[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] Chumble Spuzz vol. 1 & 2

Posted by Graig on October 2, 2008

SLG Publishing

I picked up the first volume of Ethan Nicolle’s Chumble Spuzz earlier this year mainly as review fodder. I’ve done that a lot over the years with Rack Raids, picked up a title not for my own enjoyment but for review purposes, and by and large it results in a stack of comics and trade paperbacks that may be good, but I don’t enjoy, or that I enjoy but aren’t any good… or both… or neither. It’s easy to stick with DC and Marvel, comics companies that I’ve invested time and years in, but I’m getting to the point where they’re comfortable fluff (for the most part), and sometimes I want substance, or something different.

Chumble Spuzz volume 1, subtitled “Kill The Devil” is certainly not “substance” but it’s definitely different. The biggest draw for me was Nicolle’s art, which is a masterstroke of cartooning wonder. Every panel is eye-catching, beautifully rendered with a decidedly clean, yet richly and precisely detailed, inking style. Flipping through the book before purchasing sold me on it, even though the description about a pig possessed by Satan didn’t exactly captivate me.

The book stars Gunther and Klem, two simplistically illustrated, made-for-cartoons looking characters of indeterminate species (I’d have to say that Gunther is perhaps a mouse while Klem is possibly a rabbit), with the typical buddy duo (ala Ren and Stimpy or Pinky and the Brain) of the schemer (Gunther) and the simpleton (Klem). In “Kill The Devil” the duo infiltrate a carnival — by way of an “Indian Rug Burn” box — where they proceed to become involved in a pig catching competition that wins them, yes, a demonically possessed pig. They consult with their friend, the gangsta-talking monkey Reverend Mofo, who advises them to take on the devil, naturally.

The main story is amusing in concept and much of the execution is pretty humorous, but a lot of the comedy also fell flat, like Nicolle was trying too hard to push the edge. Again, it’s in Nicolle’s art that I found the most laughs, as his facial expressions on humans, demons and anthropomorphic animals alike are expertly controlled. He also has a knack for dropping easter eggs in the background, and it’s these little things that I found more rewarding. It’s in the second, shorter story that Nicolle reigns his script and delivers a potent dosage of the funny. Titled “Salmonella”, it treads on beloved institutions like the Keebler Elves, Cookie Monster (emphasis on the “monster”), Colonel Sanders and, naturally, Jesus, as vampire chickens break loose at a blood drive. It’s a tight, hilariously absurd romp that plays fast and loose with pop culture while contributing something of its own to it.

Chumble Spuzz Vol. 2

Nicolle explains in the introduction a fascination he has with feral people — dedicating the volume to wolf girls of Singapore — in particular a spoof ‘pigeon man’ which he came up with for a Far Side-aping comic strip he did in high school (one included in the volume, and quite good, mind you).

The story finds Gunther obsessing over the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich, lusting after the PBJ-Bot that’s out of his financial reach, while Klem feeds the pigeons in the back yard. There, the titular Pigeon Man shows up and Klem, having conveniently witnessed a program about feral people, calls a feral human zookeeper and sells the old naked guy for a princely sum (allowing him to acquire his own PBJ-Bot). Klem feels bad about his short-lived pet, and goes to visit him at the zoo. There they discover the zookeeper is using the feral men of the zoo in an illegal pit fight (which leads to some hilarious feral men with names like “manda bear”, “man-cock” and “homo-snakien”.

The sheer variety of feral men, illustrated in Nicolle’s impeccably funny-yet-disturbing style, is the big draw here, but with his brother the pair have a tighter, funnier script which keeps the laughs and even a few knee-jerk “icks” coming (the “mangaroos” have to be seen to be believed).

The second story is a surprisingly multi-layered tale that runs through alternating stories about a blind blues man, Gunther and his feeble uncle, and Klem and his dead sea monkey, all which eventually collide in a mind blowing, epic fashion. Condensed to 27 pages, this rich story moves at an incredible clip and is all the more impressive for it. Unlike previous tales, where Nicolle’s art takes the spotlight, here the script is actually the essential ingredient, fully engrossing and funny.

There’s no doubt that with the copious amounts of poop jokes and naked old men running about this book that the Nicolle Brothers aren’t reaching for a high-brow audience, but anyone who has the stomach for a good belly laugh and an eye for incredibly well designed and rendered art will find a lot to appreciate.

Volume 1 - 3 out of 5 Vikings

Volume 2 - 4 out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] Tiki Joe Mysteries vol.1 : The High-Stakes Patsy

Posted by Graig on August 21, 2008

(SLG Publishing)

Using nostalgia in storytelling is tricky. Longing for an idealized past or place can be used and abused by storytellers to create an immediate connection with an audience, but it so many cases it rings hollow. The wistful oversimplification of a time or place can raise a viewer or reader’s hackles as often as it comforts them. The phrase “you can’t go home again” is overly simplistic, yes, but an accurate one, as recreating a time or place in a film or book can only happen to a certain extent, and negotiating the reality with the glorified fictionalization is the greatest challenge. Everything changes, and as years pass, what has occurred since will influence everything that results beyond. You can’t make a science fiction film exactly like Forbidden Planet today, or write hard-boiled pulp fiction like you could in the 1930’s, or make a TV show like Leave It To Beaver… and if you tried, the modern audience just won’t accept it, because it wouldn’t be authentic. You can however do it through a filter, like Quentin Tarantino, or Frank Miller or the creators of Mad Men, where you’re embracing aspects of a time or place but re-contextualizing for a modern audience.

But that’s not the path that writer/artist Mark Murphy has taken… there’s nothing filtered about the nostalgia in Tiki Joe Mysteries. The new book from SLG Publishing presents a pair of tales that are obviously influenced by the Rat Pack (even says so on the back cover) and their movies, but strives for nothing more than to earnestly emulate the post-War/pre-Kennedy Vegas swagger of Martin, Davis, Sinatra and Bishop. And somehow it works.

Murphy, in cobbling together his two stories, ignores modern influences, from dialogue to illustration techniques. The clean look of the book is a match with black and white newspaper strips of the 60’s, akin to Jim Holdaway on Modesty Blaise or John McClusky on James Bond, Murphy no doubt using film and photo references to capture setting, wardrobe and style of the time. The adventures Joe Halliday, war veteran and tiki-themed bar owner, finds himself in are equally steeped in the culture of the era. In the first, Joe finds himself put under the thumb of mob thugs seeking protection money, but, naturally, Joe and his army buddies aren’t about to just roll over. In the second, a quintet of beautiful stunt cyclists descend upon Vegas at the same time as the father of Joe’s main squeeze is exhibiting a precious diamond. As expected, the diamond disappears, and Joe and co. are on the case.

Both stories are unapologetically predictable, but it’s not about creating something different, and it’s not about homage or even really nostalgia. It’s a meticulous re-creation not just of a time or a place, but a specific type of story with a specific cast done in a specific style, with specific dialogue and mannerisms. It comes together as authentic, not approximation or parody. Murphy succeeds 100% at what he strives for, which is to make a comic book knock-off of the Rat Pack starring in serialized adventures. There’s no commenting on the politics of the Sixties, there’s nary a nod or wink to the audience about any retro cool pastiche, and there’s nothing to imply that there’s anything more to it than what’s presented. In fact, if I hadn’t been told otherwise, I could swear that the book was reprinting actual 1960’s material.

I don’t think you could do that as effectively anywhere else as in comics. It would be very difficult to write a whole book in the same prose as they were written in the 1960’s (dialogue yes, but otherwise the conventions of language have just changed so much). You couldn’t easily do an earnest movie replicating the Rat Pack, because you would be using stars who act in a modern way and speak in a modern way, and shooting the film would be done in a modern way with a modern crew and modern technology. Things evolve to the point that doing them the old way is not just impractical but sometimes impossible. But in comics, you can have Frank and Sammy live again through imagery and word balloons, you can recreate a setting truthfully, you can mimic dialogue with a well-attuned ear, and you can illustrate a book in much the same way they were done decades before. You can actually approach authenticity.

Yes, it’s stiff and predictable and a little hokey, just like Dean and Joey were, and that is the charm of Tiki Joe Mysteries. It’s an impressive work, not just because of Murphy’s ability to resurrect a style, a culture, and a time (or as it is represented in the entertainment of the era), but because he also makes it enthusiastically enjoyable. If you appreciate and enjoy watching post-war movies, from Alfred Hitchcock to Russ Meyer, then Tiki Joe is a welcoming read.

4 out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] MuZz Volume One

Posted by Graig on June 28, 2008

(SLG Publishing)

As disciples and purveyors of the form, we all know comic books are the confluence of words and pictures. At their best neither one should overpower the other, instead working in tandem to tell the story. Dialogue and narrative should compliment art, not explain it, and art should move the story, not just statically represent it. Together a clear representation of the story, character and tone should come through. But comics aren’t always at their best, and an enjoyable story isn’t always the sum of it’s parts. Often a weak writer can hide behind a talented artist, knowing the artist will embellish a scene, a character, an action that will present it in a manner that they couldn’t conceive. Similarly a weak artist can appear better paired with a talented writer, letting well-crafted words do most of the work in relaying the message to the reader. But what happens when both the dialogue and the images combat one another, when the words are unclear and the images just as abstract? Unfortunately you get MuZz, a new original graphic novel from creator FSc (Foo Swee Chin), a book where clarity from both sides is rarely forthcoming.

The plot isn’t easy to summarize, primarily because it becomes more convoluted as the story moves forward through it’s 228 pages. MuZz begins on a train, occupied any number of strange creatures, all on a journey to the mythical land of MuZz. The story’s protagonist, Farllee, a human girl, arrives disoriented, missing an eye, and unsure who or where she is. By the end of the first chapter she knows her name and has a vague sense of where she is (as does the reader), which is, I believe, akin to a purgatory for dreams, the creatures and beings each dreams long forgotten trying to find their way to a final resting place.

The train derails (somehow, the reason it does is not clear) and Farllee and her band of oddball creature-friends forge ahead on their journey, encountering nefarious beings and wondrous creatures, with the girl manifesting some powers that surprise and frighten everyone. The story progresses with many, many jarring transitions and a plethora of unintelligible dialogue filled with names of cities and people that require dedicated effort in understanding. Inevitably, Farllee winds up in the hands of someone who might be her brother and discovers that there are, perhaps, clones or sisters or manifestations of her multiple personalities which share her abilities. The girls are all able to dream and manipulate the existence in which there should be no dreams, and this leads to the State of Dreams taking an interest. The dialogue throughout the book is peppered with allusions towards Farllee’s hidden past and foretold destiny dropping notes of a bigger picture in the creator’s mind. For me, however, that picture is confounding.

The dialogue and thought balloons are dense, full of weight and intention but rarely clarity. That FSc’s art is equally devoid of clarity much of the time aids matters less. Reminding me of Tim Burton’s thin, scratchy lines from his poetry book The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy…, there’s an definite grim aesthetic that FSc holds throughout, however, her sense of panel composition, perspective and delineation leaves much to be desired. Character designs are also an issue, as her bevy of unusual creatures from early in the story are so abstract that it’s difficult to tell what they actually look like or where they are in relation to one another on the page. I’d estimate that one-third of the visual storytelling is indecipherable upon first glance, and paired with the overwhelming text full of cryptic meaning, the reader needs to invest a lot into comprehending the tale being told. I am willing to concede that much of this vagueness in text and illustration might be intentional, representing the frequent lack of logic or clarity in dreams, but this concession still doesn’t do anything to improve the reader’s comfort with and understanding of the material.

MuZz is an Alice In Wonderland-esque story merged with the “chosen one” cliche and it’s these conventions which I was clinging to while futilely trying to make sense of the fantasy I was reading. There are aspects I did like, primarily in the flashbacks, pertaining more to bleak science-fiction concepts about a land devoid of food and the desperate measure they take to feed themselves, as well as the idea of government-sanctioned body farming. The purpose of such concepts to the story are unknown, and the information the flashbacks were intending to provide helped only a little in clarifying the character and the story.

This first of many planned volumes of MuZz doesn’t close with any readily identifiable resolution, or cliffhanger for that matter, it just hangs abstractly, no satisfaction or encouragement to carry forward with the characters and their story. If you’re willing to venture into MuZz be prepared to invest yourself deeply, as the book is quite demanding. I tend to enjoy confusing, and I do like a puzzle, but, unfortunately, I just couldn’t give the book what it wanted, thus I found no reward within.

1 and a half out of 5 Vikings

[Raided] Ubu Bubu 2

Posted by Graig on June 21, 2008

(SLG Publishing)

Oh, I think I’m showing my age. Perhaps if I were 10 - 15 years younger (and possibly a girl, and/or maybe into the goth/punk aesthetic) I’d be quite agog for Ubu Bubu. As is, it’s cute-ification of the sadistic isn’t as appealing as I think it would be to a 20-ish-year-old me. I mean, I quite liked Jamie Smart’s Bohda Te one-shot, and ultimately the same humor and keen design sense presented there are on display here, but where Bohda Te had a dizzying, folding-upon-itself story execution, Ubu Bubu is a sequence of nonsensical skits full of death, pestilence, and mayhem as enacted by cute, cute, cute manga-stylized demon kitties. I fully admire Smart’s design sense (the book has a full underground, b&w, DIY ‘zine feel, although Smart’s inks are precise and immaculately crisp, using zip-o-tone to add a depth and shade to the work), but his humor is missing an edge, primarily because I’ve seen the sweetly-violent done many, many, many times over the years already, and Smart doesn’t give it anything particularly new here (not like he did in Bohda Te). I smiled often, and I ogled the pages as there is definitely something stimulating here, alas I didn’t ever laugh. Perhaps I’ve just outgrown the sub-sub-genre of cute-horror, and maybe, just maybe, I’m not the target audience for books like this anymore. That said, I think the target audience for this book (see top of review) will love the hell out of it.

2 and a half out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] Vaistron tpb

Posted by Graig on May 30, 2008

(SLG Publishing)

Here in North America, we pretend ourselves to be a refined culture. We snobbishly poo-poo foul, “blue” humor and those that enjoy it, saying it’s cheap and easy because it is crude, offensive and “low-brow” (I know the wife and I spend our days chiding my stepson for his obsession with discussing bodily functions). But, in recent years, the edge of gross-out or offensive humor has been pushed to the teetering point where it’s threatening to topple over into art. Comedians like Sarah Silverman have been straddling that edge for some time, waiting for the audience to catch up and push it over. TV shows like South Park and Curb Your Enthusiasm (and the bulk of the Adult Swim lineup) are all about finding the line in the sand and stepping past it. Ever since the “hair gel” scene in There’s Something About Mary cinema has been flirting with more and more extreme (and extremity-based) humor, even spilling over into art-house cinema with fare like the Aristocrats. What it comes down to is the boundaries are broadened and it’s harder (and, actually, disappointing) to shock just for shock’s sake these days, it takes a real talent to make the shocking funny and the funny shocking.

Vaistron is, yes, extreme, and there are moments that are visually or verbally toying with bad taste, but what could have been a simple sight-gag gross-out is actually a farcical and highly enjoyable sci-fi romp in the vein of Pat Mills and Kevin O’Neill’s Marshal Law. The story is set in the futuristic metropolis of Vaistron, which resembles visually the cities in, say, The Fifth Element or Blade Runner, which is to say highly industrialized, with towering skyscrapers and abundance of flying cars. The city itself is a hole, a pit of degradation, perversion, and idiocy. The future has not been kind.

The protagonist of the story is Gabriela Bukowsky, a “road killer” (the book’s colloquialism for a highway robber or bandit) who’s having a rough go. Her last haul got brought down by the Cripo (police) and she escaped with nothing but her life and what was left of her ride. Looking for a get rich quick scheme she decides to kidnap for ransom the current girlfriend of the city’s most prominent billionaire playboy. Of course, nothing goes right for Gabby as her subject is of less value than she thought, and her victim decides to turn the tables on her, setting a swarm of bounty hunters upon her while also indirectly forcing the police to inanely impose martial law on the city. Gabby’s got more than her fair share of tough-guy moments (she’d give Sin City’s Marv a run for his money), she’s one hell of a tough customer (literally) with a no-nonsense attitude and the biggest brass balls you’d ever find on a lady. A childhood trauma made her the way she is, but, in the context of the cesspool that is Vaistron, there’s really nothing all that wrong with her.

The opening scene, which is later revealed to be Gabby’s origin, is more than a little distasteful, which the book takes a while to recover from, but the spirit and tone, which is equal parts wild, absurd and hilarious, reaches equilibrium by the midway through the second chapter (I went from grossed-out to engrossed [sorry] over the span of the first 40 pages). The dynamic between Gabby and her porn obsessed droid, Rekoton intones a much deeper relationship than initially perceived and once introduced to their mad scientist doctor friend (a regular Dr. Strangelove), the rationale for their personalities are made abundantly clear. But as enjoyable the snide quips of the main characters are, it’s the surrounding environment of Vaistron that make the book even more fun. The religious Freeminder cult, the buffoonish Mayor and Cripo, the cannibalistic denizens of the the streets, and the bounty hunters (chief amongst them the clueless superhero-physiqued, unkillable bounty hunter named “The Rob”) all serve to bolster this bizarre world. And upon reading the Naked Gun-esque sequence featuring Grand Imperial Dragon of the Order of Baracus at the beginning of the third chapter I felt like parts of this book were written with me in mind (seeing a billboard for Kompressor in the background also filled me with glee).

Oh for sure it’s a bleak future environment if you’re really to think about it, but the rough-and-tumble ride which Gabby barely survives only increases in entertainment as it progresses, and will serve as more than enough distraction from any kind of serious thought. Written by Andrew Dabb, Vaistron is morbid, gross, twisted, outrageous, hysterical and exciting. It’s not something everyone will enjoy, but the fusion of Heavy Metal-style European sci-fi and the more bent Japanese and Korean anime (memories of the similarly extreme sci-fi action-comedy Aachi and Ssipak came flooding back while reading this) is something not routinely seen from North American comics.

If there’s a stumbling point for some, it might not be the content but Quebec artist Boussourrir’s line. It’s not the most pristine looking, but believe me he gets every iota of Dabb’s script across (and more, adding in a plethora of visual gags on billboards and in backgrounds that only a dementedly savvy mind could come up with). He’s got a highly stylized, cartoonish sensibility which isn’t the most attractive, reminding me highly of (again) Kevin O’Neill, but I think it works very well for this type of in-your-face action-comedy. When you’re setting is unseemly, and your characters filthy, and the situations somewhat repulsive, a clean, realistic art style is the last thing you want. Though there’s plenty of nudity and grotesquenesses, none of it is alluring or beyond cartoonishly repulsive thanks to Boussourir’s art, it’s just cringe-inducing funny.

Is Vaistron a tough sell? For a mass audience, probably. Fans of grindhouse cinema will no doubt be familiar with the rhythm of the book, which is so sharp in its presentation/exploitation of trash culture that it swings right around the “bad” territory and well into “good” again. Were it more European in look/feel, it might be seen as more refined, or were it more manga in visuals and/or dimensions, it might attract a larger swarm from bulge-eyed crowd. But like our continent, it really fits smack in between the the two comic cultures. It’s a product of a North American pop-culture as influenced by others, and I think the people that find their way to this book through honest reviews and recommendations will heartily enjoy it.

4 out of 5 Vikings

Bohda Te (one-shot)

Posted by Graig on March 22, 2008

(SLG Publishing)

I’m sure there were humorists or storytellers before Jhonen Vasquez came along that did it, but he really was my first exposure to the highly juxtaposed cutesy-horror style of comedy. Glimpses of it were in his comic Johnny The Homicidal Maniac that later featured more prominently in Squee and then hit an even broader market with his Nickelodeon cartoon series Invader Zim. If he didn’t create it, he certainly mastered the genre, the ingredients of which include, basically, horrible things happening around (or to) the widest-eyed, cutest of creatures, testing the resolve of their cuteness every step of the way. Alternatively, sometimes it’s the cutest of creatures that inflict the strangest of horrors (like the old Monty Python and the Holy Grail “killer rabbit” idea). Other sources around include Happy Tree Friends or Wonder Showzen collections on DVD, as well as other SLG published books like Lenore (written by Vasquez’s contemporary and fellow Zim writer Roman Dirge) and Bear created by Jamie Smart, who just unleashed on an unsuspecting (or, more likely, a suspecting) audience Bohda Te.

Scatological comedy is really too easy a place for any humorist to go, and typically only the laziest of funnypeople go there, but as the film The Aristocrats taught us, creativity, tone and context can really transform LCD (lowest common denominator) poo-humour into something challenging, perhaps even intellectual. I won’t go so far as to say Bohda Te is intellectual, but it’s certainly creative. Even though it completely falls in league with the Vasquez-mastered cute-horror thing (replete with the gratuitous use of the word “dookie”), which may feel derivative for some or simply wearing thin for others, Smart has done something different with this book, as if a poop-obsessed six-year-old interjected his juvenile and naive sense of what’s funny into a Lovecraft story. Bohda Te finds separate tales of a giant squid-hunting mariner, a carnivorous kitten, a pair of bumbling soldiers, an angry robot, a disturbingly cute little girl, anthropomorphic poop and a monkey all colliding in a realm of black-oozey darkness from which there is no escape… except there is… kinda.

There’s not a lot of logic to the comic, but its whimsically and gratuitously irreverent characters and story structure somehow come together to make a whole that is, if not sensical, still quite satisfying. Smart’s illustration style is cartoony with a keen design sense and very adaptable, bringing different layouts and varying levels of detail and shading to the various flashbacks and side-stories in glorious black and white with digital gray tones.

Readers keen on other of Slave Labor’s gothic-tinged humor titles will no doubt enjoy this thoroughly, and fans of the upscale vinyl figure and imported Japanese figure market will should find Smart’s visuals appealing. Me, well, the word “dooky” jusy makes me laugh.

4 out of 5 Vikings

[Raided] Rex Libris #10

Posted by Graig on March 5, 2008

(SLG Publishing)

Titled “A Cock and Bull Story” on the cover, I can’t help but think the 2006 film Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story was invading creator James Turner’s mind more than a little bit this issue. Much like that film’s spiraling diversions through story, documentary and tangents, this issue find more than a few characters breaking off into long-winded asides, discussing the very book in self-aware terms, drifting off into flashbacks, and even meeting with the (fictional) publisher of the book. Now that I think about it, the whole conceit of multiple layers of reality that the Tristram Shandy movie displayed, Turner’s been perpetuating since issue 1, as “Publisher” B. Barry Horst has provided editorials inside the front cover of each issue, and he frequently cameos within the series (often interrupting the story at hand) to discuss the title’s sales or story focus with the titular hero. It’s with this issue that Turner hits home the fact that this series is supposed to be a recounting of the daily life of Rex Libris, which means, for this semi-immortal librarian’s life story to be told, the book’s creative staff’s really going to have to step up the pace. Interestingly enough, and perhaps wisely, Turner has yet to inject himself into the meta-textual fold. Anyway, Tristram Shandy comparisons aside, a giant chicken and a giant cow do appear in this story, which is just another layer growing on this sweet onion. This book never fails to entertain, not just yanking the old funnybook bone, but tweaking the smart receptors in the brain too. And I’d be negligent in my duties if I didn’t mention the innovative comic book technology (see last page, first panel) Turner employs, making this some pretty special reading indeed.

4 and a half out of 5 Vikings

[Trade Winds] Contraband

Posted by Graig on February 13, 2008

(SLG Publishing)

To borrow a phrase from Max Headroom, Contraband is a story set twenty minutes into the future, a time much like our own only slightly different, with one aspect of our culture pushed to an extreme. In this case writer TJ Behe speculates about the progression of mobile phone technology and it’s ever-growing role as the watchful eye of our society. Camera phones have made way for video phones and the idea of being a moblie journalist; capturing events on the video phone and uploading them to the web for notoriety has become an addictive past-time for British society. The story picks up shortly down the road, as news doesn’t happen quick enough and soon kids turn to brutalizing one another to create a story. It’s Jackass emulators and backyard wrestling taken to another level, the turn-of-this-century race for blogging notoriety turned on its ear, the popularity contests that are YouTube and mySpace exploited with purpose. It’s a modern sci-fi/cyberpunk story with elements tracing back to fiction and cinematic social dystopias like A Clockwork Orange or Nineteen Eighty-Four, technological ones like Strange Days or The Matrix, or even bloodsport ones like The Running Man or Rollerball (the James Caan one, please, not the remake).

Here, Eastern European youth society has been infected with the Contraband bug, not in a literal sense, but this mobile-centric broadcasting network has promised cash for top-ranking videos, most based around violent acts or sex (or both) inciting youth into (the wrong kind of) action. With staged fights and regular pornography hardly unique enough, kids push themselves to the extreme to try and capture that one video that will net them thousands and their seven-point-five minutes of fame. Toby is a less aggressive youth, an everyman, engaging in social mobile journalism by capturing interesting conversations or crimes in progress, but one day he captures the wrong conversation and the wrong men. Tucker and Plugger are two hard dudes who just happen to be the creators and operators of the Contraband network. They’re in a battle for public sympathy with Jarvis and Charlotte, social activists rallying against the cellular broadcast, and all of them have a past together naturally upping the acrimony. Tucker, threatening Toby at gunpoint, coerces him into tracking down Charlotte and providing him with her location, the intent to take her out. There’s only two problems: Toby’s conscience and a burgeoning love for his intended target.

What results is a complex tale that takes corporate espionage and holds it down to street-level mobster-style tactics, taking into account the social ramifications of technological advances, involving equal parts greed and entertainment. It’s a book brimming with potential but there’s an abundance of diversions that turn what should have been a focussed and pointed work into a sixty-forty split between ingenious and intolerable.

“Another random but runny stream of consciousness escapes from your mouth. It’s not obligatory to say every single thing that pops into your head.”
This quote arises early on, Plugger pointing out that Tucker never shuts up, but, quite frankly it’s a hypocritical statement, as rarely any character does. Nearly every scene change involves a launch into either a flashback story (sometimes useful, sometimes unnecessary) or a soapbox rant of political, sociological or cultural observation, which is not to say that there’s not some valid topics brought up worth exploring, but they’re not given any room to breathe and instead they just wind up smothering the central message. If it were one character solely doing this - like Tucker in the role assigned to him - and thus a trait of said character, it wouldn’t be an issue, but all the characters do it, and as such they lose individuality and their dialog becomes interchangeable.

I’m not adverse to reading text-heavy comics, but there must be purpose to verbosity, either in a story context, a character context or a stylistic context. Many of the speeches here are completely detached in meaning from the book’s core and don’t serve any insight into the book’s situations, environments or characters. Phil Elliott is the artist with the daunting task of illustrating this dialog-heavy story and pushes through it quite well. Elliott’s style has a familiarity to it, a heavy pen creating simplistic outlines, with clean strokes ala Hergé, but not as cartoonish, more akin to contemporary alternative artists like Steve Rolston. There’s moments where the physicality of the figures are awkward, but overall Elliott provides a steady sense of movement where the dialog might otherwise stagnate the sense of progress. I would have like to have seen more from-the-mobile perspectives throughout the book, as what is provided sometimes jumps from that view to a much broader in-the-moment shot. But Elliott provides the perfect amount of detail and captures Behe’s 20-minutes-into-the-future ideas well.

The climax of Contraband is a gripping one, pulsating with intensity, but it’s an uneven read getting to that point, one I fear may put off many readers. I found myself distracted by the overabundance of diatribes and the non-linear progression a third of the way through and had to put the book down for a few days before rustling up the enthusiasm to continue on. The most unfortunate part is this is a book I want to like a lot more than I actually can. The idea is fantastic, and when it’s in focus it’s executed quite well by Behe and Elliott, but that focus is too often obstructed for anything more than a caveatted recommendation.

2 and a half 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

Tron #3

Posted by Graig on January 19, 2007

Slave Labor Graphics

It’s difficult writing this review because I’m angry. Over my shoulder I can hear the ghostly whisper of Bill Murray circa Groundhog Day paraphrasing himself saying “Don’t write angry”, but I can’t help it. I picked up the first issue of Tron with excited glee back in April of last year. I read it, reviewed it (positively) and then waited, patiently at first, and then impatiently, for the second issue to come. It didn’t, and I forgot about it. I guess my period of waiting for the second issue of a book from smaller press is about 5 months. There’s a stack of first (and sometimes second) issues of unfinished mini series that sits on my shelf and there sat Tron #1, alongside Thomas Jane’s Bad Planet, and the recent launches of The Authority and WildCATS. It also snuggles up against the first two issues of Slave Labor’s Wonderland, which is another in the series of Disney licenses that SLG has obtained but hasn’t been very responsive in putting to market as a timely offering.

It was this past Monday that I was checking in on these near-forgotten titles, only to find that I had missed issue 2 of Tron along the way (this November past), and not only that, but issue 3 was set to hit the stands this very week! Well, that’s a bonus… but here’s where I get angry. My shop, while having a fistful of the latest had none of the previous, and I’m beginning to suspect that they too missed out on acquiring the second issue. I don’t blame them, though I do hope they rectify the issue, but I do blame Slave Labor, for although it is a fine product - as all of their Disney related line have been - the delay between the first and second issue (and nary a notice on such delays) is unacceptable. I can’t pretend to understand what goes on behind the scenes, especially when you have to deal with the Disney overlords, but is it so hard to have a couple issues in the bag before soliciting the titles? Anyway, my rage is subsiding and I’m changing from green back into some fleshy tones, and here’s what I have to say about Tron #3 as a stand alone issue (for I have forgotten all the story of issue 1 at this point):

Though it starts at a confusing juncture to jump in on, the story pulls itself together by the end. There’s an allegorical white rabbit that interrupts our hero, Jet Bradley, on numerous occasions, warning him not to interfere in the coming war against the Master Control Program (MCP) who has once again resurfaced, perhaps deadlier than ever. Jet risks his life and his sanity by continual digitization into the TRON world, but he feels a responsibility to it, understanding that it’s not just a metaphorical existence, but an actual living society who needs help from the Users.

Fans of the classic Tron will find much to like, and those who havn’t seen the film really should before they venture into this world. The third issue isn’t the best place to start, it does offer enough to catch up (at least vaguely) on what’s going on. This issue also sees a new art team on board with Michael Shoyket & GURU-eFX taking over for Louie De Martinis (perhaps the cause of the delays past). It’s a definite upgrade, as De Martinis’ mixed media art was decent if not always clean, but Shoyket and crew really give the book style and that classic comic book romp feel one would get from old Marvel movie tie-ins. Strong hints of Al Williamson abound, which will appeal to fans of Mike Perkins (Union Jack, Captain America) and Steve McNiven (Civil War). The flexibility of the digital tweakings of the GURU-eFx team really punch this series up, and the cover image is a beaut. Appearing two months following the previous issue is a good sign, lets hope this team can hold the bi-monthly schedule together. More of this is certainly welcome. Points off for tardiness but gold star for good reading.

3 and half out of 5 Vikings

[Raided] Rex Libris #6

Posted by Graig on November 25, 2006

(Slave Labor Graphics)

If you thought you were going to get a reprieve from the warrior librarian since last issue wrapped up the opening storyline, well you’ve got another thing coming. Just as Rex Libris has another thing coming after him (officially lamest transition ever) as this initial chapter of a new storyline finds our boy pulled into a parallel world via one of his library books (oh, nice Reading Rainboy analogy there). Well, actually Rex is the second person to be pulled in, as one of the Library’s patrons was sucked in just prior to him. Once inside the El Compendo Illustrado De La… let’s just call it the Monster Guide, shall we? Once inside the Monster Guide, Rex finds himself on the hunt for the missing patron but first having to contend with the fabled Kraken only to fall into the center of a zombie frenzie, because, well, everyone else is doing it. Other creatures keep appearing out of the woodworks and things not only look grim for the missing patron, but for Rex himself (watch out! Cannibal babies!). Another thrilling, hilarous, wordy and on-schedule romp from James Turner, who continues to develop his unique vector graphics illustration style, now adding a great deal more shading than before which certainly fills out the depth of his characters and scenes more. Turner has progressively lightened up on the goofy bonus materials inside the covers and the back splash, but what he’s lacking in quantity he’s making up for in quality (there’s something strangely appealing about the gag “Immovable Man” cover that adorns the posterior of the mag). Always a winner.

4 out of 5 Vikings

[Raided] Midnight Sun #2

Posted by Sean on November 20, 2006

(Slave Labor Graphics)

An Italian airship disappears over the North Pole, its Captain on a secret mission for the Vatican, and a struggling New York reporter is dispatched to cover the story. In and of itself, that’s enough to get me hooked. But it’s only the backdrop for a thoughtful and insightful exploration of the human condition and the courage of ordinary men in an extraordinary setting. Instinctively I think for such a human story a more realistic visual style would be more appropriate, but artist Ben Towle’s style (a cartoonist’s sensibilities without being cartoonish) makes for a more dramatic read, the character’s expressions heightened and better emphasized. If you’ve ever thought that The English Patient, The Razor’s Edge or A Farewell to Arms would make a great comic book then Midnight Sun is for you. A unique book. WAIT! There is more to read… read on »

Dork #11

Posted by Graig on October 25, 2006

(Slave Labor Graphics)

“Evan Dorkin: 3 A.M. Genius” is one of many (many, many) four-panel strips in Dork #11. In this particular one, it“s 3:01 on the bedside clock and Dorkin bolts awake with a wildly enthusiastic look on his face. The startled but tired woman beside him asks, “W-What“s the matter?” “Nothing!” he replies, “I got a great idea for a gag! Go back to sleep!” In the next panel, Dorkin“s on the toilet, scribbling away on a notepad. “Oh boy! This is gonna be great!” It“s the next afternoon in the final panel, and Dorkin is examining his previous night“s inspiration. “What the hell was I thinking? This blows!” He tacks a notational asterisk on “This blows!” which reads at the bottom of the panel “I used it anyway. It“s on page fifteen or sixteen somewhere.”

Yeah. Maybe mildly chuckle inducing in a self-deprecating manner, but not very funny. And the referential “This Blows!” cartoon? Well, it may have been on page fifteen or sixteen or it may have been on pages 1 through 24, there“s really no telling. And the punch line of that strip exemplifies my problem with Dork #11, and that is Evan Dorkin has pretty much given up even trying. The whole issue is wall-to-wall one-panel or four-panel “gags”, and usually with such a plethora of comedy being thrown out, certainly a few are going to come up hit or miss, but instead this issue of Dork is Saturday Night Live, the Anthony Michael Hall year. Ouch.

Dorkin goes for the easiest of gags, which is gross-out/sex humour (“Hank Jenkins, Chronic Masturbator”; “Orgy Laffs”), obvious jokes (leper arm wrestling, “Krog, Closeted Gay Neaderthal”), playing off of clichés or puns (“Jesus Saves” – he“s a soccer goaltender; “Bad Hare Day” – the rabbits are looting), and even things that don“t make grade-school kids laugh (“Oh look! It“s snowing”, God has dandruff…; “Okay, but no tongue” says the princess to the frog”). That“s just 8 of nearly one hundred (or maybe more) really, truly sad gag from someone who used to be the most reliable comic-book humorists. Now, Dorkin is playing below even James Kolchaka“s level of baseline comedy (which may just land him a job writing the next Scary Movie). Not that I“m asking him to repeat himself, but a man who created Fisher Price Theatre, Milk & Cheese, and Eltingville surely has more in him than a random collection of barely chuckle-inducing, almost totally uninspired gags?
In one self-referring strip (“Another Reason My Comics Take Me So Long To Do”) Dorkin rages about the popular culture stars on TV, then in a fit of mad glee discusses how he“ll go about making some comic strips to vent his ire. The final panel finds him at a computer, stating “Ah, fuck that. I“ll just blog about it instead.” I“ve not read Dorkin“s blog in years, but it“s sounds like he“s gone from satirist to curmudgeon.

His final panel, showing a nerdy character reading the comic, states “The Best Joke In Dork #11”, with the character thinking “Hey, wait a minute! That isn“t funny. Shit” with captions proclaiming “You paid $3.00 for it! More in Canada! Duh haw!” At one time (Dork #10 even) Dorkin“s self-deprecation was a charming, humorous masking of his insecurities and defensiveness, but now, sadly, it“s just the bare-faced truth of what feels like a disdain for his own audience.

Has Evan Dorkin given up? If the interior of the back cover is any indication, where he“s drawn himself wearing a t-shirt that states “Never Again”, perhaps he has. And if he has, this issue is one last, pitiful hurrah.
1 out of 5 Vikings