It’s difficult to believe Matt Fraction came to Marvel only a year and a half ago. He’s got a considerable number of projects under his belt since then - a Sensational Spider-Man annual, a Thor oneshot, sixteen issues (including specials) of Immortal Iron Fist, ten issues of The Order, a story in X-Men: Divided We Stand and nineteen issues of Punisher War Journal. It’s an impressive resume, with a number of books that may not have been sales juggernauts but fended for themselves and got massive amounts of critical acclaim - Hell, his Spidey annual is up for an Eisner. It’s probably the fastest advent of a writer in Big Two comics I’ve seen in a long time, and now he’s been granted what’s clearly the flagship book for this summer’s focus Marvel character and perpetual whipping boy, Tony “Iron Man” Stark.
For art, he’s got Salvador Larroca, a distinguished Marvel vet with tons of long runs (like every damn X-book) under his belt and a reputation for being both timely and protean, swapping styles every few years with a rapidity matched only by Stuart Immonen. With Iron Man, he’s done away with the ink washes and is inking himself in a fairly realistic style; think newuniversal without the celebrity faces and you get a good idea. He does a strong job throughout the issue, especially with the panel layouts and camera choices, but there still seems to be a photoreference feel to the work that’s especially distracting when dealing with Ezekiel Stane - he seems to change from fourteen to twenty-two depending on the panel and angle.
The book’s shining pages are the few completed by Stephane Peru before his extremely untimely death, and it’s appropriate that the book is dedicated to him. His replacement, Frank D’Armata, is a curious choice - he’s probably best known for his moody tones on Captain America, everything David Finch draws and Brubaker’s first arc on Daredevil, which is a significant turnaround from Peru, especially on a book that seems (despite the subject matter) so bright and vivid in tone. I’m not sure how well it works, but it doesn’t distract too much.
But how’s the story? How’s the plot? Is this the book that adequately complements Tony’s recent headline status in the Marvel Universe? Thankfully, yeah, it is. Not to knock on the Knaufs at all - they are writing a totally wicked global espionage book - but it’s really become more about S.H.I.E.L.D. than Tony at this point, and considering Extremis allows Tony to function 24/7, it’s reasonable for his adventures to fill two books. So this is the Iron Man as Superhero book, the Batman to the Knaufs’ Detective Comics.
First of all, it’s a relief to really get into Tony’s head like this. He’s a character we’ve been seeing from the outside a lot recently, in a lot of books - double-page-spread-long thought bubbles in Mighty Avengers aside, Tony’s been an enigmatic and sometimes needlessly morally ambiguous force in a huge number of books. Here, it’s the fully-realized, feet-of-clay Tony Stark that shines through, tirelessly (literally) working to save lives even though sometimes he reaches too far and it bites him in the ass. He’s the international playboy, the director of the world’s largest spy agency, the corporate mogul, the sometimes arrogant, lonely superhero.
Secondly, Fraction has really succeeded in creating a 21st century Iron Man villain with Ezekiel Stane, a solid legacy character with hints at a more interesting/subtle characterization and morality past the predetermined role he plays in what looks to be a standard superhero story (to begin with). I doubt it’ll stay like that for too long, though; Fraction’s a writer known for mixing and matching genres, and with a long run (2+ years) planned he has plenty of time and space to experiment.
As for the issue itself, it’s very accessible and doesn’t assume any knowledge on the part of the reader, likely in hopes to attract buyers from the recent Iron Man movie. I think it’ll do well in that regard - it’s easy to get into, it’s not overly complicated, it’s fun, and it sets up possibilities for a number of stories down the line. Again, it seems like a straightforward superhero vs. supervillain story at first, but there are hints and tones at things under the surface which, given a writer of Fraction’s caliber, are likely to be impressive when exposed.
In short, it’s a very promising first issue, in the same way I felt reading the first issues of Brubaker’s Captain America or Immortal Iron Fist - it didn’t completely blow me away immediately, but the potential is there for an incredibly consistent series, something which, given the creative team’s pedigree, is more of a probability than a possibility. I’m looking forward to future issues, and I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a series you’ll be happy you got in on the ground floor on.
Story by Terry Brooks, Illustrations by Edwin David
Del Rey, 208 pp.
Rating: Teen
The Shannara canon comprises a long-ongoing series of fantasy fiction novels written by Terry Brooks. The story is set far in Earth’s future, where man’s technology has majorly messed up the planet, resulting in dwarves, gnomes, and a whole bunch of fantasy races, creatures, and trappings. And elves, who supposedly have always been around, but just didn’t interfere.
Dark Wraith of Shannara is Brooks’s latest work, and a first in the series: a graphic novel, written by Brooks and illustrated by Edwin David. It takes place after the events of the Wishsong story arc, and sees protagonist Jair, a young man with the power to create illusions, sabotaging the efforts of some humanoid lizard folk who are attempting to summon a long sealed druid castle. Which, I guess, is Very Bad™. Anyhow, Jair’s power, called the Wishsong, is starting to do some disturbing things, like turning the young man into other people for real, instead of just creating an illusion. His sister makes him promise not to use the power again, for fear of losing his identity. But when two friends, Kimber and Cogline, are abducted by the lizard people, Jair finds his options more and more limited, and the temptation to use the Wishsong grows.
My understanding, from the material that came with my review copy of the book, is that Dark Wraith of Shannara is supposed to be a starting point for new readers to get into the Shannaraseries. That suits me fine: I did some research to prep for the book, but for the most part I’m a Shannara newbie. I’m the perfect test subject for this experiment, and experiment that, unfortunately, was not very well thought out. Dark Wraith uses characters already established in a prior Shannara story arc, and the story pretty much builds upon said prior arc. Reading Dark Wraith is like watching Return of the Jedi without having first seen A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back. Who is that guy frozen in “carbonite?” Why is that woman kissing him? Who’s the dude with Zero’s beam saber? Brooks would have done better by either a) going with new characters that aren’t so heavily connected to established canonical events in past novels, or, preferably, b) telling the story in such a way that it isn’t using its “prequels” as a crutch.
That said, Brooks is really an amazing writer, with a remarkable command of the English language. The dialog comes across as natural given the context, and does a superb job of guiding the reader through the story and immersing said reader in this fantasy universe. It is really a shame that I had to do Google searches in order to catch up to where the book starts. Otherwise, I’m sure I would have been able to better appreciate the story and the characters. Speaking of characters, only protagonist Jair is characterized in any meaningful way. It is clear that whatever his past adventures were, he is still quite conflicted, and it is easy to see why he would want to become anybody other than who he is. Everybody else is one-dimensional at best, though none of the characters grated at my nerves.
Edwin David’s artwork is neither over the top nor underwhelming. It is modest, clean artwork, sometimes guilty of looking amateurish, but more than passable. Which makes me wonder how devoted fans of Shannara will deal with Dark Wraith interpreting characters and environments for them. I can already hear the anguished moans of angry nerds upset that they no longer have the privilege of interpreting Brooks’s words as they see fit, as if somehow the impact and outcome of the story would change in any significant way if they pictured Jair’s sister an inch shorter than the graphic novel does. Rest assured that the artwork fits the story well enough.
All in all, Dark Wraith of Shannara was an entertaining story about characters I really don’t know anything about, and didn’t end up learning too much about. I’m sure I would have enjoyed the book better had I known what the hell was going on. I’m also that had it done a better job of familiarizing me with these characters, I might just have been interested in learning more about the Shannara books. As an introduction to the world of Shannara for new readers, Dark Wraith fails. I can’t really compare it to other Shannara stories but, by its own merits, Dark Wraith is a decent piece of work, though one that is better suited for long-time fans of the series.
The title of this comic could easily give the impression that it’s a major event for the X-Men. After all, every X-book since Messiah CompleX has had the “Divided We Stand” banner; surely, therefore, the Divided We Stand miniseries must provide some kind of throughline, right?
Well, no. It’s a collection of short stories, each by fairly well-entrenched X-writers, that resolve or continue individual plot threads hanging from the major shakeup that was Messiah CompleX. In the aftermath of that, a decent number of characters got (at least for now) put by the wayside so that the new books can establish their identities.
Since this is an anthology title, I’m gonna go through this story by story and then give my overall thoughts about the quality of the stories as well as the appropriateness of the format.
1. DANGER ROOM (w/Mike Carey; a/Brandon Peterson; c/Justin Ponsor) This is a low-key Cannonball/Husk story that gives Sam some much-needed face time, something he’s been lacking since Carey’s first “Supernovas” arc on X-Men, where he experienced like 10-20 years of an alternate life with a wife and family and then came back to the present. It’s clear this is an angle that Carey wanted to take with the character in his run but didn’t get a chance to with the upheavals; it’s solid character work that’ll hopefully be carried through to his next ‘assignment’ (which would seem to be Young X-Men).
2. HOME (w/Craig Kyle & Chris Yost; a/Sana Takeda) This follows up on the small amount of development Nehzno/Gentle got under the Kyle/Yost run, and his brief contribution to Messiah CompleX of punching the shit out of a Sentinel. It’s good enough, I suppose, and it sets Nehzno up for a believable return to the mainline books, but it suffers from Kyle and Yost’s typical stilted dialogue, especially when writing characters traditionally written with more formal dialogue styles (like almost everyone in Wakanda). Nice art by Sana Takeda, though, and if she keeps this level of quality up she may even live down Heroes for Hentai.
3. BLEND IN (w/a/Skottie Young; c/Jean-Francois Beaulieu) This is really well-done, and the highlight of the book for me. I didn’t know what to expect from Young’s writing talents, but the chops are unmistakable. It’s interesting to see him comment so bluntly about the status quo of the series he drew, but this Anole one-shot is easily the most effective of the stories at both following up on dangling character threads and making me want to see more of the character. He even brings in the homosexuality angle without making it seem like an after school special, despite the momentum all these stories have to go that way. Young’s art is gorgeous as always. The gem of the book.
4. BELONG (w/Chris Yost; a/David LaFuente; c/Guru eFX) Like the other stories in this book, this is another transitory story, this time about Julian “Hellion” Keller. It’s the least impressive of the stories in the anthology, largely because it doesn’t have much new to say about the character or the status quo, it’s just a repetition of the “mutants are lost!” theme of the other instalments, with fairly pedestrian art from David LaFuente.
5. MIGAS (w/Matt Fraction, a/Jamie McKelvie, c/Guru eFX) This is a story that follows up on, of all people, Scalphunter, as well as another X-Man for whom Matt Fraction displays a great degree of affection and propensity - it’s all there on the page. It’s a well-constructed, taut short story that feels entertaining and complete by itself. Considering Fracion’s coming on Uncanny, I’m curious to see if it’ll come back into play - not that it matters either way, it’s just a good story with expressive art from Jamie McKelvie (Phonogram, Suburban Glamour). My only argument with the book would probably relate to Guru eFX’s full-on Morry Hollowell color treatment, with a great deal of Photoshop rendering that draws away from the elegance of McKelvie’s linework. Still, a great story.
Overall, this had its ups and downs, but I really feel that, if these story beats had to be hit, it might have been better served to place them as backups to the monthly comics rather than getting relegated here. At the end of the day, I can really only recommend this comic as a unit to people who are following the X-Men and curious about the fates of certain characters who got lost in the shuffle; without reflecting on the quality of the stories, none of them seem particularly vital and they all seem fairly secondary to the main books. So if you were following the X-books before Messiah CompleX and want to know what happened with a bunch of plot threads, you won’t be disappointed by the quality within. However, if you’re just a casual reader looking for some X-Men stories - or to get into current continuity - you’d be much better off with the more vital mainstream titles such as Uncanny and Legacy.
Gunplay Jorge Vega, story Dominic Vivona, art Nei Ruffino, colors Shawn DePasquale, letters Christopher Priest, prose Platinum Studios has a new book coming out that you might have heard of. Gunplay is a chilling Western written by Jorge Vega and Dominic Vivona. Legendary comics writer Christopher Priest is providing prose pieces which flesh out, and sometimes poke fun at, the story itself. Platinum Studios was kind of enough to shoot over a preview, so I sent it to a couple of our reviewers (Gavin Jasper of 4thletter! and David Uzumeri of Funnybook Babylon) for a little pre-judgment action. Here’s what they sent back.
David U.: Jorge Vega and Dominic Vivona’s Gunplay is a very impressive debut - at least from the preview. It’s the story of Abner Meeks, a black Union soldier who’s been zombified (to a degree) and now has to kill a person a day to survive. Considering this constraint, Abner does his best to make sure each person he ices is a complete douchebag who had it coming. The problem is, I didn’t figure this out until I reread the first-page concept synopsis after reading the issue. Gunplay #0, despite being well-written (especially for a debut writer) and drawn, largely works as the first quarter of a graphic novel but unfortunately fails as an advertisement, since nowhere in its 22 story pages does it state this premise, nor even name the main character. Truth be told, I was unaware of any supernatural elements in the book until the last page. This first chapter of Gunplay is also told in nonlinear time, skipping back and forth between the past and the present, with no indicator of this other than a caption with the date. Rather than providing context clues - such as “Earlier, on…” or “Later, on…” - it’s left to the reader to check the last timestamp and figure out whether or not the current scene takes before or after the previous one. As a matter of fact, this jumping around in time reminded me a lot of Priest’s inaugural issue of Black Panther - although, again, without the context his framing scene provided to make the nonlinear time flow easily for the reader. On the mention of Priest, it’d be a huge mistake not to talk about this preview and not mention Priest’s prose section at the end - illuminating the seemingly immortal life of Abner in “penny dreadfuls” that serve the narrative purpose, at least from their use in the preview, of the Shade’s journals in Starman. His prose is quick, visceral and effective - well-suited to the subject matter and tone. Overall, I really enjoyed Gunplay, and although I don’t think the preview worked well as a pure teaser in combination with foreknowledge about the book I’m looking forward to reading the full product and hope Vega’s career continues.
Gavin: This is the 32-page preview of the upcoming graphic novel about a buffalo soldier named Abner cursed to roam the Wild West with a curse on his head. If he doesn’t kill a person each day, he experiences soul-shredding torture at night. He ends up finding a companion in a preacher’s son, whose arm he is forced to amputate. The first page intro tells us as much, with the following pages showcasing the lead-up of how Abner and the kid meet up. It’s a really original concept for sure, but damned if the whole thing doesn’t overdo it with crotch-related humor. No, really. Dick jokes, somebody pissing himself, somebody pissing on somebody else, the preacher telling his son to shut up by grabbing him by the crotch, all a few pages apart. I get it. It’s a mature comic. Please, move on and get to the interesting parts where Abner shoots someone. Two-to-one odds he shoots someone in the nuts. I’m not going to go out of my way to pick up the full version, but if I ever come across it, I’ll at least flip through it and figure it out from there.
Aqua Leung is an odd fish. (I’m horrible.) It appears, at first, to be a light and whimsical fantasy tale; Paul Maybury’s detailed linework evokes a cross between the graffiti-inspired kineticism of Damion Scott and the simple figurework of Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker. The initial premise, as well, certainly seems to back this up; it’s a sort of cheeky modern twist on the classic Aquaman origin story (underwater prince of lost Atlantis washes up on shore; raised by land-dwellers). So, it is in the interest of fair warning I describe my surprise to see my first graphically eviscerated dude around page 30.
Make no mistake, Aqua Leung is a full-fledged fantasy book, part one of a series - with all the advantages and pitfalls that accompany that approach. It begins with the omniscient narrator describing the status quo of the world and Aqua Leung’s background, in a sort of historical catch-up lesson that is reminiscent of the first few minutes of Lord of the Rings (the movies - not the books). This sets up necessary background information for the reader, but at the cost of minimizing a real-world hook - by the time Leung’s story hits the reader-identification phase, we’ve already been bludgeoned in the face for 25 pages by raw, unbridled exposition.
However, once the story really gets going and the high fantasy aspects are in full swing, Aqua himself becomes the book’s main attraction, dispatching opponents to fulfill his destiny with a sort of precocious abrasiveness that I, at least, found endearing. This also gives an opportunity for personal interaction that allows Mark Andrew Smith’s enjoyable dialogue to really shine; he’s got a clear gift for it, as it’s punchy and funny without making the character seem outrageously or unrealistically witty. As the book goes on and the narration appears less and less, this quickly becomes the book’s most captivating element.
From a plotting perspective, there’s nothing particularly unique about Aqua Leung - it is (at least in this first installment) a standard quest story with the trappings and archetypes of the Aquaman legend and the structure of a Zelda game (complete the three tasks! find the seven objects!). It falls prey to a very common fantasy writer pitfall - after the immense amount of effort that goes into building a world for a story like this to take place in, much of the time the writer can forget to convey to the reader why it’s cool. The exposition dump at the book’s beginning is really the biggest symptom of this problem - by placing setting and plot before character, it presents too much information before the reader is fully invested in it. If 1984 started off with Emanuel Goldstein’s “The Book” - an exposition dump that pisses off many readers when they get to it anyways - I highly doubt as many people would have gotten hooked on the predicament of Winston Smith. This is a concern that can easily be resolved in later installments, but it does make this book somewhat difficult to get invested in.
As for Maybury’s art, his figure work is beautiful and his linework is detailed. It’s good-looking stuff, pleasing to the eye, expressive and eyecatching. It works very well in the character-driven moments. However, in some of the larger, more action-packed scenes, it can sometimes be very confusing - especially in battle scenes with a lot of detail. Sometimes Maybury gets around this with clever panel layouts (there’s one sequence with arrows I found particularly well-done) but much of the time, in combination with the (arguably appropriately) muddy underwater colors provided by Russ Lowery, it becomes a bit of a strain to figure out the action in the larger battle scenes, with Maybury’s layouts at times not helping the matter.
Aqua Leung is a really solid package, and once I got past the initial barrier of investing myself in the world I found myself really enjoying the book. The character has promise, and subsequent volumes may very well work out the kinks as well as establish Aqua Leung’s world as substantially different from those of its inspirations. I’m interested to see future volumes develop, and if well-executed high fantasy underneath the deep blue sea is your thing, I’d recommend this book.
Monsters 101: From Bully to Monster M. Rasheed, story and art Second Sight Graphix, $15
A grade school bully gets recruited by a clan of monsters to lure kids to them for food, but one girl who sees the potential for good inside the bully makes him question his self-worth. This was a submission in this year’s Glyph Comics Awards that didn’t make the final cut, a reprint of a collection originally published in 2004. The creator, M. Rasheed, is a regular at the BlackSuperhero.com forums. It looks like it was originally done in installments, either pamphlets or maybe online. It’s 150 pages, so you’re getting a good amount of story here.
Monsters 101 is hella violent. Now my generation grew up with Tom & Jerry and Road Runner reruns on Saturday mornings; however, we also had GI Joe, where elite American soldiers and international terrorists constantly took shots at each other and never got hurt; and sanitized Japanese imports like Battle of the Planets (AKA Gatchaman) that didn’t have anywhere near the level of violence as their original incarnations. Generally, I believe kids can handle cartoon violence, especially when the victim is someone who deserves it (Elmer Fudd, Sylvester, Wile E. Coyote, etc.). That’s not the case here. In this book, horrible things happen to kids who don’t deserve it, and we get to see it on-panel. Now, some of it is the kind of violence that defines characters in important ways, like the pivotal scene between Pugg and Katina about two-thirds of the way in. It’s shocking, but at the same time it’s necessary to see. (It’s also difficult to talk about without giving away spoilers.)
I question, however, whether we need to see an innocent kid get ripped apart by two hungry monsters who proceed to eat him. From the get-go, we know these monsters want to eat little children. Does it serve the story better to actually see that happen on-panel, or is it better to imply the act – say, have the monsters drag the kid off-panel and cut to reaction shots of Pugg and Katina as they see the deed done? Bad things do happen to good people in kiddie stories sometimes (Bambi’s mom, Simba’s dad, etc.), but I believe creators of all-ages stories have a responsibility to remember their audience when they craft scenes like this, even when it involves fantastic, unreal elements like monsters. And if I were a parent and I saw this scene, where we see the kid’s blood and intestines spill out all over the place (NO JOKE), no way am I letting my kid read this book.
In addition to the violence, the language in Monsters 101 is inappropriate. More than a few “damns” and “hells,” some “bastards,” at least one “son of a bitch,” and “frig/frag/frik” is a little too close to the f-word for my tastes (Pugg says “motherfragger” at least once). This is a particular shame because there’s a decent, if familiar, beauty-and-the-beast-style redemption tale underneath the profanity, although it ends with the death of a character I didn’t want to see die – especially since this book is the first in a series.
The design of Pugg and the way Rasheed depicts him throughout the story is wonderful. (Pugg reminded me most of a kiddie version of Sal Buscema’s Hulk! Seriously!) From the way he lumbers through the school halls, to the way he grimaces at schoolteachers and scowls at opponents, and especially to his protective and genuinely affectionate manner towards Katina, Pugg visually comes across as a fully formed, three-dimensional character, and I give the creator props for that. One can quite easily determine his state of mind from the pictures alone. The design of the three monsters falls somewhere between Maurice Sendak’s Wild Things and Pixar’s Mike and Sully – goofy and slightly eerie without being really scary. I think Rasheed overdoes it on the shadows, though. In places it looks like nothing more than a scribble of the brush to indicate light and dark without making any sense, and it doesn’t look professional. And why isn’t Katina on the cover, especially given her pivotal and proactive role in the third act?
I wish I could recommend this book, but the liberal use of profanity, couple with certain scenes of gratuitous violence (did I mention Pugg’s six-page, no holds barred fight scene that ends with Pugg bashing his opponent’s head in with a rock?), plus several misspellings in the second half, leads me to conclude that this isn’t the best book for kids to read. C
Yeah, yeah, this came out last week, but Midtown didn’t get it in (still haven’t gotten it in!) so I didn’t get hold of it until this week, and it’s an astoundingly important release, and no one’s reviewed it here yet, so I’m figuring it’s fair game. Guys? Is that cool?
Kevin Huizenga must be one of the best cartoonists of the decade. He’s one of those people who do what they do so well that they make it look easy. His Ganges books are the comics equivalent of William H. Macy’s acting - so low-key, so seemingly effortless, that you forget that what you’re looking at is someone working very hard on something terrifically difficult to produce. The experience blends into itself, and in the eyes of the consumer it is no longer someone’s work, but an artistic axiom - it always was and always will be and you can’t imagine it not existing for you to enjoy.
Ganges #2 (”Pulverize”) is astonishing in how deftly it blends together its disparate story elements - it starts out artistic and conceptual, an extended visual abstraction of the notion of combat, which then shifts a story of everyman Glenn Ganges’ past, focusing on, of all things, video games, and the modern male camaraderie that can be found within them, which in turn blends into an examination of both video games as a human experience and the confused dot-com corporate culture of the late 90s. Huizenga’s semi-cartoony style and monochromatic color scheme manages to convey everything in an intimate, quiet tone, while never being stiff or stilted.
The sole odd complaint one might make is the sidelining of Wendy, Glenn’s wife, who in previous Ganges stories has been a strong and enjoyable character. Huizenga makes the choice in Ganges #2 to present Wendy only a few times and to only draw the back of her head - obviously completely intentional, especially since the back cover of the book is a picture of the back of Wendy’s head. Coupling this with the fact that the only other female character in the book is drawn with her hair over her eyes forces one to assume that Huizenga is trying to center the book around the relationships between the male characters, which makes sense given the use of video games as male-bonding device which permeates the story. I don’t think we can go so far as to press any kind of misogyny button, since Fritzi, the woman with the hair in her eyes, is a particularly strong character with a central role in the latter part of the narrative. Still, the main focus by the end is Ganges’ wistful remembering of the days when he and his buds would pretend to shoot each other for relaxation, and the shining achievement of the book is Huizenga’s ability to cull so many quiet, introspective, or insightful human moments from an electronic game of shoot-’em-up. I am officially a Huizenga fan, and can’t stomach the wait for whatever he publishes next.
Punisher: Long Cold Dark Garth Ennis, story Goran Parlov and Howard Chaykin, art Marvel/Max, $15.99
Frank Castle’s latest and deadliest nemesis, the mercenary known only as Barracuda, returns, using the baby daughter Frank had with the rogue CIA agent O’Brien as bait to draw Frank into a confrontation that only one of them can walk away from. It’s long been my belief that the reason there are so few black antagonists in corporate superhero comics is because no writer wants to be labeled politically incorrect. It’s the Sidney Poitier Dilemma: well-intentioned white writers create virtuous black paragons, but back off from creating any other kind of character for fear of being called racially insensitive, resulting in a lopsided portrayal of African Americans. Indeed, one can apply this theory to other minority characters as well. When Kurt Busiek – a white writer who goes above and beyond in bringing diversity to his comics – introduced the villain Infidel in Astro City: Samaritan (2006), I felt like I finally got a glimpse of what a black Dr. Doom or Magneto would be like, and to me that was just as thrilling as seeing Steel or Luke Cage kick ass.
Garth Ennis has proven time and again that he has absolutely no fear of political incorrectness. It could be easy to see Barracuda as the embodiment of the worst black stereotypes: physically intimidating, speaks in “ghetto” slang, casually abuses women – he seems at first glance as if he walked straight out of a 50 Cent video. Look past the surface, however, and you’ll see, both in the story arc “Barracuda” and the Barracuda mini-series, that he’s smarter than he lets on. Indeed, his military training and combat experience, coupled with his near-indestructibility, have made him the perfect antagonist for Frank Castle.
“Long Cold Dark” plays up the angle of Barracuda-as-master-strategist to a chilling degree. From the way he lures Frank into his trap in the first chapter and onward, Frank finds himself in a chess match with Barracuda, the two of them making moves and counter-moves in a constant struggle to lure each other out into the open. Barracuda uses Frank’s daughter not only as a pawn, but as a way to mess with Frank’s head, as exemplified in a frightening scene about halfway in that literally had me gasping for breath. Gone is most of the jovial, dark humor associated with Barracuda in his earlier stories; here he is all business and out for revenge. Even the songs he sings have changed; once a source of ironic humor, now they’re full of violent imagery.
I think, however, that Ennis stretches the credibility of Barracuda’s resiliency close to the breaking point. Hard enough to accept that Barracuda survives getting shot point blank in the face by Frank at the end of “Barracuda” (though to his credit, Ennis addresses this in the mini-series instead of ignoring it, as I feared he might do), but here he subjects Barracuda to even more abuse at Frank’s hands and it’s enough to make one think he’s a mutant who survived M-Day or something. Indeed, the two of them do horrible things to each other like you would not believe, yet Barracuda’s tolerance for pain really does seem superhuman. And yes, I realize one could say the same about Frank.
Also, late in the story we get glimpses of Barracuda’s past. While it was used as a means to provide him with enough motivation to escape imprisonment at Frank’s hands, something about it didn’t feel right to me. Frank mentions Barracuda’s ego as being his weakness. I could see the shame of losing to Frank spurring him on, but an abused childhood seems kind of cliché; it comes out of nowhere and it’s not something I needed to know in order to appreciate the character any further.
Goran Parlov has been the artist on all three Barracuda stories. His style is a little looser than the more photo-realistic Lewis Larosa or Doug Braithwaite (other Punisher artists), but it has a more kinetic feel to it as well. His Barracuda looks monstrously large in comparison to his Frank, which also looks pretty big, or even to fill-in artist Howard Chaykin and cover artist Tim Bradstreet, both of whom give him more human-like proportions. There’s not much I can say in terms of criticism; Parlov, like every artist who has worked with Ennis on this book, goes the distance in making Frank’s world a believable and consistent looking one.
Barracuda is one of the best black villains I’ve seen anywhere in comics. “Long Cold Dark” and the other two Barracuda stories are proof that political correctness need not and should not be an impediment to creating black villains that can go toe to toe with the best heroes. B+
Snakewoman: Curse of the 68 #1 Zeb Wells, story Pradip Ingale, art Virgin Comics, $2.99 Snakewoman: Curse of the 68 #2 Zeb Wells, story Manu P.K., art Virgin Comics, $2.99 by David Uzumeri of Funnybook Babylon
Snakewoman: Curse of the 68 appears to be the title through which Virgin is publishing a number of one-shot Snakewoman stories, scattered throughout time and space - Snakewoman: Legends of the Dark Knight, if you will. Everything you need to know for each issue is fairly quickly explained in the recap page (which did a good enough job filling me in - I’ve never read an issue of Snakewoman before). For those who are insanely lazy, though, the general premise is that a bunch of British soldiers desecrated an Indian snake god shrine and really pissed off the female snake god. 68 of them escaped and are now hunted down through the generations by the Snake Woman. She has a lifetime to kill them all, but if she leaves just one, they’ll all get reincarnated.
Like all Virgin comics, production values are high, with the writing half handled by a duo of experienced filmmakers: Bollywood mainstay Shekhar Kapur and Wizard Fan Film maestro (and 1/4 of the Spidey braintrust) Zeb Wells. The first issue’s art comes from Pradip Ingale, and it is a western story. The problem with it, as a western, is that there is absolutely nothing to distinguish it from every other western comic ever, and this problem of homogeneity is representative of this issue. It stars - well, it stars a bunch of stereotypical western characters - the sheriff, the doctor, the drunkard, and the dandy - who are largely interchangeable in terms of dialogue and physical appearance. Basically the only things that sets them apart are the amount and style of facial hair.
Of course, all of this also has something to do with ancient Indian snake worshippers getting sacked and a female snake goddess wanting revenge, so that shows at some point and things start really falling apart. The issue spends about half of its time building up these somewhat interchangeable characters, and then in the second half, they all die. What’s truly remarkable about this is the narrative pointlessness of their deaths; this reads like THAT ISSUE of a superhero comic - you know what I mean, there have been many - where a new villain takes out a bunch of poorly-fleshed-out C-listers to demonstrate that they are, indeed, completely badass. Think the Mist/JLE issue of Starman, or the massacre in Eclipso. Now imagine if that was a one-shot story set outside of any shared universe - and outside of any continuing series, and not told especially well, either. That’s the first issue of Snakewoman. If I weren’t reviewing, I doubt I would have picked up the second issue.
That would have been a shame.
The second issue, with art by Manu P.K. and D. Seshasainan, attempts to contextualize the Snakewoman mythos within the framework of either Russian history, a Disney movie or a Boney M song, depending on how you first heard it. It’s about that pop-culture mainstay, the ganging up on Rasputin. Except that it has something to do with the Snakewoman mythos, which really takes the wind out of the sails of whatever mystery there is since you pretty much know it’s going to end with Snakewoman killing everybody, and some really clumsy attempts at foreshadowing (including a reference to a “den of snakes”) don’t do much to dissuade the reader from that notion. Neither does the ending, where Snakewoman kills everybody.
I won’t ruin Snakewoman’s identity in this issue, although the answer to it is really quite funny and engages in an attempt at retconning actual human history, an idea that almost always falls flat (unless you’re James Robinson). I also had some pretty serious problems with the art in this issue, especially the “transformation” into Snakewoman, which largely consists of your hand growing some claws and a Photoshop “snakeskin” semi-transparent texture being applied to your face. Adding to the issue’s problems is a truly mystifying scene with great sexual connotation between Rasputin and a young Anastasia that seems to be trying to provide some degree of foreshadowing and symbolism but rather just comes off as really, really, really creepy.
In the end, this entire project has the depressing feel of going through the motions - Zeb Wells is scripting ideas Shekhar Kapur is paying him to script, and Virgin’s artist legion are drawing each done-in-one. It feels almost like an attempt to cash in on the Snakewoman name, but I’m not entirely sure there’s a big jackpot there to stick your hands in. I’m really not sure why this miniseries was commissioned, or written, or published - the individual stories range from trite to obnoxious and don’t seem to be forming any sort of grander story to give context. It’s just one-shots about a crazy snake lady who wants revenge on people who don’t even remember hurting her. I’m sure everyone involved had the best of intentions, but the entire plot of the book is basically a game of freeze tag I played on the schoolgrounds when I was five - gotta catch ‘em all before time is up!
Ant Unleashed #1 Mario Gully, story Marco Turini, art Big City Comics, $3.99
The title character, a superhuman with missing memories, attempts to put her past life behind her in a new city as she looks for her father, unaware that others are on her trail who know her secrets. I give Mario Gully credit for persistence. This is the third incarnation of his series, which he has had going for several years now, with the third different publisher, the new Big City Comics, and throughout it all he has done his best to remain as true to his vision of his character as possible. Regardless of what you may think of him or his book, you have to respect his willingness to follow his path wherever it takes him, no matter the obstacles.
From what I’ve seen of Ant, both from its Image run and now here, it seems as if there’s a halfway decent story trying to emerge. Between Hannah’s missing memories, her powers and how she feels about them, and her family struggles, there are enough story elements to provide a great deal of dramatic tension. Still, the amount of T-and-A continues to weigh this book down to the point where it induces a certain level of stupidity into the characters.
Take the opening scene, where her co-worker hits on her. Now I realize how this is gonna sound, but bear with me. I am all for women’s rights and female empowerment. People who know me in real life know this. However, when you’re a young woman in a physically demanding job with a lot of sweaty, uncouth men around, one you don’t enjoy but need in order to earn enough money to leave town (a goal she expresses later on in the story), how smart is it to come to work dressed in a belly shirt and short shorts?
There’s empowerment and then there’s common sense. No self-respecting woman wants to be sexually harassed at her job, and if it’s a job that attracts unsavory types like the scumbag that hits on Hannah – and note that the other men do nothing to stop him; indeed, they’re clearly entertained by the whole thing, including the boss – why dress in a sexually provocative way? The answer: so we, the readers, can see how sexy and tough Hannah is by kicking the scumbag in the balls. This scene is gratuitous and does nothing for Hannah’s character – she couldn’t work as, say, a waitress, where there are bound to be more women around at the very least?
Gully’s writing is passable, but far from perfect. There’s a bit of a summation of past continuity, but I would’ve liked to have known more about how Hannah got her powers. Her roommate’s fate is laughably obvious once they start talking about moving out and always being sisters and all that crap. And was that a daughter of Hannah’s I saw? Why no ominous voice-over narrative devoted to her?
Marco Turini’s art is technically very proficient, though there are still quite a few WTF moments where he puts Hannah in T-and-A poses (the worst example being the scene with the detective). He makes some odd choices regarding facial expressions; there are moments where Hannah has a blank look where the dialogue calls for something with a bit more oomph; for example, in the scene where she walks in on her working girl roommate with a client, her reaction shot should have more surprise than it does. There are also some continuity glitches; on page eleven the john is atop the bed’s covers, and then on the next page he’s suddenly underneath the sheets.
I simply cannot generate any enthusiasm for this book. While Gully has gone to great lengths to keep it alive in a market that is notoriously cruel to new characters in general, never mind new black characters, there’s simply not enough here story-wise to keep me interested. Ant Unleashed, like its previous incarnations, reads like a bunch of cliches in search of a story, now with a copious amount of sex and profanity added to offer the suggestion of “realism” and to hide the lack of genuine character development. Want strong black women characters? Read the works of Lance Tooks instead. It kills me that someone as immensely talented as him lies almost completely under the radar of most comics fans while substandard wank material like this finds an audience.
The Shannara canon comprises a long-ongoing series of fantasy fiction novels written by Terry Brooks. The story is set far in Earth’s future, where man’s technology has majorly messed up the planet, resulting in dwarves, gnomes, and a whole bunch of fantasy races, creatures, and trappings. And elves, who supposedly have always been around, but just didn’t interfere. 
The title of this comic could easily give the impression that it’s a major event for the X-Men. After all, every X-book since Messiah CompleX has had the “Divided We Stand” banner; surely, therefore, the Divided We Stand miniseries must provide some kind of throughline, right?
Gunplay
