discipline of hunting which he learned from his own father twenty years earlier. As the two travel, forced to spend time together, the strain in their relationship is palpable. But the more they actually interact, the more they begin to relate and actually understand each other. It’s a surprisingly effective and natural progression and integral for the set-up of the book. Lurking in the background of the story is hostility in the woods in the form of eco-terrorists, “tree-huggers” whose protest tactics border on the extreme. The whitebread town they’re in the vicinity of also views Linc and Wendell as outsiders and have a less than hospitable attitude towards them at first.

White’s characterization and pacing is spot on, and unlike many first-time comic writers he’s trusted in his artist to set the scene and direct the characters rather than using clunky expository dialogue or equally unsuitable narration. What this first issue offers is a father-son drama that acts as prelude to Lincoln’s distressing predicament that will be the remainder of the book. No telling what action may arise from it, but suspense is certainly in high order. This is one cinematic immigrant comics should be glad to have.

4 out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] The Clarence Principle

Posted by Graig on May 6, 2007

(SLG Publishing)

So, what does happen after you kill yourself?
That’s hardly a question any of us ask ourselves, and for those of us unlucky enough to be in the situation where we contemplate withdrawing ourselves from this existence, if one even bothers posing the question in the first place, the answer is usually something to the effect of “well, anywhere has got to be better than here.”

Suicide, as we know it in North American culture, is a dark, disturbing, and wholly selfish act, one derived from pain, often done to deliver more pain, and sometimes done to relieve it. It’s an act that’s not really very easy to make light of, and perhaps even more of a challenge to adapt into a “down the rabbit’s hole” type adventure. Yet, that’s what writer Fehed Said and Shari Chankhamma have attempted to do with their original graphic novel, The Clarence Principle, which explores a purgatory or restless wandering that resembles a landscape plucked from the Sandman’s Dreaming merged with the backdrop of a Tim Burton animated movie.

“…This is not Wonderland.This is death.”

Clarence has killed himself, for a reason that’s partially clear, centering around the more extreme end of a typical post-break-up depression, most likely fueled by anger, sadness, and, in part, revenge. Waking up in his murky tub, post death, Clarence finds a message underneath the steam on his mirror: “Find me.”

Naked and pale, he exits the bathroom. Down the rabbit hole he goes.

There’s an unsettling joviality to the characters Clarence encounters, people or creatures all too friendly and yet not at all helpful: An ogre that acts as a toll operator; a society of miniature clock worshiping cartoon pygmies; the man in the moon; a semantics-loving, skeletal elevator operator; a human puppet actress; and some with more nefarious intentions. The mission Clarence has put himself on is an unfocused one, a mystery that he never quite understands, until he reaches the objective that he was unaware he was pursuing.

Best described as a dark fantasy - with dark meant more in the context of the undertones rather than the overtones - which instead are deceptively sweet with humor juxtaposing the core matter. It’s a rather quick read, but that’s not to say it’s a simple or easy read. It’s sometimes challenging simply in understanding the purpose of Clarence’s journey, and sometimes it’s difficult interpreting the scenes within which he finds himself. In some cases, in retrospect or in second reading, the message comes through clearer, in others what you read into it is what you bring to it. For the subject matter it’s not entirely a solemn affair, but there’s the spectre of a dark cloud looming at all times from the first shot of Clarence waking from his death onwards. Clarence himself is a hard character to like. Suicide makes those that they’ve left behind both sad and angry, left with loving memories but often hate for what they last did. Clarence may be likable, and to some sympathetic, but immediately one is angry with him for the decision he made.

Chankhamma’s art is wide-eyed manga inspired, but coated with rich textures of black ink and grey washes and devoid of any of the more animated elements normally found in Japanese comics. The characters, with their bulbous heads and cauliflower ears are distinct to Chankhamma’s style, but evoke, primarily, Brian Lee O’Malley’s Scott Pilgrim but richer in texture, more refined in style and darker in sensibility.

Honestly, I’m torn about my enjoyment of the Clarence Principle. Certainly it’s thought provoking and a unique exploration of the afterlife, and the contradictory themes tug and pull at each other, fighting for tonal supremacy, but neither emerging victorious. What it comes down to is one word: compelling.

Three and a half out of five Vikings

Trade Winds - Essex County Vol.1: Tales From The Farm

Posted by Graig on March 21, 2007

(Top Shelf)

Tales From the Farm is more of the singular sort, a tale of a 10-year-old boy, Lester, whose mother died and now he’s forced to live with his Uncle Kenny on a remote farm in southern Ontario. Although it’s presented as an almost singular experience, Lester is also utterly relatable, bringing forth the pleasures of youth, derived from hockey and comic books, both escapist realms to mask or retreat from the insular pain of loneliness and loss.

Practically trapped, without friends, saddled with yard chores, Lester lives with a guardian who is inexperienced with children and feeling burdened and yet responsible for him. There is constant tension, and Kenny tries his best but just doesn’t know how to deal with it all. Lester one day meets Jimmy, an ex-pro hockey player, sidelined by a head injury and now running the local gas station. Jimmy gives Lester a free comic and soon the two, without Kenny’s knowledge, become friends, escaping into comic books, hockey and a fantasy about alien invaders.

There’s something both extremely Canadian about artist Jeff Lemire’s story, and yet nothing here is distancing to outside readers. Flashbacks allow a gateway into understanding Kenny and Lester’s conflicted relationship, and the depth of the relationship between all three characters goes beyond what is said or seen on the page. There’s a rich story here, nothing so hokey as coming-of-age, but certainly Lester, with Jimmy’s help, comes to accept his place, where fate has brought him. Lemire’s thick ink line is sloppy and awkward, and yet his storytelling is completely consistent, his characters cartooish in simplicity and immediately identifiable. There’s a serenity Lemire’s use of thick-brushed ink brings to the Ontario farmland through the four seasons of the story, each effectively captured but his winter the sharpest impact. Lemire also integrates an 8-page comic book he drew in his own adolescence which, for anyone who did create their own comic books at a young age will find warming and immediately familiar.

It’s a tranquil and involving book, sweet and clever but without the need to emphasize either aspect. Two more volumes of Essex County are expected, each criss-crossing the other to create an even richer whole.

4 out of 5 Vikings

A Late Freeze

Posted by Graig on March 18, 2007

(Danica Novgorodoff)

There was a commercial called “Robot” that premiered during the Superbowl featuring an anthropomorphic robot arm that is let go from a General Motors factory after dropping a bolt. The commercial trails this robot arm through it’s sad existence through different jobs, watching GM cars go by, and inevitably it turns to jumping off a bridge (although current iterations have that part edited out) only to have the robot wake up from his nightmare before impact, with the kicker being GM’s quality obsession slogan. This of course recalls the brilliant Spike Jonze-directed Ikea “Lamp” commercial, in which a lamp is removed from an apartment, put on the curbside with the trash when it begins to rain, the camera showing a profile shot of the lamp with the apartment in the background being lit by a new lamp, pathos-inducing music somberly playing in the background. A man, drenched by the rain stops and stares into the camera, uttering with his Dutch accent, “Many of you feel bad for this lamp, that is because you’re crazy. It has no feelings, and the new one is much better.”

Both of these sad-yet-whimsical commercials (both effective manipulations of the viewer via in part by music but mostly via direction) came to mind when I read Danica Novgorodoff’s Alternative Press Expo Award Winning story A Late Freeze. Much in the same vein Novgorodoff injects both whimsy and pathos into her bizarre tale about a romance between a factory robot and a bear. As a result of the late winter the bear, now pregnant with bear-robot hybrid offspring sets out in search of food, instead finding a stuffed frog in need of rescue. Throughout this (mostly) silent tale, the absurd joy of the cast and subject are tempered with the situations and hardships they find themselves in, as they are evicted from their cave by land developers and on the run from agents looking to retrieve the escaped robot.

It’s nonsense, but it’s beautiful, bittersweet nonsense. Novgorodoff’s story is complimented, nay, enhanced by her clean and vividly imagined illustrations, a color pallet that reflects both delicate darkness and surreal beauty. If there’s a theme, it’s the merging of the wilderness with technical civilization, and the the art negotiates it perfectly, Novgorodoff’s middle-page spread showing a valley on one side, urban sprawl on the other, intersected by trees and telephone poles, a bird flying east, a plane west, the battle between the two appearing even but the threat of the cranes and cars and garbage looms heavy. The romance itself bridges nature and the unnatural, the robot escaping from a factory for the forest, then later, in turnabout, the bear working a factory. The stuffed frog and the offspring different reflections this same struggle for a coexistent society and natural world, and most panels bear some reflection of the theme (a stream littered with garbage, a Humvee tearing past a wagon train, snow burying a Super 8).

A Late Freeze isn’t exactly uplifting, but at the same time it’s not bleak. There’s an undercurrent of detached delight in the conceit of a robot romancing a bear, and, like both the “Robot” and “Lamp” commercials (and any number of children’s stories), there’s something enjoyable merely by personifying inhuman things. A refreshing and fantastical work.

4 and a half out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] Trailers

Posted by Graig on March 6, 2007

(NBM/Comics Lit)
(this review of the hardcover was originally presented in Thor“s Comic Column on 11.16.05. Trailers was recently re-released in paperback)

I have a friend who teaches grade four in one of the poorer neighbourhoods of my hometown. She“s a great teacher but there are just some kids she can“t get through to. There was one child in her class last year had been bounced between different foster homes, a schizophrenic mother, and a mentally unstable father with his younger sister, not having a stable household in years. He“s the primary caretaker of his sister whenever they are staying with one of his parents, and he probably takes care of the parent too. He was seven when I met him. At that age, it“s a lot for anyone to take in, never mind a kid. So when he goes to school, that“s his escape from real life. He has difficulty concentrating and likes to get a lot of attention by acting up. Who can blame him though?

In Trailers, Josh Clayton is a teenage extension of my friend“s student. He lives in a trailer park with his alcoholic prostitute mother, and is almost solely responsible for his two brothers and his sister (all from different fathers). Josh“s father, meanwhile, is immature and thinks a low-paying video store clerk“s job is an acceptable career. Josh obviously has some (non-Oedipus-like) issues regarding his mother, as he can“t seem to stand up to her nor find a way to separate himself from that life. When his mother kills her pimp, Josh is left with the task of dealing with the body, something which weighs heavier and heavier on his conscience, especially the more the body keeps getting dug up by the locals.

The only bright spot in Josh“s life is Michelle, a cute girl in class. He sees himself as way too beneath her, but she“s much more intrigued by Josh“s life than she is put off by it. Through her inspiration, Josh wants to make a change in his life, but that would require standing up to his mother, which is the most frightening thing he could ever face.

Trailers is a very meaty, intense, and respectful look at a life gone terribly wrong and out of control through no direct action of his own. It“s about growing up, taking responsibility but also learning that you can“t always do everything alone. It“s a sincere drama with moments of dark comedy written with naturalistic dialogue by Mark Kneece. The art by Julie Collins-Rousseau is completely fitting with nicely defined characters, an expert handle on setting, and a cinematic storytelling sensibility. Trailers straddles the border between powerful and entertaining, but manages moments of both equally well. Recommended.

4 and a half out of 5 Vikings

Local #8

Posted by Graig on February 25, 2007

(Oni Press)

I like Local for many reasons. It’s a book about people and places, utilizing the bridging ground between real life and melodrama, sometimes staying on one side or the other, and sometimes racing in-between. It’s also a book about ideas, ideas about comics, their storytelling capabilities and possibilities. It tests the medium and a reader’s willingness to accept its interpretation of what a series/mini-series is. It’s also a book about comics creation, about the writer and the artist, as every month Brian Wood and Ryan Kelly provide an essay on what went into the making of the story, the thought processes behind it, the music that accompanies it, the drafts of covers, and the photographs referenced.

The original intent for Local was a complete issue per story, each centering around a unique place, or neighborhood, also different every issue. Megan was to be our guide each issue, but a rough guide, not the centerpiece. Sometimes the story would follow her directly, sometimes she would be a peripheral character, and sometimes she would be present at best in spirit. With issue 8, Wood concedes that Megan has taken over the series, and that Local is about her journey, each issue a distinct moment in one year of Megan’s life. While last issue was about Megan’s cousin, with Megan appearing only via postcards, it’s apparent that the final five issues are going to provide a stronger, more uniform arc to the character and the series.

Wood’s predecessor to Local was Demo, a series which equally had began with a unique vision and organically transformed into something all its own. His failing to stick to plan with Demo seemed to launch the idea for Local, but cudos to Wood for allowing the series to go where it naturally feels it should, rather than forcing himself to stick with the model he originally devised. There’s artistic merit to either decision, but the one he chose will invariably produce a more satisfying read.

This issue, however, is not a strong one, not fully anyway. If you’ve seen the film or read the novella, I’m sure you caught it just as I did. Issue 8 of Local is Shopgirl. I’m not making any insinuations, as an artist channels often unconsciously outside influences, and occasionally artists create similar works completely isolated from one another’s influences, but I won’t be the only one to see the very same themes of Shopgirl in this issue. It’s a stripped down and thinned out version of Steve Martin’s examinations of three emotionally stunted individuals, one an older successful man, another an unmotivated unsuccessful twenty-something, and a lost and alone 20-something woman being courted by both. Here in Local it’s just about Megan, but it hits the same notes of the charming, sophisticated and perpetually lone older man, and his directionless adversary for the conflicted woman’s affections. It does completely fit within the realm of Megan’s character as we know her to be, but you just can’t shake the familiarity of it. (I had a similar issue with the first issues homage to Run, Lola, Run).

Wood is a damn fine writer, and the larger scale of project and experiment, adaptation and growth of Local far outweighs the finer points of niggling over common ground covered elsewhere. Ryan Kelly, adapting his artwork to fit the tone of each issue, achieves breakthroughs in graphic illustration every time he pushes himself. It’s a fascinating endeavor, even if the stories can’t always hold up to expectations.

3 and a half out of 5 Vikings