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CBG SATELLITES
The ADD Blog by Alan David Doane
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Breakdowns – Mucky Fingers Burnt I don’t know how it happened, either, folks, but when faced with reviewing Street Angel, Nat Turner, and especially the R. Crumb Handbook, I think I may have devoted the most words to reviewing Firestorm. I really have nothing to say about this turn of events, so instead I’ll just address some reader mail: Well, seems like every Tom, Dick and Harpy is asking, “When will Comic Book Galaxy get an RSS feed?! Huh, when??” I’ll tell you when. When Old Man RSS stops his pernicious campaign of price gouging against my father every month he rides into town for feed. Until then, we’ll just go down the road to McAnulty’s for our feed, and RSS can go straight to Hell. On with the reviews, while I regain my composure.
Firestorm #14-15 by Stuart Moore, Jamal Igle and Rob Stull is a pretty good teen superhero comic with the clever bits outweighing the goofy ones. It’s not a book I would go out of my way for, nor would I give it a lot of thought after reading, and yet I’m going to try to do a bit of the latter here. First, the covers. I can’t tell who’s doing them -— the signature looks a little like “McVey”, but he’s in jail. There’s a lot of computer-generated fire and turbulent skies and the like to mask what are less-than-captivating images. #14 is okay—Firestorm flying with lots of fire behind him—I guess it’s supposed to be all around but he’s totally visible in front. #15 has Firestorm sort of disintegrated or stuck in the middle of villain The Pionic Man (goofy name, but I like it), and it’s just too confusing. The logo isn’t bad, though whoever does the lettering for the rest of the cover text seems a bit too concerned with using as many fonts and sizes as possible. “The World’s #1 Nuclear Powered Hero!” has to be a joke, right? Hey, kids, come down to the power plant to meet Detroit’s Own Firestorm, and walk away with some free cancer! He’s #1!
It’s pretty typical stuff -— Jason is pretty much an African-American Peter Parker—but I happen to like the good-natured, trying-to-do-the-right-thing teen hero type, and Moore’s sense of humor works more often than not, though gags like someone drinking “Frank Miller Lager” are more distracting than funny. Igle doesn’t have a particularly impressive style, but his storytelling is sound and Jason has a unique look. Jason goes up against this Pionic Man guy in #15 and it’s a decent fight, though the science of it seemed to be stretched a heckuva lot to accommodate a supervillain origin. I’m curious why Jason’s wispy moustache disappears when he’s Firestorm, too, but at any rate, while I don’t think we’ve got a classic in the making here, this is a good superhero comic, with a fair bit of wit and its heart in the right place, and I hope the creative team is given time to put together a good run of stories. DC Comics. $2.50
Even when ranting, Crumb makes a lot of sense and writes in an engaging, no-nonsense style, a style acknowledging vanity without succumbing to it. His words add context to the generous collection of autobiographical cartoons without softening them, his fetish for strong women explored matter-of-factly and yet its origins still remain elusive. Longtime fans might gripe that the book essentially features Crumb’s greatest hits, but it doesn’t purport to be new work. It’s a retrospective and Crumb’s own personal history, and the work is representative of his various periods, from juvenilia through “America’s Best Loved Underground Cartoonist” through the scabrous '80s and into his current standing as legend and fine artist abroad, quieter but untamed. It’s a wonderful volume, easily the best single book to introduce readers to Crumb’s work and the circumstances that shaped it. MQ Publications. $25.00
The surprising part is not that Turner barely appears, nor the shark/baby episode, though it’s startling, to the say the least, but that there isn’t any dialogue in the issue except for an icon or two, like a dollar sign emerging from a character’s mouth to explain why a comely African woman shouldn’t be hurt. There’s almost no text, either, except at the end. Whether such a device hurts sales to those who like their history spoonfed to them is hard to say, but creatively, it works extremely well. For one thing, it’s some of the best art Baker has ever done, and since he has to convey so much without words, the images are well-composed, like movie storyboards, except that they have much more detail and dimension. Baker seems to be working with charcoal to which he then adds some washes via computer, and it’s appallingly beautiful, even while depicting moments of tragedy, worry and tremendous sorrow. A really strong beginning. Kyle Baker Publishing. $3.00
Now, me, I hardly know where to go after that overblown metaphor, but that’s why I’m not Jim Rugg. Issue after issue, he displays an impressive command of the emotional core of the book that needs to be there to hold all the ninjas and pirates and astronauts and Satanists and blaxploitation heroes from sinking the book into anything-for-a-yuk madcapastrophe. The key is the titular hero herself, homeless skateboarding superhero Jesse Sanchez, and Rugg’s understanding of her. Picture a Daniel Clowes gamine from the wrong side of the tracks who has neither the time nor patience to follow around another white loser, and you’re on the right track. Although the gorgeous/funny/bloody/experimental/sexy artwork by Rugg and Maruca is good enough to eat, it works so well because it’s serving the story. Storytelling, like salesmanship, lying, and getting laid, is about confidence. Knowing what to leave in, leave out, explain or just toss out there and insist no explanation is necessary. I remember objecting a bit when I reviewed the first issue that the big action payoff with the ninjas was completed between panels, unseen, but now it works as a very good gag, and a way for Rugg to make his readers acknowledge that he’s in control and will show them only what he wants to show them. It’s a playful manipulation, but very skillful, as Rugg can thrill with over-the-top action, amuse with funny names and odd juxtapositions, and then drop your heart on the floor with the brief but perfect moments when he reminds us that aside from all that, it’s no fun to be a homeless twelve-year-old girl. It seems that the book will now be on hiatus for a while, as Rugg pursues some other projects, and there’s such range in this book that it’s impossible to predict just what he might be working on next. Whatever it is, snatch it up, because not many creators burst onto the scene with such a bold triumph like this. SLG Publishing. $14.95
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Shaun of the Dead #1 (of 4) is the film adaptation by CBG alumnus Chris Ryall, with Zach Howard on art. I remember Ryall trying to do something with Howard years ago for a kind of benefit jam book, so it’s nice to see the collaboration finally happen, and to see how improved Howard is as an artist. I must admit I was a little leery of the book, not just due to the odd cover but the fact that the timing is so off for this adaptation. Fans of the film can rest assured that Ryall neatly condenses much of the events of the film into this first issue, and that the jokes work very well even without the comic timing and pauses for effect and such. Not an easy exercise, I’m sure. I think the real audience for this series would be horror and/or humor fans who haven’t seen the movie, as it works quite well as a comic story. 
Anyway, I think #14 might be Moore’s beginning on the book—not sure—but he makes it easy for new readers. The new kid, Jason, starts a new job at S.T.A.R. Labs’ Detroit office—it’s located in a strip mall, a funny idea—and he learns he’s just part of the clean-up crew helping the place shut down, the various projects boxed up and shipped to other S.T.A.R. facilities. So, naturally, he finds he’s an unwelcome addition to a place of great tension and disappointment. Moore wastes no time setting up a whole new status quo for Jason, as he also moves out of the house for the first time for an apartment with his buddy, where they find the neighbor lady is a wacky physicist. He may even have set up a love interest for Jason, too. At least he doesn’t make readers wait.
The R. Crumb Handbook is half autobiography, half retrospective, and all essential, revealing, entertaining and rewarding. I’m a Crumb fan of just a few years, and not a rabid one by any means, and yet I found I had to read this 300+ page book in one sitting. Those who enjoyed the documentary Crumb need not worry that he’s covering familiar ground here…well, actually, he is, but it’s not like Crumb has ever had a problem wringing fresh laughs, surprises and insights out of his lifelong themes and obsessions. Though the autobiography is brief, especially once one takes out the portions that are more social commentary, it’s still fascinating to read, with a different feel due to it being Crumb and author/interviewer Pete Poplaski editing the words rather than filmmaker Terry Zwigoff. Even since that film, a little over a decade ago, Crumb is both more curmudgeonly and more relaxed with/resigned to himself, plus he can get into discussing topics such as religion and insanity that he probably avoided in the film because of their meaning to brothers Charles and Maxon. He also discusses fatherhood, not discussed in the film from Crumb’s standpoint as a father, yet significant due to the fearsome influence of Crumb’s own father.
Nat Turner #1 by Kyle Baker is a beautiful and quite surprising foray into biographical comics for Baker. The insurrectionist’s parents are shown here, with only a brief scene at the end for Turner himself, as a boy perhaps possessed of mystical abilities, as he remembers an incident he was not even alive for, a baby being taken from a mother on a slave ship and tossed to a waiting shark.
Street Angel Vol. 1 by Jim Rugg and Brian Maruca is five shotgun shells of comics excitement followed by bonus features buckshot that should effectively send lesser comics hightailing it off the property, shamefaced and ass-scorched.