1 | Blame the tight

May 8th, 2008 at 12:56 am

God you are a geek, kill yourself if it means that much. are you that mad, go kill some babies and get over it. This review, its negativity boggles the mind, like some sort of hate march, I do hope you don’t justify the volumes that proceeded this one, at least the art is unbelievable, as in good. You are just a awful reviewer, just pathetic, god hates you and satin weeps for you. I loves this book even more after reading this review because at least I know now when something comes along that is good, the shock causes insanity, okay, basic point, two different books, not in the same universe as all, but Y the last man, vs Ultimates 3, no contest, people think Y is good, actually think its good, they want to make a film out of it, see with Joe’s art, you are bitch slapped and can’t handle the pain because you’ve been fed crap for so long with only a few graces of Jim lee to save you so don’t hate the player, hate the game, don’t be such a geek that you need to kick you own ass

2 | Drunk Kal-El

June 1st, 2008 at 11:35 pm

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahha….cough….

Best nonsensical reply to a review ever…

“Satin weeps”?

I was unaware that a clothing material had tear ducts…

As for your opinions on Y…I’m sure a lot of people think The Fast and the Furious is an epic storytelling masterpiece and that Gossip Girl is the heigth of television broadcasting…

3 | Stillwaters

June 26th, 2008 at 6:06 am

Terms like world class are chucked around loosely. The description applying to very few writers working within the mainstream comics field: Of the current crop of writers holding down the fort at the Marvel and DC forts the likes of Morrison, Brubaker , Millar, Moore, Miller, Ellis, are undoubtedly within this rank. Loeb, clearly, falls far short of this standard. Even the most casual review of the earlier Millar “Ultimates” volumes can only induce, in any fair, unjaundiced reader, the deepest respect for Millars commitment to innovative characterization- the reconceptualisation of Thor, unarguably the most radical and successful reimagining of a mainstream character since Moore’s groundbreaking work on Swamp thing and Miracleman; his careful attendance to plot, pacing and development, and an unshaking commitment to drive the brand promise of the ultimate comics, namely to provide a modern, hip audience with hip, adult, envelope pushing, creative material freed of the historical constraints and overly censurish behavior of editors and executive reps of the corporate owner.
In this, Millar succeeded beyond the industries expectations, and perhaps even his own, providing a comic that was genuinely cinematic, literate, culturally relevant, all wonderful achievements, but more, Millar, with his artistic pattern, provide a work that while bursting the seams of the media’s two dimensional limitations, proved that the medium can be as fluid and exciting as any narrative laid down by its televisual, video or cinematic rivals. A short trip to the blogopshere of such industry leaders such as the Huffington Post, or a half hour spent watching Meet the Press, or a quick travail through the increasingly moribund print media, underscores the devastating consequences of the current American administration middle eastern adventures, and to find the effects of these policies explored with such generosity of spirit - the American spirit, is after all completely vindicated by the conclusion of Volume 2- insight, and deft touch within an American comic; while remaining true to the kick arse essentials that drive all superhero comics, is to witness a writer who when fully focused- as Millar most certainly was during his run; the sheer, bombastic iconography of the central characters bringing out from Millar, the chief-cynic-in-waiting, a genuine respect and love, much as the JLA and Superman has done for Millars contemporary and arch rival in the world heavyweight champ stakes, Grant Morrison
Any reader over twenty five, with a college or university degree, or not, who has ever been embarrassed by reading comics, had only to hand over the Ultimates to the uniformed and skeptical, to have their reading habits fully justified. The handover of this flagship to the current writer, who has broken every script covenant laid down by Millar- careful development, razor sharp characterization, subtlety wit, inventiveness, and reduced an innovative, must read, must talk about title, to the level of a Sunday afternoon cartoon, digestible by toddles across the globe, who if they heard the phrase, “ Abu Ghraib” would assume he was a cousin of Aladdin’s genie. To watch a character as vivid and fully realized as Thor be reduced to this faux-Shakespeare peaking, muscle bound poseur, is to see a Rumsfieldian castration of old Europe fully in play. Leob standing fully revealed as a plodding, reactionary hack stuck in an overly polished, primary colored, 1950’s view of a WASP controlled America that is entirely free of debate, challenge and any reconfiguring, renewing energy: In this, much like his reactionary contemporary, Alex Ross, who also churns out unimaginative, nostalgia poems to a 1950’s apartheid, right-wing, America, Loeb’s work stands as a blatant rejection of the creative energies and attempts of the brand to reinvigorate and break the crippling existing narrative: and return to a “lets not think, lets not critique, lets not play, lets just give them comics that offer “Biff, Bang, Wallop” nonsense, and the girls and boys will just lap it up” universe that so sadly polluted the recent Indian Jones sequel, which exposed the full malady at the current center of American movie making.
It is fitting that as Speilberg and Lucas, the two individusuals who have done most to undermine a once great American cinema full of visionaries such as Coppola and Malik, who committed to making adult drama, should return with their latest racist, unintelligent, junk, promoting a world view and characters and stereotypes that bear no reflection to the current youth interest and creative production – and the cash returns on Indy 4 do nothing to counter this argument, that the comic intellectual and creative equivalent – and I use those words without any favorable implication, should rend, mutilate, reduce, trash, disfigure and, blatantly mock, the work of a writer of whom the likes of Coppola and Malik would have recognized as a fellow traveler in the world of adult concerns and literacy.
Reading the current toilet paper that is being put out by Loeb and co, is to wonder if Marvel got a phone call from some delusional, rabid, right wing, culture fascist on and decided to cut and run. Cut ting and running being the only choice that someone with an IQ over seventy two is left with, after being exposed to the flaccid, incompetent, gutless, witless, impotent garbage of Loeb’s writing. I have not felt so sorry for an artist since Jim Lee worked with Azzarrello; or so determined to claim my money back, since foolishly submitting to an audit from a scientology centre in Piccadilly circus, London. Perhaps Loeb is in need of an audit.