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CBG SATELLITES
The ADD Blog by Alan David Doane
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This will probably be a shorter column than usual. Forgive me; I’m easing back into it after the holidays and haven’t read a whole lot. Fortunately, there are some things going on in the world of online comics commentary to throw my two cents at. I guess some people are starting early on their New Year’s resolutions to Make Comics Bitter in 2006, starting with Larry “We Eat Your” Young’s embarrassing warning to the entire Internet (it couldn’t possibly be a passive-aggressive attack at us): “The Battle For Ian Brill's Soul Attention, Internet: Ian Brill is a friend of mine, and I won't let him go so easily. We don't need another Dirk Deppey; we need another Graeme McMillan. Come back to us, Ian.” Yes, Ian. Abandon The Comics Journal and Publishers Weekly. Don’t you know stretching hurrrrtttss. Write us something like vampires taking over Atlantis. A fanged dolphin with a lust for blood will set many a blog atwitter. Send back those Eggs Benedict Arnold and have a heartstopping Sky Ape Skillet. We make hangover comics here: greasy and easy on the queasy. It’s too bad Larry tries to force his friends into an Us or Them stance, championing passivity over passion. It’s a bizarre position for a NASA-inspired publisher to take. Speaking of passive-aggressive, Erik Larsen’s review of Chris Ware’s Acme Novelty Library #16 isn’t hateful, but one can’t help coming out of it thinking that in this carefully plotted story, more ambitious than anything Larsen has ever attempted, Larsen is disappointed that not enough happened. I dunno, I think there’s room in comics for guys sitting on the can and having scores of their girlfriends killed. I will say, though, that I like Larsen’s column, because he honestly seems to be grappling with something; there are deep conflicts in him between what comics can be and what he continues to love about old comics, and it’s interesting to see which way the wind blows his particular freak flag from column to column, or even paragraph to paragraph. Speaking of CBR, my only real essential visit there every week is to Steven Grant’s column, but I was also pointed to this “Best of 2005” two-parter because they said it was “an abortion.” Well, I don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout abortin’ no babies, but I do agree it’s a fatuous, spineless mess. I’m bothered that crappy crossovers are “the story of the year,” yes, but also that one of the writers of the piece gives them such latitude. Note to Arune: if a book or series doesn’t strike any emotional chords with you, it’s okay and even recommended that you criticize it for that. One critic who’s gone through his own dark knight of the soul is The Fourth Rail’s Randy Lander, who just called it quits on weekly reviews of all creatures floppy and sloppy. Anyone could tell that when he started writing his Previews column with another guy that he had grown beyond the narrower tastes and more rigid style of his erstwhile partner Don MacPherson. I remember, long ago, Randy reviewed I believe every goddamn issue of John Byrne’s and Bart Sears’ Spider-Woman, a title he clearly hated, and wondering just what kind of stamina or misplaced sense of duty this guy had to provide regular, redundant reviews to big corporations who didn’t care what he did, anyway. Having said that, he was still something of an inspiration in that I read his stuff and figured, since he was at the time actually making a living in NYC writing reviews for a defunct company called Psycomic, that maybe if I applied myself, I could make money at the review game, too. Well, I still haven’t really made money at this, but that’s okay. And despite the fact that Randy and CBG were pretty much on different pages, he was still always a guy you checked in on. Sometimes, as with his recent disillusionment with the direction of DC Comics, he really got it spot-on. Sometimes he wrote some very good, perceptive reviews of interesting books outside the so-called mainstream. He’s apparently still got quite a few commitments for regular writing, but I really hope he does enjoy his break, recharge, and return with a new zest and maybe just the little bit more time needed to do some really good writing. I know my column skips a week now and then, and while I apologize for that, at the same time, I have to say it’s absolutely fucking necessary, because every writer has to take a little break to reload, you know. Good luck, Randy. By the way, I also sometimes review comics.
Ocean
Ocean finds a typically self-possessed, sardonic Ellis hero, United Nations Weapons Inspector Nathan Kane, investigating a government research station orbiting Jupiter’s moon Europa. Also in orbit, and possible conflict with the government and Kane is a space platform owned by DOORS, a stand-in for the power Microsoft might wield in the future. Both groups are very interested in the alien bodies in stasis at the bottom of the Europan sea. Sprouse and Ellis make for a good team, and while I wouldn’t call this a crowning achievement in Sprouse’s career, his work here is very good, though in the last couple of chapters he seems to be losing interest. Sprouse is a pro who isn’t about to let anyone down, but by the end, I was thinking, “Man, what these two could do together on a really good story!” Because that’s the problem here, and it’s not a new one for Ellis: he doesn’t do the work necessary to make this more than a forgettable entertainment, some cool shots and bright lines and a big explosion to wrap it up. Kane is fine, though the same character he’s always written, and he starts to have some romantic sparks with a scientist, Commander Aziz, but that’s about it for characterization. The villain from DOORS fails to resonate, the rest of the Cold Harbor crew can be boiled down to geeks and a big-boned chick who is only in scenes to talk about how horny she is. None of these characters give the impression that they have stories that Ellis knows in his head and ran out of room to tell you about. There’s room; he just didn’t come up with the stories. The premise and revelation of the book are fine, but the revelation is marred by a scene just previous that will spoil the revelation for many who like to think while they read. And the climax, even though Ellis resorts to very easy manipulations like the aliens awakening in unimaginable, inhuman malicee just before they are destroyed, by its design is little more exciting than watching 1,000 people suffocated by pillows, or shooting fish in a barrel. Kane and the Cold Harbor crew have very little danger or stakes, and it would have been really nice if that crew weren’t all so nice and dedicated to science that Kane had to contend with another challenge. It’s not a bad book, but damn, how long has it been since Ellis kicked our asses?
Wimbledon Green
As far as I’m concerned, Wimbledon Green emerges as one of his most appealing works. Have you ever heard a side project or album of covers or more straightforward rock songs that one of your favorite sophisticated musical acts puts out between their latest heady opus? And how those are often more fun, have more of a sense of play and enjoyment to them? That’s kind of how Wimbledon works; Seth gets to design some outlandish characters, not the least of which is the mysterious Green, the “greatest comic book collector in the world,” whose knowledge of obscure comics and talent for grading their condition are unquestioned by any of the various characters in the book, and yet most of them don’t like him, some to the point of trying to bring him harm. Is Wimbledon Green the same man as comics dealer Don Green, who disappeared in the ‘70s, or is he another man entirely? And where did he get such an astounding collection, and was there something sinister or unethical about the acquisition? This is the mystery of the book, but Seth has other aims than merely solving it. Instead, through the many recollections of the other collectors, as well as other short strips, Seth examines the pull that nostalgia has on many of us, himself included. Using the hoary clich� of amnesia, Green at one point has the opportunity to build a new life for himself not predicated on scouring yard sales for one more brittle piece of decaying children’s entertainment. His return is structured as the traditional beginning of the third act, in which the hero sucks it up and achieves his goal, and yet one can look at this as a tragic loss, a trap to which he foolishly rushes. Any collector—of comics or anything else—might enjoy this book, as it pokes only gentle fun at the hobby and the silly lengths to which some collectors will go. Moreover, it celebrates the kind of gentlemanliness, the complex codes of conduct and decorum that all clubs and hobbies develop. There’s a way in which things are done, and if one steps over the line, there will be a punishment for that. Seth also reserves his biggest barbs for himself in the thinly-disguised character Jonah, a collector who affects the single name, ‘40s attire and writes lousy, esoteric and overly designed books. As much of this is sketchbook material, the art is a little looser than other Seth work, but not much, and he’s retouched a little and added his usual tones throughout, so the most obvious differences are some typos and lettering that’s perfectly functual without being up to his usual elegance. If he had gone and fixed all this, it may very well have robbed the book of some of its charm and immediacy. A splendid book that, while lighter than his previous work, is layered enough to reward multiple readings. And listen, before I go, I want to remind you all to check out Comic Book Galaxy’s exclusive preview of Barry Windsor-Smith’s The Thing, which looks to be an astounding book if and when it comes out. Next Week: Peace. Love. More soul-capturing. Vampire squids.
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If you have Warren Ellis writing about space, your odds are pretty good it’s going to be an interesting book. Space exploration, science fiction and science fact are great loves of his, and while that means he will lard the story with certain statistics, facts and anecdotes, he also will often imbue his tale with some of his wonder at the untrammeled glories of that cold, twinkling beyond.
Following in the mode of his friend and peer Chris Ware, Seth presents this charming book with a gold-embossed image of the character on the cover, as well as elaborate, expensive touches like the rounded page corners, but he also points out on the cover that this is a story from his sketchbook, thereby seeking to reduce reader expectations that this is another It’s A Good Life If You Don’t Weaken or Clyde Fans. His Introduction also makes clear that this story is something of a whim, though there is quite a bit of non-sketchbook material added to make this a more cohesive effort, or at least a more faceted one.