Hey, kids! That is, young professional types desperately wanting to re-capture the innocence of your youth! Comics! and also Disappointment! and maybe a little Snark! some Bitterness, too!
Yea verily, the end of the semester has left me with a short attention span and a deep pair of eye-bags, so these comic reviews may be a little on the short side.
When last we checked in with David Hine’s Daredevil: Redemption, I criticized it for trafficking in a familiar set of Southern shibboleths—yokelish zealotry chief among them. Since then, I’ve picked up each issue with a combination of dread and hope—hope that Hine would prove me wrong and tell a compelling story about superheroes and the South, dread that if he did so I’d be proven wrong and would have to issue a mea culpa that would, I’m certain, echo ‘round the blogosphere, and that, when one day I met David Hine, he’d take me out for a greasy Mexican dinner, pour tequila down my throat, and then, when I least expected it, punch me hard in the gut two or three times until I vomited, but not on him, and I wouldn’t really be able to say anything about it, because damn, I did issue an unfair critique of his work before the series was finished.
But o happy day, it doesn’t look like that scenario is going to play out. Because D: R #4 is the same-old same-old: paunchy, corrupt Southern sheriffs, book burning, and—incest! You knew it was bound to come up sooner or later. I don’t want to rehash my entire criticism from last go-round, but suffice to say that I don’t mind using these elements in a story about the South, obviously, but when the anchor of “normalcy” is a guy in a skin-tight devil suit, well… that’s a problem. In a particularly ham-handed scene, Daredevil skulks about on a rooftop, looking down over the mob with whom he’s just been altercating, and tut-tuts in his smug, moralizing way, “What makes them behave like that? What are they afraid of?” Um, Matt? You dress up like Satan and hit people with sticks. They might be afraid of you. I’m just guessing.
Desolation Jones #1. New from Warren Ellis! When one day some academic writes Maltese Falcons and Buried Treasures: A History of the MacGuffin, I hope they reserve at least a footnote for this comic, which features a typically Ellis-ian dogged underworld underdog on the quest of an amateur porn film starring Adolf Hitler. If that sort of thing is your sort of thing, then this series is for you; if not, not. Ellis does seem to be repeating himself here a bit, but he manages to introduce enough original ideas that, combined with the super-duper linework of JH Williams, should make this at least a diverting read.
If most of Ellis’ work features protagonists characterized by high-concept-gosh-wow and just-in-from-the-cold beleaguer in varying proportions—think John le Carre’ writing a Dune novel—his Ultimate Fantastic Four captures a group of adventurers before their cynicism has had time to set in, when they’re still exhilirated at the apparently unlimited possibilities for exploring strange worlds with their newfound powers. In this issue, the team, pursued by a giant, weaponized pterodactyl, crash-lands a space shuttle in Las Vegas. It’s the sort of comic where an alien soldier gets to shout, “Move! The drive intestines have been slit!” (and it’s the sort of comic, I should add, that takes advantage of the unique possibilities offered by the superhero genre instead of ignoring those possibilities in pursuit of a spurious “maturity,” thank you very much DC Countdown #1, I haven’t burned you yet but I’ll get around to it soon.) If his characters are still a bit naive, though, Ellis isn’t; he indicates that the darkness that sets characters in his other work down their grimy realpolitik paths is beginning to encroach on Reed Richards and co: for instance, the FF only escape a major dressing-down by the army brass because Reed offers them a death ray that he’s acquired from one of the denizens of the Negative Zone (“Pretty easy to reverse-engineer and produce”), a move that suggests that Reed might, in fact, be more like the typical Ellis protagonist than you’d think.
Astonishing X-Men #10. A story in which the Danger Room achieves sentience and attacks the X-Men is a perfectly okay idea. Stretching it out over six chronically late issues? Not so much. This ish is saved, though, by Cassady’s always beautiful art and by Whedon’s deft, Buffyhoned ability to develop characters and score some laughs during what would for many other writers be a sturmund-draggy fight scene. Sturm-und-draggy. You see what I did there? And Whedon provides new X-foe Agent Brand with a colorful and much-needed supporting cast, although “supporting” really isn’t the right term for these guys. When Brand asks her alien empath, Sydren, what he’s sensing, he tells her, “If I ate your head, two thirds of your agents would praise me in poems and song.” Funny guy, that Sydren.
Also this month! We mourn the passing of Priest’s Captain America and the Falcon, which ends its run with issue 14. This isn’t a representative issue—Priest is clearly trying to cram in several months’ worth of stories to tie up loose ends, and Jurgens’ art looks rushed; a disappointing end to a series with loads of potential, but here’s hoping that Priest’s next project gets going soon.
Right on, man. Read me some more comics. I can’t get my head outta the pile of old comics that has creeped up around my desk to even glance at the new comics rack. Of course, when I do I see that Wolverine and Spider-Man are on the Avengers and is that a Secret Wars revamp? What the hell is wrong with the people drawing Xmen? The best looking thing I see is POWER PACK? WTF? I’ll go back to reading Kamandi now, thanks. Rock on, Professor.
Prof., STOP READING that terrible Daredevil rag! There ain’t no reason for it!
Coincendentally, I bought the exact same comics yesterday that you reviewed—plus something I think you’d really dig, Ultimate Secret (now on issue 2). It’s bringing in Captain Marvel, the Kree/Skull war, and something called “Gah Lak Tus.” Yeah, it’s gonna be cool.
Desolation Jones . . . what to say? Other than, some-one can have my copy, because I SWEAR that I’ve already read this. A hundred times. I like Ellis—I bought a stack of Doom 2099s yesterday!!—but, this is just him on Transmetropolitan auto-pilot. And while the artist is quite fine (did any-one ever read Chase?), sometimes he has big blocks of white on the page because . . . there’s only like four panels on a page. Hmm.
The UFF was good, Kubert still sucks, but Anhil suddenly can’t understand the (Jawa) tech that he himself likely handed out? I don’t buy it.
Hmm. The X-Men is becoming problematic. I agree that it’s tooo slow and tooo stretched out. This whole issue? Is just a fight scene. NOTHING HAPPENS AT ALL. Not one flamin’ thing. Meh. I think I’m out after this arc.
Ellis wrote Doom 2099? Was it any good? I’d rather him spend his time on Planetary than on Desolation Jones, to be sure, but I’m going to give DJ at least another ish. Is he still on UFF after this arc, or is Millar taking over? My worry with Astonishing X-Men is that, given the severity of the injuries everyone suffered this ish, it’s going to turn out that Xavier was just using his noggin to convince the Danger Room that it had won. Kind of a cop out. Maybe it won’t go down like that. I like the series enough that I’m wiling to tolerate an issue-long fight scene.
Yeah, I’m reading Ultimate Secret. I likes it. And as far as Daredevil goes…well, I feel obligated, as someone who thinks about the South professionally, to stick it out. Maybe I’ll write it off on my taxes.
Heh. Ellis wrote Doom 2099 from about 26-39 or so, according to this bibliography. Does this mean I need to go read Excalibur now?? I’ll tell you how it turns out!
I have similar thoughts about the menace of “Danger,” which is apparently “her” name.