20 November 2009

Flashmob Fridays #006 - Scalped, Vertigo and the State of the Floppy



We're back with another episode of the semi-regular Flashmob Fridays, but it's a little different this time. Usually, someone suggests a comic, and within a couple days whoever wants to participate can weigh in with their thoughts. This time, one of Christopher Allen's columns this week garnered a lot of reaction -- some from readers, but even more from the other TWCers (Troublers? Twickers?), who turned out to be big fans of Jason Aaron's and R.M. Guera's series, Scalped. First up, Chris expands on his thoughts, then the rest of the gang piles on weighs in.


Christopher Allen

My goal in reading Scalped #31 and the other two Vertigo books was pretty simple, though admittedly I didn't put a lot of thought into the ramifications of it. As I think I've written before, I hadn't been reading many monthly comics for a few years, preferring to pick up hard-and-softcover collections of things I'm interested in or that had good reviews/word of mouth. But in getting back into much more frequent reviews and enjoying the renewed practice of hitting the comics shop every Wednesday, I figured I'd check out these three series about which I'd been pretty curious. In the case of Scalped, it very well may have been a recommendation from Johnny Bacardi a month or so ago that planted that seed in my head.

So, anyway, I know the score: monthly series from Marvel, DC, Image, Dark Horse, IDW and others (you can call them "mainstream" if you want; I'll just call them genre comics) are structured so as to be fairly easily collected in hardcovers and trade paperbacks not long after each story arc concludes. But, without ill intent, I just wanted to see if a random issue of one of these Vertigo series (and Vertigo was chosen only because I was interested in those particular books) could provide a satisfying reading experience on its own, without being too confusing for a new reader. Would it be clear enough, and good enough, that I would want to go back to the beginning as well as continue forward? And so I approached the books with those parameters, which to me seemed fair enough.

I was surprised at the passionate Scalped support that followed from Matt, Johnny, David Wynne and Marc Sobel, who either thought I was too tough/unfair on the book, and/or that it was unfair to judge either that series or Vertigo books in general that way, as a) the series needs to be read from the beginning, or b) Vertigo's story arcs are intended for collection, so one should only review the collection.

I did, and do, bristle at those assertions, I have to admit, though it was throughout a respectful exchange with all of them. To me, I do believe in that old saw about every comic being somebody's first. Yes, there are plenty of series where I've taken the plunge and bought the first trade based on word of mouth or liking one of the creators, but I also pick up semi-random monthly issues, too. If I like it, I might just wait for the collection and give the one issue away, or continue with the monthly issues. I have my methods.

Although there was some attempt at a correlation between monthly comics and complex cable TV shows like Deadwood, I couldn't really agree with the idea that it would be nearly impenetrable if one decided to start in the middle of the second season. Episodic television like that, and The Sopranos, Mad Men, etc., may have long, overarching storylines, but there's always a story that begins and ends in that one episode, plus at the 46 to 50 minutes, there's a lot more room for the stories to develop, and for lots of characterization, than in one issue of a monthly comic. Is it Jason Aaron's fault that in the original format for his series, he only gets 22 pages a month to move his story and characters along? No. Is it his fault that he chooses a decompressed style where the action depicted would equate to about ten minutes of screen time, at $2.99? Sure it is. Or I should say, "fault" isn't quite the right word, but it's a storytelling choice he has to live with, just as he has to live with not putting his best foot forward on what appears to be a fairly pivotal issue of the series and instead lacks memorable dialogue and seems filled with cliched or one-note characters.

But again, I gave the benefit of the doubt to the series that what was there wasn't too bad and I might want to start from the beginning. It wasn't really about Scalped, anyway; that just kicked off a larger discussion. And getting back to that point, yes, I think it's perfectly fair to judge an entertainment product on its own terms, be it a television show, comic, book, whatever. If I had the slightest interest in Twilight: New Moon, I might go see and review it, without having seen the first or having read any of the books. It would only be fair to throw those caveats into the review, but sure, I could review it. If Vertigo, DC and any other publisher choose to continue to put out comics in this format, then they can be judged in that format.

The larger issue it brought up to me is that I really think the decompressed style you see in a lot of monthly comics are really hastening their demise. I remember a few years ago wondering if "compression" would be the next big thing -- to me a sound strategy to add more value to the expensive comic book. Aside from Warren Ellis's Fell and the odd effort here and there (I just read the first Agents of Atlas trade and it's exceptionally brisk), it hasn't really happened. I'm not asking for anthology titles with bang-bang six page complete stories, or a series with every issue a "done-in-one" story. I just think when editors and creative teams allow stories to feel stretched out, when not a lot happens from issue to issue because the writer's got three issues of story he has to make last six, then what they're doing is selling that series short. It could be canceled earlier, if enough fans get turned off, or it could be one of those books that everyone loves at first and then it overstays its welcome, like 100 Bullets, maybe Preacher. Is Fables still a passionate read for many, or more of a duty or habit now? I dunno. I better stop now before all the Fables, 100 Bullets and Preacher fans jump on me.

I promised my colleagues I would get off my soapbox and let them have the last words. I thank JB and Matt below (as well as Marc and David, who added their own sharp comments on our email group but didn't have time to formalize them here) for the lively discussion.

Johnny Bacardi

I've been reading Scalped since the first trade, and I believe that the more you get into the story, the more some of the characters and their motivations will become apparent. Chris is right in that there are a lot of standard crime-drama beats being hit, and the setting is providing novelty, but Aaron has built his characters up slowly, and it does help to at least read an arc to get a feel for them. It's kinda like judging Deadwood after watching one mid-season two episode. Guera's art had to grow on me a little, too-- it's really an amalgam of a dozen different artists, but he's good at staging and creating dynamic-looking pages, and capable of doing emotions well (something that comes in really handy, given all the angst).

Guess you can tell I'm in the bag for this series, huh!

Really, though, the gist of what I was going to say is that the corrosive Dash/Carol relationship that caused consternation is one that's been coming to a head through the last dozen or more issues, and I can see why it wouldn't make sense coming in cold. But I don't think I'd want to see a lot of expository dialogue explaining things either, so I guess that's just the nature of that particular beast and I see your point in that respect. I still hope you sample a bigger set someday!

I re-read the first issue this morning, and I was a bit surprised how clunky it came across in places--Aaron was trying to establish a lot of things through dialogue, and a lot of it read flat and obvious. Once he got established, though, I think it got a lot better in that respect.

Matt Springer

You may not know this but the Trouble With Comics writers room frequently breaks out into near-mudwrestling matches over such trivial topics as the quality of Howard Johnson's room service and the length of Wolverine's pubic hair. (It's shaved. SHAVED I SAY YOU VARLOT!)

I confess, I helped begin the latest tussle with my reaction to Chris Allen's reaction to Scalped, Air, and Northlanders in a recent
installment
of his excellent Daily Breakdowns.

Overall, his reviews seemed to indicate that he believes any comic book series should be accessible every issue, without fail, to a new reader. Personally, I can see where that would be a virtue for mainstream superhero series but I think it's pretty well-established at this point in the comics world that Vertigo series tend to be large, rich stories told in arcs/chapters that aren't usually easily accessed randomly.

Vertigo is actually doing two things to encourage that viewpoint -- the $1 first issue and the $9.99 debut trade. It might be more fair to judge the series on their first trades since that seems to be the method they're encouraging. The issue of jump-on-ability is almost secondary to the issue of Vertigo's specific strategy, if that makes sense -- Vertigo has clearly chosen a path that emphasizes trade collections with the floppies acting as merely a secondary concern toward making back perhaps cost. At least that would be my guess based on the apparent success of something like Fables which still sells easily under 10,000 copies per issue.

So ultimately, saying you can't really jump onto a Vertigo book at any point is sorta judging them on standards they themselves reject, which gets me to the issue of floppies as a viable entertainment unit at all. I feel like we're actually watching floppies die before our very eyes. I'm not gonna value judge that statement, like "Let's set a fire to help them die" or "Let's save them with polybags and lotsa luuuv!" I'm just saying that pretty much across the board, comic book series have rejected the notion that "every comic is someone's first comic," and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Honestly, these pamphlets are
basically being sold into the same dwindling audience of obsessives, and we all know the drill, so what does it matter?

It makes me think of HBO shows; most of the long-form series I've watched in the HBO model (Sopranos, Wire, Rome, Big Love, Mad Men) are pretty damn impenetrable if you just picked up the remote one night and said, "Hey, I'll give this a try." I think you could get a really good feel for the tone and the mood of the show, and possibly decide if you liked it or not, but plot-wise, you'd be lost.

Again, let me say I don't think this is a bad thing; I think the opening of this vista in both print and television has enabled some amazing storytelling that would have been unimaginable even twenty years ago. But let's not pretend something should still be true when the vast majority of us all know it isn't: No modern-day comic book is really anybody's "first comic," and floppies are going the way of Wolverine's pubic hair.

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17 November 2009

Daily Breakdowns 037 - TCJ, Moore and Vertigoing

The Comics Journal just put up their landmark 300th issue in online form, before apparently realizing lots of people wouldn't buy the print version and pulling it. Ah, well, I was going to get it anyway, but I couldn't resist reading some of the columns, and the hilarious Noah Van Sciver cartoon interview with Gary Groth, who apparently speaks as he writes, not seeking the perfect word but rather the perfect trio of negative adjectives.

Unfortunately, I have only a fading, anger-etched memory of Tom Crippen's wrongheaded piece on the age of geekism or somesuch, with Alan Moore as ubergeek and his major works, Watchmen, From Hell, Promethea and Lost Girls found wanting due to Moore not doing enough thinking. In fact, for Crippen, Moore's heavy thinking/best writing petered out around 1989. For Crippen, thinking = explaining, because it really bugged him that a) Sally Jupiter in Watchmen cries over the death of her rapist, The Comedian, and Moore doesn't tell the reader why, and b) in From Hell, he doesn't tell us why William Gull became a killer. I guess for the latter I would say: see (or rather don't see): Hannibal, the prequel explaining in excruciatingly literal and gratuitous detail how young Hannibal Lector became the riveting middle-aged serial killer he is in The Silence of the Lambs. You could also cite the Star Wars prequels for the hazards of trying to trace fascinating adult characters back to their origins.

Leaving aside that inventing psychological motivation for the murders based on past incidents would seem to be beyond Moore's aims for the book, it just seems like one of the least interesting concerns. The mystery is more powerful. Likewise, Sally's crying is often cited as one of the more intriguing scenes in Watchmen. In just the one panel, the mysteries and complexities of human relationships are captured. Leaving the reason(s) for her tears to the reader's interpretation gives the scene more resonance. I always think it's a combination of affection and pity for The Comedian, a sadness that he felt he had to take from her what he could have had willingly if he didn't hate himself. It works that way; it no doubt works differently for other readers. It's hard to see what would be gained by explaining it. And it's not like Moore had a problem with writing the origins of evil -- The Killing Joke works fine for that. It's a shame, as Kreiner is a better writer than this but, ironically given how he criticizes Moore for dressing up thin stories with artifice and allusions, in this case he tried to dress up a pretty brittle skeleton of a column idea in unformed ideas of geekism and geekish visual aids from Watchmen film production stills.

As a -- what's less than a lark? A larklet? -- I felt like checking in with recent issues of some Vertigo series I'd never read, to see if they were any good and if they're easy enough to get into even if they've been running for a year or more.

Scalped #31
Written by Jason Aaron
Art by R. M. Guera
Published by Vertigo. $2.99 USD


Quite a striking cover. I like the logo and sun-scorched top half very much, the bottom half not that well integrated with the top, but still okay. Doesn't seem to have anything to do with this issue's story. This is the third part of a five part arc, "The Gnawing," and it's not bad. An old guy buys a rifle and one bullet at a gun shop in such a way that any gun shop proprietor would know he's going to be shooting a person with it. Two criminals escape police custody and one of them knocks the other on the head. Nursing his injury, he tries to hole up with his old lady, but she wants nothing to do with him because he's apparently an FBI agent. A beefy, mean-looking Native American, I think a casino owner named Red Crow, wants the guy found. The woman is his daughter. She's pregnant or really sick.

Writer Aaron provides a breezy read but it seems like a lot of crime movie cliches with the only difference being the reservation setting. So much profanity it made me wonder if Aaron ever got tired of writing it. Literally no one here says anything with just a hint of wit or that hints at depth of character. Guera's working his heart out on this thin material, with the gun shop opening being mind-blowing in combining verisimilitude with freaky pastel coloring from Giulia Brusco. Artwise, it's more airy and scratchy than an Eduardo Risso, but his influence seems to still be there with the fat lines, and occasional playing with light and shadow. Entertaining like an average TV crime show, except you have to pay for it in what amounts to ten minute installments.

Northlanders #21
Written by Brian Wood
Art by Leandro Fernandez
Published by Vertigo. $2.99 USD


This issue is a little luckier in that it begins a new story arc, "The Plague Widow," so by design it should be a little easier to jump on. About all I knew of this book before picking it up is that it was set in Viking times--I guess technically from the story these are Volga Boatmen along the Russian River. The plague has come to the village and there is an argument over what's to be done. Most of the villagers--religious folk, led by the brutish warlord Gunborg--want to just pray and hope for the best, while Boris is aware of the developing research on germs and votes to expel the infected from camp. He's a good character for Wood to write, as Wood always likes the bold loner against society. There's some heartfelt stuff here as well, as a mother is torn by her faith vs. science, but once her husband dies she has to make a tough choice in the interest of her daughter Karin. Although, again, this is a slim, quick read, it's involving, and the period is different enough from the usual to help sell it. Fernandez is even more indebted to Risso's style, but the clean line and starkness work very well for the setting, especially with the earth tones and candle light sources from Dave McCaig. It lacks subtlety, to be sure, but it's affecting nonetheless. I can do with more sentimental comics about mothers and daughters toughing out harsh conditions, grotesque men and the plague. OK, well, just this one is fine. Looking forward to catching up on the series.

Air #14
Written by G. Willow Wilson
Art by M. K. Perker
Published by Vertigo. $2.99 USD


I like the art the least of the three, although at least it's the most different, with its kind of P. Craig Russell rendering. This is part three of "Pureland," set in a fictional, largely fundamentalist (I assume Muslim Third World country. An attractive blonde has some sort of power to control air or combustion or chemical reactions or something, and she's searching for an Arab Interpol agent named Zayn, with whom she feels a bond. Weak from overmedication, she's helped by Zayn's brother, and unfortunately we get an awful lot of the backstory of him and his two brothers, who have all found jobs in which suit their individual needs for violence and idealism like the three bears found suitable bedding. It could be the most original premise of the three comics surveyed here, it's hard to tell from since I don't know what the premise is, exactly. And of course, it's had over a year to set it all up and get readers on-board with it. I can just say that this particular, random issue didn't grab me all that much. Still, passing-to-good grades for all.

I'll be catching up on some Marvel stuff soon as well.

Christopher Allen

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27 September 2009

Through a Glass Darkly

ver·ti·go (vûr'tĭ-gō')
n. pl. ver·ti·goes or ver·ti·gos
    1. The sensation of dizziness.

    2. An instance of such a sensation.

  1. A confused, disoriented state of mind.

[Middle English, from Latin vertīgō, from vertere, to turn; see wer-2 in Indo-European roots.]

1a. Introduction

I'm probably an atypical comics reader.

I didn't come to comics through animated shows or friends playing with action figures on the playground. Aside from Batman, in my youth, I was never really into superheroes. I liked horror, fantasy, science fiction and mystery. Although superheroes are a sub-genre of science fiction, in general, most of them never really clicked for me.

Anyway, in the next section is part of the initial column that I wrote for my now defunct "Scary Monsters & Super Creeps". I hope you'll forgive reusing an old column, but it lends credence to what will come. If you've already read it, feel free to skip down to 1993.

1b. Moore Repurposed

Do you remember the first comic that you ever bought?

Do you remember the circumstances surrounding it? Whether you were a kid with your friends, riding your bike up to the local 7-11, and you had an extra sixty cents to spare, so you bought that issue of Amazing Spider-Man that was sitting there with a Lizard cover that looked cool? How you sat down and pored over the pages before lending it to Jimmy, who returned it without a cover and chocolate prints all over the pages.

Well, I have an eidetic memory, basically, I remember everything. I can tell you what the first movie I saw in theatres was: ET: The Extra Terrestrial. I can tell you what the first adult novel I read was: a hardcover edition of HG Wells' stories including War of the Worlds, The Time Machine, and The Invisible Man, given to me by my grandfather when I was four and I devoured every page. The spring of that year was also the first time I kissed a girl, Margaret, as she was five and going to Kindergarten the next year, starting off a long string of affairs with older women (I've never dated anyone younger than me).

Could this have been one of my first comics? I thought it would be interesting to start off the "first" column discussing "first" things like my first comic. Yet, through all of this, I haven't got a clue what my first comic book was. This suggests to me that it was something bought for me before my second birthday -- which would mean before 1983. It's somewhat strange, because usually you can hand me anything in my vast collection of stuff and I can tell you when I got it and the circumstances surrounding it, but I can't remember that.

I know that I would have got it at the Jerseyville General Store, which had a rack of comics that changed regularly, usually carrying DC and odd small publishers, never any Marvel there. Marvel books I had to get in Ancaster at the Zehrs there. Both the Gene Colan and Ed Hannigan Batman stick in my mind, I remember having Batmans around #350, but I couldn't tell you which ones. This is my problem actually, my earliest comic books I don't have anymore. Either they were thrown out, given away, or destroyed in some, way, shape or form. It really wasn't until '84 or '85 when I got my first long box that I really paid any attention to what I had and where I kept it and even then things I "didn't like", didn't get put it the box, it was mainly reserved at first for Swamp Thing, horror books, Batman and Detective Comics from then on.

Up until Alan Moore's Swamp Thing, I wasn't exactly what you'd call a comics "collector", I was just a reader. I honestly didn't care if I got the next issue of Batman or not, it was just another form of entertainment, and often I could get better out of old sci-fi and horror novels. Swamp Thing was what changed my mind. Moore's stories, with richly textured art from the likes of Steve Bissette, John Totleben, Stan Woch, Ron Randall, and Rick Veitch, just drew me in. They were exactly what a young horror fan needed in addition to the black and white magazines, Stephen King novels, and the bad horror b-movies I used to watch on Sunday afternoons, like It Came from Outer Space and Horrors of the Black Museum.

Now, I'm not going to lie to you and tell you, "I was there from the very beginning." I wasn't. I read several of Marty Pasko's Swamp Thing issues before Moore and really didn't care for them, it made me pretty much ignore the book on the stands, even when the writer changed. The first issue of Alan Moore's Swamp Thing I bought was #38. It was illustrated by Stan Woch and John Totleben, and quite simply I bought it because it had underwater vampires. That may sound silly now, but to my four year old brain, I heard "underwater vampires" and I automatically thought "cool", or whatever it was that kid's then said when they thought something was neat.

Still Waters For those of you who haven't read it, let me tell you a little bit about it. The story takes place during the American Gothic storyline, the one where Swamp Thing is state-hopping at the bidding of John Constantine. Basically, it's your "town overrun by vampires" story, but with a twist. As the years progressed, a group of vampires discovered a perfect way to exist without being bothered by pesky things like sunlight by moving underwater in the dark, living in the sunken town of Rosewood, Illinois. There's your high concept there that hooks the kids, like me. Basically, from there, it's up to Swamp Thing to stop the underwater vampires, who've started to breed, from coming back up out of the water and killing whatever they feel like. Simple, isn't it?

It continued into the next issue with "Fish Story", and that may be one of the reasons why I continued reading the book, but dressed up in an intelligently told tale, were all of the things that I loved from the horror b-movies I watched. Now that I can look back upon this with more "worldly" eyes, I can see that Moore was playing with the classics, turning them on their ear, and creating something that was true to the heritage of the "monsters" and yet completely fresh and different. He did it in these two issues with vampires, then werewolves, zombies, serial killers, and the haunted house. As a horror fan, I just ate this stuff up like candy.

Honestly, though, it does show you a method to Moore's madness that you can see is even true today. He's very good at taking something old and making it new, giving it a fresh spin. Swamp Thing has its roots in all the old horror stories, Watchmen grew out of Charlton, Tom Strong and Supreme both come from Superman and Captain Marvel, and so on and so forth.

It's amazing how he does it.

2. 1993

Let's put a few things into perspective. In 1993, I was twelve. If you didn't clue in already, I was a strange kid. A little better than a year before, I had been hooked by X-Men #1, which was more or less my gateway into Marvel Comics. Even though I liked the adventures of Marvel's merry mutants, my heart still lay with DC. They just seemed to have more interesting stories, more willing to do things that were outside of the box. In 1993, my preteen brain was blown when DC started a new imprint "suggested for mature readers".

Although many of the books had carried that moniker beforehand, by labelling them under "Vertigo", it somehow felt a little more illicit. At first, I though maybe the comic shop I went to was no longer going to sell me titles I had previously purchased. I was already reading Hellblazer, Swamp Thing and Sandman, but maybe I had just sneaked by in picking those up. Maybe there was content in there that my twelve-year old brain shouldn't be reading. Maybe by branding them separately, DC was signalling that these comics were "off-limits" to me.

Thankfully, this wasn't the case. I squared things with my parents - showing them what I was reading - and they squared things with the comic shop - basically, I was allowed to buy anything I wanted. ...and so, branding the comics with "Vertigo", I was opened up to other titles. I loved Hellblazer, Swamp Thing, and Sandman, but what were these other pretty things that had somehow flown by my notice? Seeing things like Shade, The Changing Man and Doom Patrol bear the same logo, opened my eyes. I had sampled some of these comics before, but never really followed them too closely. By putting them all under one sign, I decided that I was going to have to read them all.

In January of 1993, with a March cover date; Vertigo launched with Swamp Thing #129, Hellblazer #63, Doom Patrol #64, Animal Man #57, Sandman #47, Shade, The Changing Man #33, and the first issues of two limited series, Death - The High Cost of Living and Enigma. Stories written by Neil Gaiman, Garth Ennis, Peter Milligan, Jamie Delano, Nancy Collins, Rachel Pollack. Art by Jill Thompson, Steve Dillon, Steve Pugh, Chris Bachalo, Duncan Fegredo. It was like crack. I've since gone back and filled in the earlier runs of Doom Patrol, Animal Man, and Shade; I wanted to see what they were like from the beginning.

3. A Road Less Travelled

For something that grew out of the strange and dark corners of the DCU, though, Vertigo has become something more. It became a place for creators to do their own work unfettered by the tamperings of corporate comics and the pressures of licensing and keeping characters "pure". It has seen such heights as Preacher, The Invisibles, Fables, Y - The Last Man, 100 Bullets and Transmetropolitan. It spawned a brief-lived sister-imprint in Helix and countless limited series and graphic novels. It has been publishing comics on its own terms for over sixteen years.

As such, I though it would be an excellent source to mine for material; the only problem is, where to begin?

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24 September 2009

Thursday Link Party: Lonely Astronauts Go To Church

Sam Henderson has pages up from a Kennedy parody comic of the 1960s, "Bobman and Teddy." (via Craig Yoe)

Staying in the sixties, Jog tackles both the Beatles and a rarely-discussed Beatles comic in his latest edition of The Watchman at Comixology.

Kevin Church expands his webcomics empire with The Loneliest Astronauts, collaborating with artist Ming Doyle on the strip. It launches September 29 (but you can set up your RSS reader now). As the site describes it: "They’re light years from home on an airless moon, living on carefully-rationed supplies, and unable to contact Earth. The worst part of all this? They hate each other’s guts." (via Kevin Church)

Graeme McMillan continues his dissection of the Claremont/Byrne X-Men run with a look back at how far the mighty fell after Dark Phoenix.

If you are fascinated by such things, here's a bit more financial corporate nitty gritty on the Marvel/Disney deal. (We need a word like "Kremlinology" for all these behind-the-curtain Marvel type things. I'm open to suggestions.) (via Robot 6)

I am incredibly excited about the new Gabriel Ba/Fabio Moon book for Vertigo (cover shown above). It's on sale in December; here's a preview.

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