September 4, 2003
Despite starting rather late on the column this week, I think we’ve got a good one, with a handful of interesting books and even my puckish attempt to take on THE COMICS JOURNAL publisher and Editor-in-Chief Gary Groth’s recent essay on what he sees as the death of comics criticism. Hey, how can I take that lying down? Statements like that malign the five or six good crit—er, well, anyway…And since that wore me out, I’ve got no pressing commentary to give right here, so let’s get started with the reviews.
A SMALL KILLING by Alan Moore and Oscar Zarate. Avatar Press. $16.95 SC or $24.95 HC
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The reprinting of this graphic novel has unfortunately occurred with little fanfare that I’ve noticed. It’s a shame, as this is really one of Moore’s best and perhaps one of his most personal works. It’s also rather unusual in that the story finds Moore collaborating to a much greater degree than usual with his artist. The basic story originated with Zarate, who even provided an essential thematic device, that of the lead character taking progressively less advanced (if that’s not an oxymoron) means of transportation to get to the end of his search.
What he, Timothy Hole, is searching for, is what we’re all searching for. He’s trying to find himself, find what happened along the way to change him from the innocent boy to the cynical adman. Of course, for most of the story, he and the reader thinks he’s actually being stalked by this evilly-glinting lad, so the intent on the creators’ part is to give the impression that this is some sort of supernatural thriller. When Moore opts for a more psychological and uplifting conclusion, some potboiler junkies will be disappointed, but it’s a route with more resonance. Adults know that no matter where you bury something, it’s not the end, and you’ll have to deal with it sooner or later. Moore perhaps senses that the “getting to know that little boy inside again” plot could be cringe-inducing if played straight and unadorned, so not only does he disguise it as a thriller, he stuffs many scenes with tart dialogue fragments satirizing the advertising world. Floating bits of party conversation like “the ambiguity needs to be clearer” also serve to humorously relieve the stair step tension of the thriller plot.
Zarate’s work is inconsistent but effectively nightmarish at its best. His color choices are novel, often employing cool greens or blues on Timothy’s close to set him apart from the sullen, shadowy mobs on the street. There are few black lines used; Zarate prefers a brown holding line and outline, which at times makes the panels less vibrant but at the same time more dreamlike, so at least one desirable effect is realized. The parts that really strain patience are the flashbacks, which seem to have been reproduced through some kind of hazy filter. It makes it instantly clear to the reader that the events take place in the past, but they’re also irritating to look at this way.
It would be an exaggeration to call this a long-lost masterpiece of Moore’s, but it is certainly an important piece in his evolution as an artist, and mostly successful in its own right.
WILDCATS VERSION 3.0: BRAND BUILDING by Joe Casey, Dustin Nguyen and Richard Friend. Wildstorm Productions. $14.95
Most superhero comics are like ramen noodles with a high price point. They have little nutritional value and the innate blandness is only masked by a high concentration of spices. Chicken flavor=superhero ramen plus police procedural; beef flavor=superhero plus family soap opera, or comedy. It’s great if you’re drunk, but the flavor goes away quickly and you’re left with more sodium than anyone needs to have.
Joe Casey’s noodle house has been in business for a decade or so, but it’s been a struggle for him to offer more substantive fare. With WILDCATS, he mostly succeeds in raising it above the average superhero title by having one good idea: the superhero team trying to combat evil through corporate culture. It’s not an easy transition, taking an android and a garden variety unshaven badass and refitting them to combat not evil aliens and human despots but such everyday evils as planned obsolescence, but Casey makes a valiant, mostly successful effort. This trade collects the first six issues of the latest series, picking up from the Casey/Sean Phillips run prior that demolished the superteam and set the two remaining characters on this course.
The first issue hedges its bets, offering Grifter in a pointless sequence taking on an evil Asian dictator who exploits children in his factories. An easy target, not consistent with the plan of android Jack Marlowe in the rest of the series. Why fight them, when you can destroy them in the commercial marketplace? In Marlowe’s synthetic mind, money and a better product are the only weapons needed to change the world for the better, so his use of Grifter on this mission can only be seen as a sop to old fans craving some action, and it doesn’t help that the sequence ends with some tired comedy where, having been teleported out of danger, he has to walk back to his hotel room naked.
A similar lack of focus is apparent in a contrived action sequence where Grifter takes on an experimental FBI “nuclear family”—Dad, Mom and the kids are all gun-toting agents. Again, it feels like either Casey’s own whimsical bad idea or one caused by an editorial directive to add more action. At least Casey can write a decent action sequence, and Nguyen is quite capable in drawing it. The other positive is that it results in Grifter taking to a wheelchair after receiving several bullets in his legs. As the only character who fights, maybe Casey did this to cut off any further dictates for more action. That it doesn’t result in any deepening of the character is unfortunate, but he’s at least useful in explaining the lay of the land to Wax, the third male lead.
Wax becomes a double agent for Marlowe’s Halo Corporation, using his position at the National Park Service—one of Casey’s best ideas, especially the hip blue suits—to obtain information and possibly keep the NPS off Halo’s back. Casey hasn’t actually figured out much for Wax to do in this position yet, and the character spends too much time getting back at his boss, using his hypnotic power to essentially rape the boss’ wife and make her forget it, over and over again. It’s a pretty loathsome subplot, and one hopes Wax finds more purpose and direction other than being a smarmy creep and the “new guy” character for readers to learn more about the backstory.
More interesting, and the reason to stick through the bumps, are Marlowe and new character Dolby, a competent accountant finding a higher purpose as Marlowe taps his potential. Dolby becomes much more interesting after the events of this collection, though. Marlowe, though his appearances are somewhat brief, is the most intriguing character so far. With few exceptions, android characters in comics are always concerned with becoming more human, and spend a lot of time observing and serving. Marlowe is a leader with a clear vision but a superb ability to adapt and make the most of the resources and people around him. He’s pragmatic to a fault, but seems sincere in his desire to improve the world, and the use of batteries that never wear down is a fascinating means to this end. If Casey keeps writing him, he could become a Superman for the current age, a pure hero not given to human weakness. Or he could be the ultimate corporate fascist. The possibilities are rich and just being tapped.
One can probably tell from this review that there’s no real driving plot and not a lot resolved in this trade. That’s true, but it’s okay. The main story is the developing of Halo as an earth-shaking corporate entity, which is novel enough in comics, and Casey’s research is sound if sometimes over-the-top. There are probably a few too many diversions and unnecessary, though entertaining, action sequences for these six issues, but the rest is strong and fresh already, while laying the groundwork for surprising and complex developments down the road. Nguyen is not up to the level of Phillips’ art, using some idiosyncratic fine lines and a good design sense but still rendering most faces is ovals not unlike bad videogame rotoscoping. Just over the six issues here, however, there is already some improvement, though also occasionally a loss of detail perhaps due to deadline concerns. Overall he’s not a bad artist, and does at least have a unique style, while his and Rion Hughes’ covers are consistently outstanding, slick pieces of art owing much, appropriately, to advertising rather than comics. An uneven but entertaining, often smart, collection.
UNLIKELY by Jeffrey Brown. Top Shelf Productions. $14.95
Brown returns with a follow-up to CLUMSY, this one dealing with the sensitive slacker cartoonist’s first major dating relationship and first intimacy. The subtitle, “How I Lost My Virginity” is pretty much a giveaway that this twenty-something creator is perhaps aware that he is a bit behind the life experience curve.
Jeffrey and his hesitant, budding relationships are always readable and it’s a tough book to put down. The clear, unadorned storytelling and his ability to capture and sustain interest over a work of more than 100 pages puts him ahead of much of the indie comics pack. However, the art, while inoffensive, is primitive, and aids not at all in elevating the events of the story beyond the mundane. Boy meets girl, talks a lot on the phone, starts dating her, she brings out his romantic side, they have sex, things start to deteriorate when the novelty wears off. The Jeffrey character’s objection to his girlfriend’s weakness for partying is encouraging, as it suggests he may be more goal-oriented and focused on artistic growth than is apparent in the lackadaisical day-to-day events depicted here. Brown also has a healthy awareness of his own flaws and uses them frequently for comedic effect. So, bottom line, he’s a decent, developing talent who is unfortunately telling a pretty familiar story but at least he’s telling it in a compelling way. As he continues to develop his art and perhaps tackle more unusual subjects than the average White male cartoonist in the city, he may yet produce a unique, valuable work. Brown is good enough right now to bear further watching.
LIKE A RIVER by Pierre Wazem. Humanoids Publishing. $9.95
Grief is a hard emotion to put across in comics. Just recently I read one where the lead character lost his friend and there was a lot of stammering, head-in-hands emoting. Many American comics creators come from a background of reading superhero comics, with their wild overacting, and this unfortunately informs their own “real life” comics.
Wazem comes not just from a more sophisticated European tradition, but, as noted on the inside cover, having been inspired by the dense, tumbling wordplay of writers such as Faulkner and McCarthy. He channels the influence into a moving story about a middle-aged man grappling with the death of his wife and the choice of giving up on life or forging a relationship with the grown son he ignored all these years. Instead of the wordiness of Faulkner or McCarthy in setting a scene of rural despair, Wazem does it with spare but passionate artwork, his linework scratchy, raw and open like the character’s emotional wounds.
Having the father and son achieve a rapprochement through shared physical labor—fixing the roof of the man’s humble shack—is something of a timeworn device, but still effective because Wazem is skilled enough to do much of the heavy lifting through the richness of the artwork rather than maudlin dialogue. Through simple, deliberate scenes such as the rolling of a cigarette, Wazem allows the reader time to fully invest him-or-herself in the story, the value of stillness in comics lost on many creators.
Wazem is not fully able to convey what made the man’s wife so special, nor does the river metaphor have great depth—no pun intended—but the story is still affecting and better told than most of what’s out there these days, and the attempt to tackle a delicate subject an admirable one. Worth picking up, and kudos to Humanoids for this new series of wallet-friendly graphic novels.
THE COMICS INTERPRETER VOL. 2 #1 Edited by Robert Young. $4.95
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There really aren’t many comics magazines being published these days, so one feels the need to discuss those of even modest accomplishment, such as this. And don’t get me wrong; there’s a good deal to recommend here, despite the flaws, some of which are almost unavoidable. More on that in a moment.
Young is the prime mover here, running most of the show and writing many of the reviews and articles, along with contributions from three others who have written for magazines including THE COMICS JOURNAL. TCJ would appear to be a strong influence on the aesthetic of TCI, and why not? Letters from readers and admiring professionals such as Matt Madden and Rick Smith are answered not with blood and thunder, however, but with graciousness, whimsy and mild political barbs, as befits a self-publisher who of course doesn’t want to piss anyone off who’s decent enough to write. “Flotsam” is the next feature, a “news, hype, rumor-mongering & hearsay” grab-bag appealingly idiosyncratic in selection and tone (hard to tell if Young really thinks his past choices of interview subjects somehow influenced their later receiving Xeric grants or if he’s kidding), but suffering from being dated, as when Jim Lee’s “latest move” is critiquing art on the Wildstorm site, predating his year-long BATMAN run, or “Warren Ellis’ Hard Year”, which described the death of Ellis’ father, Ellis’ poor health and the shutting down of the Warren Ellis Forum, all events certainly interesting and perhaps moving at the time but perhaps curious to the consumer reading this now, when Ellis is at his most prolific. In Young’s defense, TCJ itself is guilty of slow turnaround on news stories, but this is usually mitigated by the comprehensiveness of the reportage. Young approaches these items as just that, worth the same word count as an item discussed in this column you’re reading, and unfortunately, with a similar expiration date.
“Pyrrhic Victories” is an admirable attempt to tackle the Top Shelf output of a year or two ago, beginning with an introduction that makes clear Young’s point of view on the generally poor quality of the fan press, in this case the willingness to support Top Shelf product with glowing reviews even when the books didn’t deserve to even be published. Young’s reviews follow then, and they’re mostly bright and thoughtful, whether I agree with the conclusions or not, but they’re also prone to some name-dropping and easy comparisons that don’t always add up. Glenn Dakin’s ABE: WRONG FOR ALL THE RIGHT REASONS has strips “which would shame everything found in the comics section of your local newspaper” and “all the philosophical angst of PEANUTS but little of the misanthropy”. The first comment feels a little too boosterific, the latter missing the enduring appeal of PEANUTS almost entirely. Dakin’s book’s great, and if Young finds similarities in both works’ bemused, mostly accepting disappointment in human nature, that’s a good observation. But Dakin is no Charles Schulz, nor is there much of a feeling he wants to be.
Alan More’s and Eddie Campbell’s SNAKES AND LADDERS and Pete Sickman-Garner’s HEY, MISTER: THE FALL COLLECTION get enthusiastic and lengthy write-ups, Craig Thompson’s GOODBYE, CHUNKY RICE a review so short (the entire criticism is “timeless characters, intoxicating artwork and lyrical pacing make Chunky Rice an instant classic”) it serves no purpose. Josh Simmons’ HAPPY gets a mixed review that makes clear Young’s contempt for jaded, druggy wastrel comics, while Josue’ Menjivar’s CICADA would be a textbook example of how to destroy a budding comics creator if TCJ didn’t get there first and fiercer. The TCJ influence shows up yet again as Young uses co-publisher Kim Thompson’s mild endorsement of the Morrison/Quitely NEW X-MEN to bolster his own uneasy appreciation of the superhero team book. The X-FORCE/X-STATIX and THE FILTH reviews are competent but spend unneeded time on tangential history, other people’s opinions and the creators’ supposed intents and level of effort. In the case of the latter, if Young had been able to read more issues than just #1 he could tell that “filth” wasn’t really the goal. A review of TOP TEN calls into doubt its highlighted quote that the series is “every bit as entertaining as WATCHMEN” when the reviewer has only read three of the twelve issues of the book, and a discussion of the advertisements at the back of the comics is no way to end a review. Not to pick on an honest effort from a year ago, but this points up the problem with a sporadically appearing, self-published magazine. One must consider the timeliness and relevance of everything that appears between its covers, and if it’s only going to come out once or twice a year, the reviews of single issues of limited or ongoing series should simply be dropped in favor of the more enduring graphic novel and trade paperback story arc collections.
Indie cred is attained, or regained, with Chad Parenteau’s lucid interview with relative unknown Hans Rickheit, whose thoughtful responses and the handsome artwork sampled certainly piqued my interest. Gene Phillip’s “Defining the Superhero” has plenty of quotes on hand but fails at its stated goal, ending with the declaration that the superhero, however one defines the term, will always have a literary relevance. That’s great, but I thought the article was going to define the superhero, not tell us if it was on the way out.
Mark Staff Brandl fares much better with his scholarly review of David Carrier’s THE AESTHETICS OF COMICS. Actually, he mostly provides a summation of the main points of the book for much of the review, it seems, but also provides valuable context in discussing the philosophical opponent of Carrier, art critic Arthur C. Danto, eventually weighing both sides to form his own conclusions.
More reviews follow, this time of small press work, including one of Greg Vondruska’s WORKER BEE. Not sure if Young was already collaborating with him, but look for my review of their work in TREAD #6 next week.
The probable highlight of the mag for many—certainly for me—is Young’s lengthy interview with Paul Pope, covering not just his work but more casual subjects like musical tastes and other cartoonist friends before a meaty political discussion. Young leaves alone a howler of a contradiction (“I think we need a clear definition of what “terrorism” is. But we won’t have that…I think we have real enemies, and a lot of them, and they want to wipe the US off the map, the dumb fuckers. I think a lot of them have been armed by us in one way or another, and I think a lot of them are raving lunatic religious zealots who can’t be reasoned with. And I think they need to be eliminated or neutralized in the fastest way possible”) to ask whether Pope was approached about working on any of the 9-11 books, but then he and Pope get into a good groove that’s unforced and revealing.
A Glenn Fabry interview is pleasant but somewhat perfunctory, as Young doesn’t seem to know enough about the artist’s technique for producing comics covers, and Fabry’s body of interior comics work is so small and insignificant to provide much conversation.
We close with more reviews, but reviewing this magazine’s reviews of other magazines like SKETCH and TRIPWIRE is just a bit too much, methinks (though the SKETCH review has some hilarious but good-natured digs at interview subject Neil Gaiman’s ego), and the GIANT ROBOT review reprints a lovely Adrian Tomine drawing of Gedde Watanabe as Long Duk Dong in SIXTEEN CANDLES, a rather surprising commission piece from the angst-ridden creator of OPTIC NERVE. Aside from the dated quality of some of the news and reviews, the magazine is quite worthwhile, due not just to the range of subjects but Young’s sharp but not elitist point of view shining through.
Full Bleed: Gary Groth, Scary Sloth
THE COMICS JOURNAL publisher Gary Groth’s gifts as a publisher, editor and interviewer are not in question; in fact, his interview with Will Elder in TCJ #254 is wonderful and shows Groth to be quite witty and funny even when not slaughtering an unsuspecting comic. But when this same issue features a handful of thoughtful essays on the state of comics criticism and Groth’s is easily the least-informed, laziest and thematically confused, it’s only proper to take issue with it.
Groth’s essay purports to be about the death of comics criticism, but there’s a problem with habeas corpus. He can’t find the body, and doesn’t appear to have done much searching, spending his time instead on a raft of quotes about what criticism is and should be.
No effort is expended in relating these specifically to the particular challenges of comics criticism, such as the fact that the gap between critic and published comics creator can be rather narrow and easily broken with a few hundred bucks, unlike, say, a television or film critic. Other difficulties include reviewing stories piecemeal in the monthly comic format and the lack of any real competition between critics. At best, comics critics in print or online receive free books as compensation, and bad critics are rarely terminated because they don’t cost anything to keep around, whereas a book reviewer for a publication as shallow as PEOPLE still must have some level of competence or they’re gone.
Groth does in fact mention the Internet, several times, but only as a vague and pervasive evil he can easily avoid. One would think an intern could show him how to “google” for reviews of books he thinks are worthwhile, and this would show him who’s doing competent criticism online, but he is content with the opinion that all online criticism is at the level of message board ranting. This may be true of 95% of it, maybe more, but that’s hardly justification for an essay striving for any kind of convincing argument, and the transparent laziness in the assertion casts doubt on whatever point Groth is trying to make.
He gets off on a tangent discussing a common opinion among artists that critics become critics because they cannot create art of their own. Setting up this domino, Groth knocks it down by pointing to a handful of critics who are also authors. A couple of his examples are dubious, as Joyce Carol Oates and Cynthia Ozick are much better known as authors than critics at this point, Oates being arguably such an income-supplementing quote whore she makes for a poor example on another level, anyway. And really, whether critics can make art is so tangential to Groth’s theme of the death of comics criticism as to be just irritating padding. More importantly, if we’re going to talk about the death of comics criticism, let’s see some examples of it, as well as some examples of “when it was alive”, so to speak. Groth notes that TCJ itself is far from perfect, but in the absence of a single mention of any other publications, much less online, one can only conclude Groth thinks TCJ is close enough to perfection not to worry about anyone else.
Also curious is Groth’s opening salvo about how comics criticism is at a crucial juncture because comics are getting more attention from, and adaptation to, other media. In other words, people are paying attention to comics, and if we don’t give them some really insightful reviews, then…what? No one will see SPIDER-MAN2? AMERICAN SPLENDOR is garnering raves from the better critics and lots of attention from intelligent programs like NPR’s FRESH AIR, and it matters not a whit, neither in terms of commerciality nor in the cause of enlightened public discourse, whether TCJ, NinthArt or, well, I write a really swell review of the next Harvey Pekar comic. Lightweight but concise and fairly wide-ranging reviews once a month in a widely circulated magazine like ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY are performing a great service to comics these days, as does Andrew Arnold at Time.com. We’re not at a crucial juncture at all, but a time of great opportunity. It stands to reason that as better, more sophisticated comics are produced, the level of criticism will rise, at least somewhat. Even the majority of the mainstream superhero comics reviewers can, albeit grudgingly, appreciate the appeal of a GHOST WORLD or BLANKETS or the undeniable craft of Chris Ware’s artwork.
Groth writes of the disappearance of comics critics willing to write negative reviews, especially of books from beloved small publishers, as the reviewers are torn between their job and a desire to promote anything a little bit different from the superhero model, and this is indeed a problem. But to not take into account the Internet critic’s lack of market pressure just because it punctures his argument is irresponsible. Or in other words, it’s not just TCJ who points out that Top Shelf puts out their fair share, and more, of junk. He also confuses the point with an odd line about only the positive review being valuable, though he doesn’t elucidate to the extent one can argue it.
It may be that as an online critic I’m taking Groth’s generalizations too personally. Not that I expected the essay to be “The Death of Comics Criticism Except for Chris Allen” or anything, but yes, there is a good deal of truth in his opinion that the prevailing sentiment of comics critics is enthusiasm rather than conviction, but surely he has a more specific route to improving the scene that that “we demand no less of critics than we do of artists”. Like what? As TCJ’s Editor-in-Chief, what pearls of wisdom can he offer to go with the broadside? All one can glean from this is that we need to be better, because critics of other media are, and if we’re not, something bad might happen, possibly to one or both of your parents, and that maybe at some point before 1990, comics critics knew what they were doing, even if there were far fewer of them then. Really, aside from Groth’s elegantly outraged writing style, this is a vague, pointless bummer smacking of old crankdom. Things were much better back then, but I’m not going to tell you when, why, where, how. One of the responsibilities of a critic is to be engaged with the world, with the changes in the medium he criticizes. Groth’s negligence of his duties in this essay brand him as a poor town crier in this instance. Thankfully, Tom Spurgeon, Rich Kreiner and especially Gregory Cwiklik assemble a sturdy winch to pick up Groth’s prodigious slack with cogent aesthetic concerns, a call for a recognition of adult work vs. comics aimed at juveniles, and a healthy dose of humor and wit. I have enormous respect for Groth’s accomplishments, taste, and usually, his writing, and pointing out one instance where he’s muddled and out of touch certainly does not put me on the same intellectual footing, but that doesn’t mean I can let this weak volley go without smashing it.
NEXT WEEK: More irrelevance and severe aesthetic compromise, as I curry favor with several publishers with my irrepressible boosterism. Expect lots of 11 out of 10s and Grade: Awesome!s. Rah Rah Rah. I’ll also review PAP#4, THE ABSOLUTE CONFORMITY SLIPCASE EDITION; SWILL ANNUAL; HACKWORK—SKETCHED EDITION #1 AND BIG SUPERHERO PUBLISHER #1’S CHARACTERS VS. BIG SUPERHERO PUBLISHER #2’S SUPERHERO CHARACTERS #1.
Speaking of guys who sold out their critical faculties long ago, Top Cow shill Alan David Doane is celebrating three years of Comic Book Galaxy--the very site that started me on this path to ruin—with a swell contest full of free swag from his publishing overloads. Go on and enter! Just kidding, Alan.
Chris Allen
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