"See God's Truth In Loving Action!" COMICS! Sometimes Salmonella Should Be On A Certain Someone's Mind!

I don’t know what happened! I wrote about three whole comics in less than fifty billion words! It won’t happen again. My apologies. I don't know what I was thinking. I certainly wasn't thinking about this intro, which is why it's so weak. Rush politely past it and read on... BLUBBER by Gilbert Hernandez

Anyway, this…

SLASHER #1 By Charles Sanford Forsman Floating World Comics, Digital: £1.49 (2017)

Like many men in their middle years (“middle”, yeah, like I’m going to see 94. Pretty loose definition of “middle” there, society) I court danger like its dad owns a yacht. To relight that sputtering youthful fire some middle-aged men take up shark wrestling or sex pesting young women, but me? I like to take it to the edge. I try and go into comics with as little knowledge as possible. (Of the comic; as little knowledge of the comic, you wiseacre.) I saw SLASHER on the ‘Ology and thought “okay”; largely because it looked like it might be a slasher comic. How, I wondered, would a slasher comic work in the comics medium? On a static page how would an artist pull off the necessary control of pacing and deliver the required kills with the requisite impact? I’m still wondering. Because as it turns out SLASHER is as much about a slasher as JAWS is about a shark. Even less so, in fact, because JAWS has a lot of shark in it now I think about it. There is a bit of slashing in SLASHER but it is self-inflicted, as befits a warts to the fore portrayal of our oddly damaged modern psyches. At least I think that’s what’s going on here.

SLASHER by Charles Sanford Forsman

Despite sounding like a one man firm of lawyers, Charles Sanford Forsman earns every one of his three names with SLASHER. Mostly, for me anyway, by giving a lightly disquieting imprecision to his art. One which echoes his ably unsettling script’s unerring ability to pick at the scab of any normal everyday occurrence (shopping, workplace assessment, txting a friend, etc, etc…) until the wound oozes the tacit creepiness of us all. (Well, mostly you. Me, I’m perfectly healthy. But I see you, Sancho. I. See. You.) Mind you, I dig stylish imperfections in  art since they imply the actual passing of a human hand across the page, which is as close to seeing the face of God moving over the face of  the waters as an non-spiritual and inartistic putz like me will ever get. For a comic in which the milk of human kindness is so thoroughly curdled SLASHER is a surprising amount of fun. Most of that fun came from not expecting what I got, so I sure wouldn’t want to spoil it all for you. Take it from me that if you’re the kind of bitter freak who pines for movies like HAPPINESS (1998) and IN THE COMPANY OF MEN (1997) then get stuck into SLASHER. (ßPull Quote Alert!) Also, let’s go do movies and a brew sometime, you’re my kind of people! VERY GOOD!

GRASS KINGS #3 Art by Tyler Jenkins Written by Matt Kindt Lettered by Jim Campbell BOOM! Studios, $3.99 (2017)

I like this comic, but it doesn’t do itself any favours. Fatally so, I fear; in an overcrowded market it just sort of slouches there, instead of selling itself. For starters look at the cover, it hardly leaps out from across the room demanding your attention does it? The logo is all high-end understated artiness, the kind more suited to a designer range of name brand geegaws and tchotkes aimed at people who retro-fit wood burning stoves into their 21st century sci-fi kitchens. Can you even read that title across the comic store? Does it stand out in the slightest from the visual roar of Marvel’s latest waste of Al Ewing’s time and DC’s unrelenting variations on a Bat-theme? Did you even know this comic existed? I genuinely ask because I don’t go to a physical LCS, so I actually don’t know the answers. Except for that last one; I certainly didn’t know it existed, my LCS just sent it me because…they think I’m the kind of guy who retro-fits a wood burning stove into his 21st Century sci-fi kitchen? Tsk!

GRASS KINGS by Kindt, Jenkins and Campbell

Beyond the cover GRASS KINGS remains a defiantly low energy affair. Jenkins’ art is a really watery water-colour affair that kind of seeps into your eyes, and Kindt’s script is a low summer drawl of a thing. It all kind of pootles past at its own sweet pace like an elderly gent on his weekly walk into town, pausing periodically to get his breath back, or simply staring into the air where the old dance hall and the night he met his deceased wife swims into being before his cloudy eyes. GRASS KINGS is about some kind of off the grid enclave where the gubbermint has no traction (i.e. the libertarian’s nocturnal emission of the American Dream), everyone’s a bit flaky and there’s murders and missing persons, and not a few flashbacks which are typically unhurried  in declaring their relevance. Unlike most comics GRASS KINGS doesn’t scream for your attention, it doesn’t even whisper, it just sings to itself under its breath. (ßPull Quote Alert!) If you lean in to listen, I think you’ll be glad you did. VERY GOOD!

BLUBBER #3 By Gilbert Hernandez Fantagraphics, $3.99 (2016)

What’s black and white and covered in an old man’s dead jizz? My copy of BLUBBER! Only joking…it’s not all in black and white. (But it is covered in my dead jizz! (“Old man John! Spoiling everything!” ß Joke For The Kidz!)) Yup, BLUBBER’s covers are colour, and what lovely covers they are. The back of each issue has also been graced by a Gilbert “Bert” Hernandez pin-up of some kind of phantasmagorical fauna fresh from his bubbling brain pan. So invitingly comical and eye-catchingly vivid are these covers that “Gil” sometimes picks them up and asks if he can read them. HOO! Not wishing to spend the next several months and many, many, thousands of pounds fighting for visitation rights I have as yet denied him. He can stick with SPONGEBOB COMICS (also great, but in a really quite different way) for now. From the outside BLUBBER looks all fantastically harmless, but inside it remains a maelstrom of scatological insanity. Calm down though, my little pearl clutchers, as it is so offensive that it transcends offence and just becomes comical in its absurd mania for the grossly vulgar. Less Spongebob Squarepants and more Spongebob Shitpants. But don’t mistake my loutish rattlepanning and manic emphasis on the outré as licence to belittle the artistry on display. Hernandez’ big old floppy chops are evident on every page.

BLUBBER by Gilbert Hernandez

BLUBBER may well be an explosion of transgressions but it’s a highly controlled one. As the late Dennis Hopper, star of TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 2 (1986), could attest were he not, well, dead, you can lie in a ring of dynamite sticks and set them off without harm; the trick is in having them face the right way. (Otherwise you’re fucked, bubeleh.)  In every panel of BLUBBER Hernandez plays with dynamite but his spectacular artistic panache ensures he doesn’t take his talented face off in the blast. Not even Tony Salvador Daniel could lead up to XXX Papusi climaxing in a final panel as heart crushingly poignant as a JoJo Moyles book in the rain. (Be warned though if you are rubbing one out while reading and wipe a tear from your eye, you do run the risk of pink eye.) And could anyone but Gilbert “He Was Always A Quiet Man” Hernandez answer the oft asked question of “What if Arthur Machen’s ‘Great God Pan’ was crossed with Elvis Presley?” No, because the answer involves lots of furry-haunched cock frothing and cryptic wisdom.  Cock-a-hula, baby, indeed! Gilbert ”Looking Back We Should Have Known” Hernandez is also versatile enough to reimagine the hauntingly poignant Mickey Rourke mumbling-sadly-in-sweaty-trunks movie THE WRESTLER (1990), but he gives it his own uniquely tender spin by smearing it with sudden bowel movements, satanic orgies and forlorn longings on the part of a phenomenally endowed man for our barely sentient albino lunk. Yo, mama, Hernandez really brings the stains to life in this tour de force of turds and turgidity. There’s just something truly affecting about the sight of our barely sentient protagonist’s trunks distended by a crop of fresh poops. (PRO TIP: If you scratch your bum and sniff your finger new levels of immersion can be achieved.) And that’s just some of the fun inside BLUBBER! In a world of flamboyantly vacuous TV pitches masquerading as comics BLUBBER is a refreshing toot from the artistic arse flute of Gilbert Hernandez. A real room clearer of a comic. (ßPull Quote Alert!) The only TV BLUBBER is likely to appear on is the one that explodes in a shower of guts in VIDEODROME (1983). And that’s because BLUBBER is EXCELLENT!

NEXT TIME: The world’s least informative reviews continue as I look at more – COMICS!!!

“Later, Jeef Cooked The Best Northern Italian-Style Dinner Ever.” COMICS! Sometimes it’s Goodbye, Mr Chitts!

To celebrate the release of Batman vs Superman: Collateral Damage and also the appearance of The Punisher on Daredevil I look up at the corner of my living room and wonder if that’s dust or a cobweb. Deciding it’s just a shadow, I galvanize myself and consider a book by Gilbert Hernandez about a woman who kills zombies in the future. ‘Cos I’m dead classy, pal. FATIMA: THE BLOOD SPINNERS by Gilbert Hernandez Anyway, this… FATIMA: THE BLOOD SPINNERS By Gilbert Hernandez This book collects issues one through four of the Dark Horse comic book series FATIMA: THE BLOOD SPINNERS, originally published June through September 2012. Dark Horse Comics, $19.99 (2014) © 2012, 2014 Gilbert Gernandez

The more donnishly inclined may feel “in media res” a tad too high-falutin’ a term for a book which dives face first into the trough of trash with its mouth stretched quite so cheerfully wide but, nevertheless, FATIMA: THE BLOOD SPINNERS by Gilbert Hernandez opens with the world already more than halfway to being Hell in a blender. Also, I’m not sure what anyone even remotely familiar with the term donnish is doing buying a book like this; one where the cover sports a sturdily thewed female triumphantly erect amid the ketchup spattered and cabbagey looking heads of the downed undead. So, FATIMA: THE BLOOD SPINNERS, in stark and humiliating contrast to this review, gets straight in there; it doesn’t do that thing of “worldbuilding” for four issues, ending the book on a splash of Fatima picking up her gun for the first time. No, because Gilbert Hernandez is a busy man; those comics where people fellate themselves inside out don’t draw themselves! World building is for slow bozos, not the human bolt of creative lightning whose name is an anagram of “Blazing Her Tender”. When the book opens ol’ Blazing’s already got his world in place and his girl is in motion.

FATIMA: THE BLOOD SPINNERS by Gilbert Hernandez And what a world it is she moves through!  In the future it seems everything will be designed by the Jesse Marsh School of Architects, on the downside though everything will also be in the process of falling to bits, including the people. Because of drugs. Or one drug in particular – Spin. With just one dose users become temporary heptathletes, unfortunately within hours their eyes turn into runny eggs, their flesh hangs off them like an old man’s ball bag and long pig is dish of the day, every day. Zombies basically, or near enough to make you run like The Devil’s trying to goose you. This is what Fatima and her well-built compadres are up against. Alas, Fatima’s organisation seems staffed entirely by armed fitness fanatics who have not been chosen for their cerebral acumen. I guess a shortage of brains is a plus when up against zombies, but it’s a bit of a minus regarding the mobile action-figure cast’s twofold task – discover the source of Spin and find a cure. Strictly speaking though, that’s the source of the leak of Spin they’re after, since the government developed it itself; but then someone decided to entrepreneurially maximise the fiscal potential of the narcotic i.e. sell the shit on the sly. Fatima and her buff buddies engage in a number of savagely violent and cast-cullingly unsuccessful sting exercises, before things degenerate rapidly and discombobulatingly into a lurid maelstrom of horror, betrayal and sexual grotesquery.

FATIMA: THE BLOOD SPINNERS by Gilbert Hernandez

And, really, who better to so tastefully delineate such luridly diseased and repellently comical larks than The Man Hernandez. Here he brings his typically crisp and efficient cartooning to bear upon the apocalyptic horrors on show, finely calibrating the friskiness of his art to blunt just enough of the horror’s edge to make it fun. It’s not all fun though, FATIMA: THE BLOOD SPINNERS is a deeper read than it may at first seem. Fatima’s recurrent refrain of “Whatever” is droll stuff, until it sinks in that this is how she deals with the pain of the world she inhabits, at which point it becomes poignant in its futility. A mob beats someone to death so badly that Fatima can’t tell whether they were a zombie or just a luckless tramp, meanwhile she and her pals cavort about clad in invisibility jockstraps with hairdryer ray guns. In the white glare of the panel gutters years pass and entire cities are razed, but there’s space made on page for Fatima to indulge in artless double entendres regarding her hunky colleague. Society is advanced enough for flying saucers and AI channeling specs, but people remain human enough to still pay to be poisoned for pleasure. There are points being made here, points hidden amongst all the play.

FATIMA: THE BLOOD SPINNERS by Gilbert Hernandez

Given his past form it’s no surprise that Hernandez’ work here is intelligent and horrific. The surprise, if one there be, is given the extent of the intelligence and horror on show how much fun, how bouncily appealing, it all is. No mean feat when the book’s multiple Screaming Mad George-esque delights include a man giving birth through his face. The nimbleness of Hernandez’ artistic touch gives everything an adorably camp air which playfully wrestles with the sick shenanigans throughout. As your gorge rises its only Hernandez’ gleeful and seemingly guileless delivery which causes it to subside. Gilbert Hernandez creates and maintains a tone which is consistently inconsistent, which sounds impossible but through Art the impossible is attained or at least grazed, and Gilbert Hernandez is, lest you forget, an Artist. Still more, Gilbert Hernandez is a Rushmore Level Talent (©®™ Tom Spurgeon) even when drawing zombies being kicked in the face so hard twin jets of diseased blood spurt from their nostrils. Do I gush? Only like a severed artery, hotballs. Which is as it should be since FATIMA: THE BLOOD SPINNERS is VERY GOOD!

FATIMA: THE BLOOD SPINNERS by Gilbert Hernandez

NEXT TIME: Maybe a look at my pull list? It’s been a while since I put you through that particularly tasty Hell. Quality aside, I can categorically state here and now that that they are – COMICS!!!

“I Fail To See What’s So Remarkable About Two Robots Dancing.” COMICS! Sometimes I’ll Need To See Some ID Before You Go Any Further, Sunshine.

This time out I look at 2000AD yet again, but you can tell I’m getting a bit worn down. Not because you’re perceptive, but because I flat out say so. Then in an attempt to pep things up a bit I take a look at  a one man anthology by the one man affront to all that’s rational! Men want to be him, women want to be with him, and the FBI just plain want him! It’s that loveable scamp, the part-time Cher impersonator and full-time living colossus of Comics, Mr. Gilbert “Betty” Hernandez. And this wretched creature on the end of my critical stick is BLUBBER #2.  (Strictly no kids past the MORE…) BLUBBER by Gilbert Hernandez

Anyway, this…

2000AD #1967 & #1968 Art by Mark Sexton, Richard Elson, Clint Langley, John Burns, Carlos Ezquerra Written by Michael Carroll, Dan Abnett, Pat Mills, Kek-W, John Wagner Lettered by Annie Parkhouse, Ellie De Ville, Simon Bowland Coloured by Len O’Grady Cover by Clint Langley JUDGE DREDD created by Carlos Ezquerra & John Wagner KINGDOM created by Richard Elson & Dan Abnett ABC WARRIORS created by Kevin O’Neill, Brendan McCarthy, Mick McMahon & Pat Mills THE ORDER created by John Burns & Kek-W STRONTIUM DOG created by Carlos Ezquerra & John Wagner © 2016 Rebellion A/S Rebellion, £2.55 each, weekly (2016)

What? Again? Already? Stomm, I’m not really feeling it this time out. The problem it turns out is that weekly instalments all end up being a wee bit samey, so it’s a little difficult coming up with something new to say. But we’ll persevere, after all that’s why they pay me the big bucks. In the indicia to Prog 1967 Tharg’s hidden message is that he is very busy and everything is late. By Prog 1968 things seem to have calmed a little and he’s crowing about how only the best Venusian oil will do for his droids, but is considering doing a Kickstarter due to the high costs of importing said oil. (N.B. It is tacitly understood by readers that 2000AD’s editor is a green skinned Betelgeusian and the creators who toil beneath his tyrannical yoke are all characterised as robots who should think themselves lucky. Over in the UK we find this kind of thing amusing.)

JUDGE DREDD (Sexton, Carroll, O’Grady & Parkhouse)

In Prog 1968 the not entirely convincing saga of Judge Badger and the Secret Citi-Block of Rogue Judges comes to a somewhat sudden end. Taking the tale as a whole I’d have to say it was a well done enough chunk of fun, but very little had changed by the end. Dredd’s fascistic veneer took another tiny little knock but more importantly, I guess, Carroll laid the groundwork for future stories which won’t trip over John Wagner’s stuff. Mark Sexton was the star of this one with his crisply attired Judges smoothly navigating the slightly scruffy future setting. And either Len O’Grady or Sexton himself did some nice layering with the colours to lend the images depth, which really paid off in the fighting on catwalks scenes. Carroll’s story was sound on the surface but had some worrying chinks in its armour. A scene where one of four chains supporting a craft was shot resulted in the craft plummeting onto the bad guys below, but should really just have resulted in that corner of the craft drooping and bobbling about like Bruce Willis’ penis in the Color of Night pool scene. And no matter how close sisters may be, it’s unlikely a fascistic wingnut with delusions of grandeur is likely to risk decades of covert skulduggery just so they can be together. Now, we’re all God’s children so I’m not saying fascists lack normal human feelings but it is a fact that I’ve never seen a “For Fascists” section in a greeting card shop. But, y’know, the twist involving DeMarco was, however, pretty neat and all my typically minor carps were ultimately outweighed by the strong pacing and the high entertainment quotient. Solid stuff so GOOD!

KINGDOM (Elson, Abnett & DeVille)

Despite the fact that Prog 1966 promised all kinds of hell was about to break loose Prog 1967 has a weirdly truncated fight scene which pisses away the promise of the preceding issue’s double page spread to basically just establish our cast are now in a siege situation. Then someone notices a giant insect mound that they should probably go and pour a giant kettle of hot water down in order to stop the insect horde. So they decide to do that. Come Prog 1968 Gene and Co, are well on their way, and in case you were wondering how they got out of the besieged city then be assured that Abnett makes every effort to make you think he’s explained that, but you’re pretty sure he hasn’t. Or maybe he did, I read this when I was tired (but I don’t think he did explain it). Prog 1968’s episode opens with a couple of humans who previously appeared in the strip during the 8 years I wasn’t reading it. That’s okay, because there’s a little note referring to previous events. They don’t do notes like that in North American comics anymore because everything happens so slowly that drawing attention to it would just be dispiriting to everyone. (“Miles first started cooking these pancakes six issues ago!”, Underutilised Ed!) Accompanying the humans is another dog thing who immediately starts fighting Gene, our hero, in a page snaffling instance of the usual clichéd misunderstanding  so beloved of old timey comics. Efficiency remains the watchword with Abnett’s script and Elson continues to steadfastly draw it all with a crispness that Quentin (*) would envy. OKAY! (*) Quentin Crisp not Quentin Tarantino. C’mon, work with me here.

ABC WARRIORS (Langley, Mills & Parkhouse)

If at any point anyone out there (SMASH CUT to street as seen in Western movies, cue tumbleweed and eerie whistling) is considering berating Pat Mills for the lack of subtlety in his satire you may wish to remind yourself that in PROG 1967 the villainous Howard Quartz draws up a Death List of droids for the chop, and he writes the names on a tablet clearly headed “DEATH LIST”. I don’t think Pat Mills is under any misapprehensions about the level of satire he’s offering up. But you might be. These two episodes are set in Gracie’s Bar and the second features Ro-Jaws and Hammerstein doing a song and dance number gussied up in top hat and tails. It’s a Hell of an image and Langley delivers it as he delivers all his imagery here, with an appropriately messy undercurrent to the technology on show. It was at that point that I started to strongly suspect Mills was actually writing this story within (between) the very earliest Ro-Busters stories, because I know that image of the dancing droids of old; it kind of sticks with you. How very clever, Pat Mills. Of course I can’t tell you how successfully he’s doing it, because I don’t still have those issues, but still a doff of the cap and all that.  What is new (to me) is Mills’ subversive take on the “cakewalk” and how by applying it (retroactively) to Ro-Jaws and Hammerstein’s antics he’s able to bed in his slaves/robots  (sub)text so deep it won’t shift. Satire doesn’t have to be subtle (and it doesn’t even have to be funny) it just needs to ring true. Ding! Ding! VERY GOOD!

THE ORDER (Burns, Kek-W & De Ville)

Like I said back there, I was tired when I read these comics so in-between all the stuff about consciousness transferring, lovers reunited and my personal confusion over the fact that what I had previously thought was one woman was in fact two women (said confusion despite John Burns attiring one in a memory searing outfit of scarlet leather) I think I recall Francis Bacon being in this. No, the philosopher and statesman, not the painter. It’s set in the 1580s, so come on, play fair now. Anyway, if you look him up on Wikipedia so you can type “the philosopher and statesman, not the painter” like you know what you are talking about, there’s a facsimile of his signature. It’s got his birth date and everything on there as well, which I find a touch dicey given all the palaver about identity theft these days. (“Hello, Mr. Bacon? This is VisaCard, can you confirm the fact that you recently purchased a 97” HD-Ready Television in Portugal yesterday?” “No, no, I did not. I live in Balham and I’m perfectly happy with my current television. Damn, it’s those irresponsible fuckers at Wikipedia again!”)  See, whenever a real life historical figure appears in a comic I am unavoidably reminded of Jonathan Hickman and Dustin Weaver’s (still uncompleted) SHIELD series. In a clear bid for intellectual cachet this series (the still uncompleted SHIELD one by Jonathan Hickman and Dustin Weaver) about Tony Stark’s Dad (Larry Stark) and Reed Richard’s Dad (Trevor Richards) bro-ing about, also had Sir Isaac Newton and Leonardo Da Vinci squaring off because comics. Being a modern man I know very little about, and I have very little interest in, anything that does not impinge directly on my life, a remit which some long dead boffins scarcely fill, but I’m pretty sure they were clever fellows. Yet in Jonathan Hickman and Dustin Weaver’s (still uncompleted) SHIELD series these two had their followers dress in uniforms and run at each other in the street like slightly less boorish football hooligans. It’s this deft handling of real-life historical figures which always comes to mind when another such figure rears its head in a story. Um, I’ve lost track of what I was on about. I usually mention John Burns’ art is a treat for the eyes, did I do that yet? OKAY! 

STRONTIUM DOG (Ezquerra, Wagner & Bowland)

STRONTIUM DOG continues to be so reliable as to be easily taken for granted when in fact its very reliability should be the subject of envy throughout the Comics World. Guess which bit I left until last and then ran out of time on. Hey, I’m sorry my review isn’t up to snuff but I want a weekend too! VERY GOOD!

WOULD ALL CHILDREN PLEASE LEAVE THE AUDITORIUM! LADIES POSSESSED OF A DELICATE NATURE AND GENTLEMEN SUFFERING FROM DISORDERS OF THE MIND ARE ALSO ENCOURAGED TO SEEK ALTERNATE SHELTER FOR THE DURATION OF THE FOLLOWING! (!!KLAXON SOUNDS!!) THE MANAGEMENT THANKS YOU. AND NOW…

BLUBBER #2 by Gilbert Hernandez Fantagraphics $3.99 (2016) © 2016 Gilbert Hernandez (DIAMOND CODE: SEP151339)

WARNING! BLUBBER (DIAMOND CODE: SEP151339) is proper nasty. Dirrrrrrrrty, even.

There is a school of thought that BLUBBER (DIAMOND CODE: SEP151339) is Gilbert Hernandez taking the piss out of the whole Comics Aren’t Just for Kids! horsepuckey by applying to the tropes of childish entertainment: superheroes, zombies, bad girls, monsters etc. a more realistic approximation of the actual recreational thoughts of real-life adults. Sure, everyone pretends adults are forever relaxing with a cheeky red while reading the novels of Stefan Zweig or watching the movies of Shohei Imamura, whereas of course they are mostly getting shitfaced on gassy piss and reading Dan Brown books or watching Star Wars movies. Which they are perfectly entitled to do. And, lest we forget, it’s a white knuckle ride for anyone anticipating sophistication and erudition once they pass through the beaded curtain into the “Adult” section of anywhere at all. So I’m told. Mind you, none of that matters since I am the only person attending that school, and its curriculum reflects so badly on both humanity and myself that its funding has been pulled with a view to it being demolished, the ground salted, and the whole unwise endeavour replaced by a statute of Deadpool miming a slightly risqué joke.

BLUBBER by Gilbert Hernandez

So, politicians, dog fondlers, Catholic priests, ham radio enthusiasts, bacon fetishists and people with unimpeachable taste in comics rejoice, because YES! it’s the second issue of Gilbert Hernandez’ sanity taunting BLUBBER (DIAMOND CODE: SEP151339)! That’s right, kids, the Best Comic of 2016©™® has already arrived! In January yet! And yes I do know it is now February but I’ve been busy; those ritual murders currently baffling the finest minds in law enforcement won’t commit themselves! So, February 2016 and already everyone else in comics can pack up and fuck right off, because here comes BLUBBER #2 (DIAMOND CODE: SEP151339)! In this issue of BLUBBER (DIAMOND CODE: SEP151339) bestiality and mutilation flaunt themselves with gay abandon upon every B&W page. This time out though the familiar menageries of witlessly priapic and savagely violent species are joined by the most witlessly priapic and savagely violent species of all – humanity! Jism drizzled and blood sodden capers ensue. But don’t take my unbiased and wholly reliable word for it; check out the sordid menu yourself:

BLOVIATE! as the order comes from above for “T.A.C. Man” to track down the pollum and “fuck him up!” Can the world’s first Tactical! Advanced! Commando! Man! best his turgid membered and swingingly nippled nemesis? Meanwhile, back at the base bureaucratic thrills galore occur as Mr. Hippy is genitally mutilated and then cruelly defenestrated by Marshman in a  fit of pique! And could all this dark malarkey be the sinister work of the erectly menacing Wild Dicks? The only way to find out is to rub BLUBBER (DIAMOND CODE: SEP151339) against your face! T.A.C.TASTIC BONUS! Featuring the discharge enhancing debut of the sensational character find of 2016 – Boat Man! More than a man! More than a boat! It’s Boat Man! T.A.C. Man and Boat Man! Orifices on land and sea beware! T.A.C. Man and Boat Man! Action and buoyancy in blissful syncopation! T.A.C. Man and Boat Man! CHUCH MY MUNG, TRUE BELIEVERS!

BLUBBER by Gilbert Hernandez

INVEST! as “XXX Superstar Pupusi And Her Pals” degrade and traduce the beauty of the physical act of love with a cheeky wink, a sticky smile and maybe a philosophical bon mot or two! Ooh! Watch out Pupusi and Maximiliano! That creepy peeper, Mr. Hammernuts is at it again! The big shit!

BOONDOGGLE! as Gilbert Hernandez answers the question which has stumped the finest scientific minds since the world first cooled like a big spherical pie on the window ledge of the universe! Go tell your Momma, go tell the Spartans, “Who Fears The Froat?”

COMBUST! As the micro-dicked Grecian buff-cakes of “Sweet” amble about sating their sexual impulses via the slits, vents and cavities of willing fauna such as the Pooso and the Orlat. What does such mindless and crassly loveless debauchery mean? It means, dude, life is “Sweet”! Whoa! SAVOURY BONUS! Discover the untold secret origin of XXX Pupusi’s name!

LACTATE! for all must fall before the wildly flailing fists of THE TAMPERRRRRR! None must be allowed to slow his surly progress! See how he trundles sowing truculent violence in his wake! But wait! Has our tin carapaced malcontent finally met his match in the form of a Junipero Molestat? Can only an unconvincingly proffered claim as to the debilitating effects of a recent heavy cold save face? The answer will leave you UNRUFFLED! All hail the gutless metal bully! THE TAMPERRRRRR!!!!

SPINDLE! as events take a decidedly spiritual turn when “Father Puto”  takes a break from his incessant pud tugging to join Bulto N. Piper and  Bumps the Faun at the Zombie field. Events soon turn sour as Father Pupa’s dislike of Bumps the Faun lures him into expressing his baser nature. A small mind and a closed heart result in an eruption of anal horror and tragic asphyxiation due to ingestion of a bitten off zombie-cock. But wait? Could this all be part of God’s design? Will the chastened cleric get another chance to get it right? Find out in the latest adventure of the priest with the cum stained pants!

T.A.C.GASMIC BONUS! T.A.C. Man and Marshman “cross swords” once more with attendance at the celebration of the Christian Eucharist hanging in the balance!

N.B. BLUBBER (DIAMOND CODE: SEP151339) is not suitable for children or people with any sense of decorum or shame.

For the rest of us though, BLUBBER (DIAMOND CODE: SEP151339) is EXCELLENT!

BLUBBER (DIAMOND CODE: SEP151339) - Don’t ask, just weep!

BLUBBER by Gilbert Hernandez

BLUBBER (DIAMOND CODE: SEP151339) is – COMICS!!!

"The Mysterious Phone Interference Spot." COMICS! Sometimes The Bole Of A Tree Is Just The Bole of A Tree!

This time John decides to publicly embarrass himself by looking at something way out of his league- LOVERBOYS by Gilbert Hernandez. He strained himself so badly he couldn't really think of anything to put here. Aw, bless. LOVERBOYS by Gilbert Hernandez

Anyway, this... LOVERBOYS Story and Art by Gilbert Hernandez Dark Horse Books, $19.99 US, $21.99 CAN (2014)

This is an original graphic novel by the dizzyingly prolific Gilbert “Betty” Hernandez. Now, I am an unforgiving man and so don't fool yourself for one Holmfirth Second that there are any kudos to be had in these parts simply for sheer volume of output, or even length of service. The rule of thumb hereabouts is generally that the more a comics author produces regularly then the less worthy of note it is. Given the vast quantities of pages which the Comics Machine demands filling each month it's little wonder that even the most talented authors find their gifts become stretched, until they are present only in homeopathic quantities. And those are the most talented, never mind the rest of the Trex merchants. Ugh. Of course if there's a rule of thumb then there's always going to be someone who defies it so strongly they don't just break it, they snap it right the Hell off. These people are the true geniuses (genii? Or are those the dudes in lamps?) These people are pretty easy to notice. After all they just broke your thumb, figuratively speaking. Yes, Gilbert Hernandez is one of them. And in LOVERBOYS he's on fine figuratively speaking thumb snapping form.

LOVERBOYS by Gilbert Hernandez

Because the big thing about geniuses, which we've established Gilbert Hernandez is, is that everything they do is worthy of attention. Me, I'll buy everything Gilbert Hernandez does. Eventually anyway; I have fiscal responsibilities beyond paper entertainment, alas. So, yeah, well spotted, LOVERBOYS isn't the kind of thing I'd generally seek out subject-matter wise. By way of engorged contrast to all those war comics I morbidly maunder about to excess, I guess LOVERBOYs is about what people get up to in times of peace; they get up to each other, up to the nuts, in fact. Folk in LOVERBOYS are very much making love not war, but as the philosopher Patrick Benetar trilled, Love Is A Battlefield. And so it proves here, but rather than a Stoeger .22 calibre Luger or a North American P-51 Mustang the weapons of choice herein are emotions and genitals. Yes, cockle warmingly, people will always find a way to hurt each other. We're an inventive species alright. In LOVERBOYS everyone is just looking for happiness but everyone is still getting hurt.

LOVERBOYS by Gilbert Hernandez

It may seem weird that I liked LOVERBOYS so much, because I am, for my sins, English. Being English I am genetically wired to recoil in flustered distaste from any hint of emotion, and to hide my face behind the paper whenever feelings are invoked at the breakfast table. Basically, and I think I speak for all Englishmen everywhere in this, getting through, say, as a for example, no offence and all that, Matt Fraction's backmatter is as pleasant as having to change the nappy of another person's child. And yet despite all that, despite the perfectly healthy English aversion to emotional engagement, despite the fact that LOVERBOYS is all about emotions I was all over LOVERBOYS like an embarrassing rash (a dash of penicillin, I'm thinking).

LOVERBOYS by Gilbert Hernandez

Mostly I liked it because Gilbert Hernandez, but also because I am quite an emotionally dark man and because LOVERBOYS is a very dark book. This darkness is beguilingly furtive and runs counter to the bright and open style art Hernandez employs throughout. It's a very loose and energetic style, a kind of rendering down to cartoony fundamentals, the apparent carelessness of which is belied by the strength with which such a style delivers its (many) emotional blows. It's a deceptively simple style and its chief deception is in making the complex interaction of the large cast across a lengthy time span appear as direct and lucid as an Archie comic. Which it sure as shooting isn't. But then, unforgivably, I haven't really told you what LOVERBOYS is. Hold on! The precis bus has just pulled into the station. Talk about timing. (Smooth, huh?) Anyway, the disparate characters of LOVERBOYS all orbit the flamboyantly chested teacher Mrs. Paz and their emotional interactions spiral to a crescendo which result in collateral damage; damage which extends nor only to insidiously infect the children of the town, but also the actual physical town of Lágrimas itself, when the explosiveness of the situation stops being figurative and becomes dangerously literal. At the risk of being awarded a cash prize for Perceptiveness I'm kind of thinking a lot of LOVERBOYS is metaphorical rather than literal. We have a Mrs Paz (i.e. Peace) who lives in the town of Lágrimas (Tears), all the cats have disappeared, people's jobs (teacher aside) are nebulous and just in case there's any doubt there is a mysterious bunker in which whispering secret stealing “little people” live alongside dynamite. But alongside this in baffling harmony are quite perfectly realistic human interactions. The mundane and the fantastic are intertwined in LOVERBOYS like, uh, lovers. And like such coupling any friction between the two disparate elements is purely pleasant.

LOVERBOYS by Gilbert Hernandez

Oh, don't worry the book's called LOVERBOYS but it's visually a PG-13, with nary the sight of a gristle whistle and all the spelunking in lady caves happens off page. The emphasis is very definitely on the emotional fallout and undercurrents the physical stuff sets in motion. A lot of the time LOVERBOYS reminded me of a Douglas Sirk movie, but one where Douglas Sirk died on the first day of shooting thus forcing Russ Meyer to step in and with the end results so heavily censored that all the heaving and shrieking ended up on the cutting room floor. So, you know, don't be giving this book that teeth grinding stuff about how it's just some old dude whacking off in public, because all that's on show here are the insidious dangers and slow damage incurred by the innocent search for happiness. Which is to say - life. And if you find life itself worth whacking off over you better pace yourself or you'll chafe. Pacing, however, isn't a problem for Gilbert Hernandez who keeps on keeping on and here with LOVERBOYS proves himself once more EXCELLENT!

Sometimes Love speaks through - COMICS!!!

“Thy Opinion Hath Been NOTED, Wrinkled One.” COMICS! Sometimes I Wonder If It's Gil -BERT or Gil-BEAR! And Then I Just Settle for GODHEAD!

In which a vain attempt is made to engage with The Present and some words are written about comics produced during these times known as Modern. In a display of staggering arrogance at no point is any excuse proffered for the extended absence of the author, although he would like it to be known that upon occasion it is necessary for him to work for a living. Would that it were otherwise. BLUBBER by Gilbert Hernandez

Anyway, this... Yeah, I know, what the world needs more of is middle-aged white males talking about what they like. Condemned as I am by the circumstances of my birth to a prison of unearned privilege, all I can offer by way of recompense are these words; as ungrammatical and dismayingly keen on cant as they may be. However, in the interests of diversity please note that while there is little I can do about being a middle-aged white male without multiple hospital stays and a bunch of therapy, I did at least show willing and wrote the following while wearing my wife’s knickers.

VALHALLA MAD#1 Art by Paul Maybury Written by Joe Casey Coloured by Paul Maybury Lettered by Russ Wooton Graphic Design by Sonia Harris Flats by Ricky Valenzuela Valhalla Mad created by Maybury & Casey Image Comics, $3.50 (2015)

I bought VALHALLA MAD for the art of Paul Maybury which I previously encountered in SOVEREIGN, a comic which now appears to be defunct despite its dense pleasures. Chris Roberson wrote that one but this one's written by Joe Casey, who here has done one of those comics which are inexplicably basically about some Big Two characters but, you know, in the literary equivalent of those disguise kits you get from joke shops with the big pink plastic nose, the Groucho 'tache and the lens-less specs fit only to fool only vegetation and estate agents. So VALHALLA MAD is clearly not a comic about Thor and The Warriors Three because there are only three of them in total not four, and they all have different names: The Glorious Knox, Greghorn The Battlebjorn and Jhago The Irritator. (Extra bonus comedy points for Jhago The Irritator).

VALHALLA MAD by Maybury, Casey, Wooton, Harris & Valenzuela

It's a light comedy which is amusing enough (they rescue a plane but unbeknownst to they, their arrival caused it to crash in the first place!) Much sport is made of the voluminous verbiage of the Stan Lee Style and a generally pleasant time is had by all, not least our three protagonists who have graced Earth with their presence for a glorified pub crawl. Or there may be more to it than that as the final page appears to promise. It's a lot of talking is what it is, and with the exception of the odd typo (e.g. "feint" for "faint") it's propulsive and amusing enough stuff but visually it doesn't give Maybury much to work with. Good job he packed his Awesome this time out and he goes to town on it nevertheless. His boldly chunky style of cartooning brings the otherworldly and the mundane together while never losing the humour of the juxtaposition. Throughout the molten flow of his line is broad enough to encompass two realities and it's ultimately his art which makes VALHALLA MAD #1 GOOD!

BLUBBER #1 By Gilbert Hernandez Fantagraphics, $3.99 (2015)

If VALHALLA MAD is the stag do then BLUBBER is the morning after where you wake up in a strange and distant field covered in sick while a stray dog humps the back of your head. Yes, it’s the one man kick to the nuts of rational thought that is Gilbert “Berty” Hernandez. Here he’s unleashed one of those baffling one-off comics that just exist because, well, because he wants it to. Is this the first in a new ongoing series of madcap anthropomorphic laff mags based around mutilation and sexual degradation? Or will the next time we see this be some sixty years hence in some pricey Fantagraphics boxed set big enough to hide a chopped up dog in? Trick question! The next time we see this will be in a court of law when Gilbert Hernandez is called to account for crimes so bizarre and outlandish we’ll have to redefine the concept of human society just to register the correct level of disgust. I particularly like the way this looks like a kids’ comic but it isn’t (unless you want to go to jail or your kids are The Children of The Damned). I was going to moan about how he got the name of his character wrong in the first strip but, y’know, the fact he didn’t murder anyone while making this bizarre farrago of puce faced lunacy probably outweighs that. Hard is the heart that weighs a typo heavier than a human life.

BLUBBER by Gilbert Hernandez

It’s a pint pot of horror poured in a teacup of visual discipline. Because as ostentatiously obtuse and unremittingly repellent as things get “Los Boss” Hernandez sticks to his grid like a fly to a fast moving windshield. It’s this friction between the boiling horror and the discipline of craft that sets that itch you just can't shift to work in your startled mind. Sandwiched inbetween the Charles Manson's Discovery Channel stuff is a bleakly funny exercise in unsettling obfuscation the equal of Lynch or (maybe a Beckett). I could feel profundity pressing against the tender membranes of my eyes as I read. Mind you, at other points I could also feel my mind pulsing and straining, like the overworked and exhausted sphincter of a pensioner at stool, as it tried at punishing cost to impose some meaning, some sense onto this EXCELLENT! comic.

Like the lady nearly sang, I can't live if living is without - COMICS!!!

"I Have Got To Be Sure, You Old Poop!" COMICS! Sometimes Democracy Comes Second!

Yes! Beat out that rhythm on a drum! Here's the only comic reviews worth reading on The Internet. No, Not really. No, not really in the mood either but if I don't put something up They come round and stand outside my windows in silent judgement. Hoopla! Also, don't forget to Save The Hibbs - HERE! LOVE AND ROCKETS NEW STORIES by Jaime Hernandez

Anyway, this... GILBERT AND JAIME HERNANDEZ' LOVE AND ROCKETS NEW STORIES ISSUE 7 IS “FRISKILY AGAINST THE PRIVATISATION OF THE PENAL SERVICE” IN AN ISSUE WHICH IS “BOUNCY.”

LOVE AND ROCKETS NEW STORIES #7 Everything by Gilbert & Jaime Hernandez Fantagraphics, $14.99 (2014) Love And Rockets created by Jaime & Gilbert Hernandez

My LCS always forgets to send me this because, I guess, they are young and they think my aged mind is rotted like the teeth of a candy addicted child, and probably also being like super old and intellectually vulgar I can't appreciate The Good Stuff. That John, they think, he just likes 1970s war comics and Howard Victor Chaykin. He's just not been the same, that John, since his cock left him for the circus, they say opening themselves to a libel suit. Or slander. I'm not the lawyer, that’s the other chap. Either way, you know what I mean. Eventually though I remember to ask for it and they send it and it arrives and I read it. Write what you know, right? Have you seen this stuff? Look, someone in Comics needs to talk to someone in a position of authority pretty damn sharpish before things get out of hand. I'd say send Tom Spurgeon because he is disturbingly level headed about everything but they'd bang him up before he got a word out, what with his not exactly being dissimilar to that rangy dude out of Manhunter.

LOVE AND ROCKETS NEW STORIES by Gilbert Hernandez

So, no, don't send him, but someone needs to be sent. Because on the evidence of the last few LOVE AND ROCKETS NEW STORIES it's just a matter of time before Gilbert Hernandez flies a dirigible painted to resemble a giant, solitary boob at the Superbowl while spraying jellybeans and blue urine from an intricate system of nozzles and feeder tubes while playing MMMBop! at a volume sufficient to shatter skulls like plates chucked at a fireplace. Gilbert Hernandez' contributions here look like he just got a felt pen and proceeded to set down a bunch of pages so ridiculously bizarre that they threaten at any moment to explode into a nightmarishly profound revelation about the very nature of reality itself. I mean, after the dirigible thing, people are going to ask why no one saw the warning signs, and we're all going to have to hide our copies of LOVE AND ROCKETS NEW STORIES and act sheepish until the hullabaloo dies down. Then the other one, that Jaime, he's doing his thing about relationships and the past and learning to live, learning to die and all that, and I realise he is excellent at it but all that? it's just not me but BOOMSHAMALAMABINGBANG! he then only goes and equals the derangement which fists its way through every page of his siblings efforts, and what we have here is a comic so insanely aflame with creative fire that we have to break the Emergency Glass and throw the word ART! at it. No doubt, no doubt at all, The Bros Hernandez are still simply the best; better than all the rest; NA NA NA NA STEAMY WINDOWS! BONUS: KIDS! Can you spot the two Thomas Harris references in the preceding? Bully for you; you'll still get old and hate everything you once held dear! EXCELLENT!

REVIEW: FRACTION, CHAYKIN & BRUZENAK’S SATELLITE SAM #12 WISHES IT “HAD MORE THAN ONE LIFE TO GIVE FOR ITS COUNTRY” WHILE ALSO REGRETTING “TAPING “EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND”.”

SATELLITE SAM #12 Art by Howard Victor Chaykin Written by Matt Fraction Lettered by Ken Bruzenak Image Comics, $3.50 (2015) Satellite Sam created by Matt Fraction & HowardVictor Chaykin

Show me the man who has greater love for Howard Victor Chaykin and Ken Bruzenak. (Show me! Show me!) No, that guy doesn’t count he’s just some bum you bribed with a cot and two squares to say that. Me, I’m the real deal; I‘m the original walking bias when it comes to Howard Victor Chaykin and Ken Bruzenak so it pains me to say that this (the twelfth; what will be the first in the third trade paperback; what is already $42.00 in real money) issue of Satellite Sam is the only one so far to actually have worked. A bit. That’s just me though. Matt Fraction described this comic as “the ultimate Howard Chaykin(sic) comic” apparently blind to the arrogant condescension within his glib shilling. (What about all the Howard Victor Chaykin comics Howard Victor Chaykin wrote and drew? What about The Shadow: Blood And Judgement, Blackhawk: Blood and Iron, American Flagg!, Time2, Midnight Men, Black Kiss, Black Kiss2, and all the ones that aren’t as good as those (but are still better than Satellite Sam)? Sweet Mother of Pearl, the unmitigated gall of the man.) Anyway, in this issue characters suddenly realise the series is almost over and stop aimlessly noodling about and start blurting lines more suited to those movies Sally Field and Brian Dennehy are in that only children and people old enough to have varicose veins in their eyes watch, because only they are at home during the day. “I'm just another hole your Daddy left behind that you can't fill!” shrills one character and we all pretend that this isn't just a Empty Bullshit Moment unattached to anything in the preceding issues. It's the pact we make with today's writers. A pact signed in lattes.

SATELLITE SAM by Howard Victor Chaykin, Matt Fraction & Ken Bruzenak

As full of blazingly manipulative yet calorifically negligent emotional bombast as this issue is it's still better than any of the preceding issues. Mainly, it's better because every scene isn't at least a third too long, hanging about like a hammy actor reluctant to leave the stage and Howard Victor Chaykin seems to no longer, apparently, be drawing in a state of arousal so heated he can barely see. Ken Bruzenak remains flawless as ever. When people tell you this comic was mature, provocative and insightful always remember it was dumb enough to have a character blackmail a writer and for that not actually be a joke. As it enters the home stretch it looks like SATELLITE SAM will wind up being a gauche muddle of half-digested research that expects everyone to share its naive shock that in the past there was racism, homophobia and sexual intercourse other than the missionary position. Anyway, this thing is over soon and then we can all concentrate on an actual Ultimate Howard Victor Chaykin Comic. One that will hopefully be better than OKAY!

REVIEW: MAHNKE, ALAMY, IRWIN, CHAMPAGNE, MENDOZA AND MORRISON'S THE MULTIVERSITY: ULTRA COMICS #1 "RESTS ITS BALLS FOURSQUARE ON THE CHIN OF FANDOM."

THE MULTIVERSITY: ULTRA COMICS #1 Art by Doug Mahnke & Christian Alamy, Nark Irwin, Keith Champagne, Jaime Mendoza Written by Grant Morrison Coloured by Gabe Eltaeb, David Baron Lettered by Steve Wands DC Comics, $4.99 (2015) Superman created by Jerry Siegel & Joe Shuster

It was VERY GOOD! Because it was smart and entertaining but mostly because Mahnke & a crowded taxicab of inkers' art just plain fit like flesh on a skull. Those dudes are the dreamiest team. I hear inkers are on the outs what with there being no real need to divide the work that way for the hyper streamlined assembly line of 21st comic book production. I hope some teams stay together: this Sunday 5-a-side Team obviously, and Alan Davis & Mark Farmer, John Romita Jnr & Klaus Janson, Jack Kirby & Mike Royer, oh wait...Anyway back at Grant Morrison, we can't talk about the artists more than Grant Morrison now, can we? He'll get in a right snit. So, yeah, really now, can we have a moratorium on whining about Internet criticism within the books themselves. This childishly one sided last-wordism is even more distasteful as it always comes from the writers  criticism can’t touch.  Like Elvis sang, why are writers always first to feel the hurt and always hurt the worst. Or was it children? Is there even a difference? Questions. Anyway, thanks, Elvis; see yourself out. Loves his Mum, you know. Also, for someone so keen to be understood Morrison is remarkably opaque about the nature of his eggy Evil here. It’s the critics; no, wait, it’s the comics companies; no wait, it’s the fans; hang on, it's Terry Blesdoe from next door but one to me Mum; no, wait, it’s poor people; no, wait, it’s rich people; no wait, it’s Alan Moore! (It’s always Alan Moore! That utter, utter shit! Look at him over there apparently minding his own business, but we know he’s really biding his time. Oh, we’ve got your (big) number, Alan Moore!)

THE MULTIVERSITY: ULTRA COMICS by Mahnke, Alamy, Irwin, Champagne, Mendoza, Morrison, Eltaeb, Baron & Wands

I think (and I didn’t think too hard) it ended up being just that nasty old Negativity; it’s Bad Thoughts that are Dragging Us All Down, Maaaaan! If You Can’t Saying Anything Nice…Then You’re Evil. Seems fair enough. That’s the world’s problems sorted out then; who’s for a cuppa! Maybe I’m wrong. No doubt a small Commonwealth of vastly more gifted bloggers will shortly refract their own intelligence through the prism of this comic to reveal its hidden intricacies which, naturally, were there all along! It’s a smart book but it's a canny sort of smart; it’s all surface and any depth is dependent on the willingness of the reader to muck in and add it. I mean, seriously, there’s a bit about what’s the difference really between soldiers and murderers (Maaaaan)? #BIKOBAR! So, yeah, everyone just be nice; the Corporations are coming to save us!  Which is about the level of connection with the real world I’d expect from someone who lives in a castle with a medal from the Queen. MULTIVERSITY thus far is a mixed bag; MULTIVERSITY is pastiche, capiche? And Morrison can do pastiche well (Thunderworld) and he can do pastiche badly (Mastermen) so it all tends to even out. Here Grant Morrison's pastiche is of Grant Morrison so, of course , it works really well. When you can no longer impersonate yourself it's time to turn off the lights. It's not that time yet. Despite the niggling sense that behind the wonderful, intentionally slightly off-kilter art someone was throwing their toys out of their pram, this was smart and entertaining; it was VERY GOOD!

REVIEW: BURNHAM & MORRISON'S NAMELESS #3 “PREFERS ‘(NOT ENOUGH) LOVE AND UNDERSTANDING’ TO ‘GYPSIES, TRAMPS AND THIEVES’” LARGELY DUE TO “MISGIVINGS ABOUT FEDORAS FOR PIGS.”

NAMELESS #3 Art by Chris Burnham Written by Grant Morrison Coloured by Nathan Fairbairn Lettered by Simon Bowland Logo and Design by Rian Hughes Image Comics, $2.99 (2015) Nameless created by Chris Burnham & Grant Morrison

There are two reasons why this book works as well as it does (and it works very well indeed): Chris and Burnham. If it wasn't for Chris Burnham's Sunday joint textured art I'd have noticed that the first issue was a dense blizzard of folderol designed more to excite than deliver. Were Chris Burnham not so wonderful at imbuing every panel with sneakily discombobulating detail and at setting said panels in slyly unbalanced page designs I'd have maybe thought that the only real development in issue two was the jolly obvious “flu” reveal. And had it not been for Chris Burnham's deftly unsettling scale games in this, the most recent issue, better folk than I would have perhaps suspected that the pace was somewhat, ahem, leisurely and that narratively this should have all happened within the first two issues at most.

NAMELESS by Burnham, Morrison, Fairbairn & Bowland

Luckily though I was aware of none of that so dazzled was I by Chris Burnham's muscularly disturbing performance here. I didn't even notice that for someone so magically special and all that our hero is pretty crap. Even though NAMELESS remains basically Event Horizon - But Not Shit NAMELESS is VERY GOOD! because last time I looked NAMELESS still had Chris Burnham.

NEAL, SCHIGEL, KOCHALKA, WICKS, SIENKIEWICZ, DESTEFNO, DEPORTER, BRUBAKER, WEISER, HI-FI, JIHANIAN, KUBINA AND LEIGH'S SPONGEBOB COMICS #43 BELIEVES IN “FROM EACH ACCORDING TO THEIR ABILITY, TO EACH ACCORDING TO HIS NEED” AND SO DOES EVERYONE ELSE WITH EVEN A SHRED OF GODDAMN HUMAN DECENCY.

SPONGEBOB COMICS #43 Art by Nate Neal, Gregg Schigel, James Kochalka, Maris Wicks, Bill Sienkiewicz, Stephen DeStefano, Vince DePorter, Charles Brubaker Written by Nate Neal, James Kochalka, Maris Wicks, Joey Weiser, Vince DePorter, Charles Brubaker Coloured by Hi-Fi, Levan Jihanian, Monica Kubina Lettered by Rob Leigh

This isn't a particularly spectacular issue of SPONGEBOB COMICS; it does remain, however, beautifully illustrated and amusing enough to be a papery riposte to the idea that this kind of thing must needs be crapped out hackery. I mention it not because Bill Sienkiewicz has provided a cover with the titular spongiform loon in his best Wolversponge pose, but because Bill Sienkiewicz also provided a pull out two-page poster of Spongebob as a kind of symbiotic melange of kitchen utensils and undersea cretin. What this means, in effect, for people of a certain age is that Bill Sienkiewicz has provided a poster in a children's comic which readily brings to mind his creator owned '90s epic of child-murder, mental breakdowns, talking birds and general nutjobbery, STRAY TOASTERS. Now, tell me that ain't GOOD!

SPONGEBOB COMICS by DeStefano, Weiser, Jihanian & Leigh

We're having an Election over here but when the dust settles and it's all over no matter who is in charge we'll still have – COMICS!!!

Why I Hate The Comics Industry, Part 8756412

SENSATION COMICS #3 is a pretty great comic -- it's the kind of comic you could give to a 10 year old girl, or her 45 year old hipster mother equally.  It is kind of exactly the kind of WW comic that a whole swath of people really really want right now, because empowering but also really really cute.  I can absolutely sell this comic to a LOT of folks. Except for the barrier they put in my way.... Come under the cut and I will explain....

So the first store is totally Empowerment! with WW touring as a rock star, and dealing with piggy men (well, that part was kind of trite, actually) and raising up little girls, and it's cute and cartoony and the art by Marguerite Sauvage looks like this:

Then we get an adorable little romp co-starring Catwoman, and, again, cute and cartoony and inviting to the eye, and something that really pairs well with the previous story, and here's a very sweet page from Amy Mebberson.

Finally, the issue wraps up with the first half (boo!!!!) of Gilbert Hernandez's WW story, and it's everything you might expect, and maybe more, and clearly, these three stories have a certain cartoony aesthetic which really shines in every way you would hope that they do.  Look at Gilbert channel his love of Silver Age, with, a smart look for Wondy....

So, with all of this cartooning majesty on display, all that's left is how you package it for the mass audience, to draw in and attract the read that you want, right?

...

...right?

Well, maybe not so much, because this is the cover that DC went with:

Oh, god, really?  Instead of the intersection of cartoony and cute and empowering and sweet and appealing to women and yeah everything in that wheelhouse, someone made a decision that the best way to wrap a package like this is to show a violent cover of the too-many-lines school, where WW literally has splashes of blood all over her face.

This is the kind of cover pretty much designed to repel the people who would be interested in the insides of the comic, and the people for whom the cover is attractive would be APPALLED by the content on the inside.

This comic will get cancelled pretty soon -- which is a damn shame because this is the kind of content that today's new audience really wants -- and someone somewhere will probably point to it as an example of why sweet, cartoony, empowering material doesn't work.  But they're wrong, this is a failure of positioning and marketing.

We're going to work hard to match the people who want this comic to the comic itself, but make no mistake: it's now an uphill battle because of that cover.

-B

Wait, What? Ep. 123: Assault Monitors

From the amazing Kirby-written, Kirby-drawn finale to the first Super Powers miniseries.

See, everyone? I don't blow every deadline, just some of the deadlines.

Anyway, we're back (although SPOILER: we're off next week again) with not quite two hours of Kirby talk, Ewing talk, and...three year old niece talk?  Um, I'm afraid the answer to all of those is: YES.  Join us after the jump for show notes, why don't you?

0:00-2:35:  Hello again!  It has only been about two weeks but we are confoundingly rusty. 2:35-19:01:  And yet, within the first three minutes we are talking comics.  More specifically, we are talking the terrific Ethan Rilly's Pope Hats #3, which Graeme found on the cheap while we were at the comic store together up in Portland.  We talk about it, the work of Philippe Dupuy and Charles Berberian; the Paul books by Michel Rabagliati; how it feels to be in the elite cadre of CE newsletter writers; the difficulty of digging through long boxes as you get old; the food in Portland; Vegan Viking -- Portland food or Jack Kirby character?; the hero of World War II, Ken Dynamo: and more. 19:01-21:16: After some problems with his 2000 A.D. app, Jeff managed to get his subscription ironed out and was up to his neck in 2000 A.D.  And so in Part One of "this week in Al Ewing," we rant about the Zombo strip in 2000 A.D.'s Free Comic Book Day issue, or do until an unexpected tech snag sends us instead into…. 21:16-21:52:  INTERMISSION ONE! 21:52-24:19:  And we are back, with a story from Graeme about some hold music that is all about listening to music while on hold.  Meta.  And then about a company that has put the Star Trek logo onto an arrangement of atoms. Terrifying. 24:19-29:33:  But, yes. Back Al Ewing and Henry Flint's fantastic Zombo story for the 2000 A.D. Free Comic Book Day story.  Also, Graeme was in the store during Free Comic Book Day and saw some eye-opening things.  (I mean, apart from comics.) 29:33-34:54:  Hey, Whatnauts:  care to help a brother out?  Jeff is looking for ideal comic books for his three year old niece that are age appropriate and feature female action heroes.  This segment talks about the stuff he's looked at, the stuff he's looking for, and how you can help. 34:54-54:08: And somehow this leads into Justice League of America #3.  Graeme has read a bunch of recent DC titles and comes away with a good feeling about the variety in the New 52's line-up…or does he?  Included in the discussion:  the latest issue of Swamp Thing, Suicide Squad #20 by Ales Kot and Patrick Zircher; Ann Nocenti doing her thing on Katana; Jeff Lemire's Green Arrow;  Batman & Robin, and more.  By contrast, Jeff read The Movement #1 and Action Comics #20, and was maybe not so positive about it. 54:08-59:59:  Part Two of "this week in Al Ewing":  Graeme sells Jeff on Avengers Assemble #15AU, and Mr. Ewing's latest novel, The Fictional Man. 59:59-1:07:22:  Also under Graeme's magnifying lens, Gilbert Hernandez's Julio's Day and Paul Pope's The Death of Haggard West. 1:07:22-1:07:43: Intermission Two! 1:07:43-1:16:16: Can you withstand the onslaught of….The Graemebot! And Jeff has a story of frustration--dire funny book frustration.  Family are involved. 1:16:16-1:28:09: Jeff has seen Iron Man 3 and talks about that a bit.  What about Jeff's boycott?  He talks about that, too, as well as the weirdness that appears to the Avengers 2 negotiations and Marvel Studios. 1:28:09-1:32:46:  Which brings us to Graeme's tweet about Marvel and Jack Kirby that was retweeted 645 times. The figures in Graeme's tweet comes from the first issue of Comic Book Creator from Two Morrows Press, which we also talk about for a bit. 1:32:46-1:55:56: Speaking of Kirby, we discuss The Jack Kirby Omnibus Vol. 2, as well as the amazing "White Zero" issue of 2001: A Space Odyssey #5.  We discuss the first Super Powers miniseries, especially the last issue written and drawn by Kirby. 1:55:56-end: Closing comments.  Next week we have a skip week thing going on (again) but we make pledges! We make vows!  We take oaths! To try and give a good run of episodes for a bit.

As for the episode itself, well, hmm.  It probably hasn't hit iTunes yet (although that RSS feed does seem to synch up quite nicely to it these days) but, as always, you are more than welcome to listen to it here:

Wait, What? Ep. 123: Assault Monitors

As always, we hope you enjoy, and we thank you for listening!

"Decency." COMICS! Sometimes They Do Not Bring Me Out In Hives!

Look, we all know that last time John read some comics released this century it all got a bit hairy. John would like to point out that this was not out of malice, low blood sugar, jealousy, his piles flaring up or sunspot activity. No, difficult as it may be to believe, John maintains it was the result of those comics not actually being all that good. Think of it as being a bit like John was showing you that sometimes he and Comics would argue but it didn't mean they didn't love each other any less and it certainly wasn't your fault. John can see why Doctor Doom talks like this – it’s fun. Anyway, this…

Due to the lack of a scanner all pictures are stolen from other people. That's what I'm reduced to. I hope you are all proud.

(Note: Doctor Doom was created by Jack Kirby and Stan Lee. Or Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, whichever floats your boat. The important thing is to get both names in there. It’s free and respectful, Marvel.)

CREEPY#11 Art by Gilbert Hernandez, Amy Reeder, Peter Bagge, Chrissie Zullo, Johnny Craig and Joelle Jones Written by Gilbert Hernandez, J. Torres, Dan Braun, Peter Bagge, Alisa Whitney, Archie Goodwin and Jamie S. Rich Lettered by Gilbert Hernandez, Amy Reeder, Peter Bagge and Nate Piekos of Blambot® Dark Horse Comics, $4.99 (2013)

CREEPY is a horror anthology comic so it’s a given that it'll be a mixed bag but this issue kicks itself in the head from the off by kicking off with The Gilbert Hernandez Show and so everything after that is done no favours whatsoever. Oh editors, you never put Elvis on first. Hernandez’ tale is haunted by the phantom sounds of a thousand readers’ eyes revolving as his statistically gifted heroine grits her teeth through her lower back pain and bounces through a story as trashy and daft as all get out. By the final full page reveal said fun parched eyes will be revolving so fast that dogs from miles around will be howling at the resulting sound. The only way this nonsensical and nasty strip could have been improved would have been to slather it with hot pinks and crystalline greens a la Stuart Gordon's From Beyond. Ayup, fear fans, that’s the toxic territory we’re in here and while there does not actually exist a monograph called Basket Crepes: The Nearly Edible Imagery of Frank Henenlotter if you wish one did you’ll enjoy this magnificently shameless embracing of schlocky horror by a man so gifted he just doesn't have to care anymore.

"...like a gingerbread man!"

After that, Amy Reeder illustrates a story about a pining husband and his inadvertent contribution to the locally sourced fishing industry. This one is mainly notable for Amy Reeder’s art being far better than it was on her BATWOMAN stint. Then there’s one about how a lady’s monthly cramps might be hunger cramps because women are unknowable monsters who prey on men. I've made it sound really misogynistic there because I wanted to see who reached for their buckled hat and flaming torch. And now I know, don’t I? Now we all know. Alas my New Puritans it’s far more mundane than all that; the tale isn't terrible but is too derivative and tamely delivered to work as a terror tale. Filling in the cheap content reprint slot there’s Johnny Craig joint from an old CREEPY. It may be from the '70s CREEPY, but could just as well have come from a '50s EC Comic which is fine and dandy by me but might not be by you. I feel quite tremulous merely mentioning EC Comics on The Internet as currently any conversation involving them seems to devolve rapidly into a fucking chimps tea party where the winner is whoever gets the most shit in Eddie Campbell’s hair. The final story reads like someone excorcising the baggage of a bad relationship through the medium of words and pictures; with the pictures not quite sleazy enough to do the job justice. Throughout the book there’s a drizzle of Peter Bagge strips which, if you are a Peter Bagge fan, I guess you’ll like. Like I said, it’s a horror anthology so if you like horror anthologies what with their customary blemishes and surgical scars and all then this one was GOOD!

GLORY#31 Art by Ross Campbell & Ulises Farinas Written by Joe Keatinge Coloured by Owen Gieni Lettered by Douglas E. Sherwood Glory created by Rob Liefeld Image, $3.99 (2013)

Ah, Glory. What a fine comic this is. Sales aren't so hot so I hear. That’s most likely because Glory is a female character who hasn't been designed with the aim of appealing to the lowest portions of the lowest portions of fandom. She’s a bit butch, this lass and no mistake. Glory doesn't so much look like she’s built like a brick shit house as she looks built out of brick shit houses. A sturdy pile of at least five on top of which sits a creepy wee Barbie head but with Action Man’s scarring. Flesh may be on display but the flesh on display has the bluish-marbled sheen of freezer burned meat. Fancy your chances, chaps, and Glory will snap it off and feed it to you. Which is refreshing. What’s also refreshing is the jumble of outrageously gory issue(s) long fight scenes and convincing character interactions the series has managed to deliver thus far . The splatterhouse fight scenes are by Ross Campbell, who gives the offally antics a Darrow/Quitely/Burnham/Burrows burnish of detail; a level of detail which explicitly testifies to the relish with which the task is attacked. With GLORY Keatinge and Campbell (et al.)  have built a sweet story of friendship, a brutal story of family and a comic that’s basically just all round engaging entertainment. Although I greatly enjoyed Keatinge's effective deployment of undercutting (pancakes, anyone?) his savage and serious buildup I think I most enjoyed the issue which flash forwarded to a point in the narrative where everything looks to have gone tits up. Now we've jumped back and the suspense is doubled; nice one. I enjoyed this stratagem when I first encountered it in the WARRIOR SUMMER SPECIAL in 1982(ish) where Alan Moore did it in Marvelman. I don’t know if Alan Moore did it first and nor do I care because what’s important is that Keatinge deploys it at least as well as The Magnificent One; meaning GLORY is GOOD!

1982 - That was certainly a special Summer!

Of course a lot of you won’t be familiar with Marvelman due to the reasons outlined so smashingly in Padraig O'Mealoid’s fascinating, informative and wholly necessary investigation into the history of Marvelman. An investigation which promises to reveal who actually owns Marvelman. This, of course, is a bit of a cheeky maguffin as the ownership of Marvelman is beyond doubt. Why, as any fule kno, Marvelman is owned wholly and totally by Marvel©™, man! Oh sure, sceptics call this into doubt and wave at the fact that Marvel©™ has released nothing Marvelman related except for a bunch of insanely overpriced reprints of the Mick Anglo strips and a bad Joe Quesada poster. Now while these Anglo reprints are certainly of nostalgic interest (which is of more interest than the Joe Quesada poster) they are not the Alan Moore or Neil Gaiman material; i.e. the only material anyone cares about. Hataz fixate on this as though it proves something and yet these Hataz fail to take into account Marvel©™’s publicly stated position that they are taking their time so that when the MM stuff appears it will be done right. I mean, let’s face it perfectionism is a major, if not the defining trait, of Marvel©™. After all they do a perfectly good job of (and seem perfectly happy doing so) of denying Jack Kirby any credit or compensation for his co-creator role in the creation of the IPs without which no one at Marvel©™ would have a job. Oh, you thought I was going to do that thing where someone looks at Marvelman and has the shit shocked right out of them like brown toothpaste from a tightly squeezed tube by the bloody remarkable fact that in the last 30 odd years Marvelman has dated somewhat. But I didn't. Probably will do at some point though!

BATTLEFIELDS#4 Art by Russ Braun Written by Garth Ennis Coloured by Tony Avina Lettered by Simon Bowland Dynamite, $3.99 (2013)

Garth Ennis once popped up in one of the Dynamite back pages to bemoan the fact that no one read this here comic and that writing the series was pretty much a thankless and financially fruitless task. Since the contents of Dynamite back pages don't exactly inspire credence I thought Garth Ennis was just being a drama queen because he seems that sort doesn't he? A bit flaky; no good in a firefight; dress as a lady as soon as the lifeboats are struck; you know the sort. Seriously though, who believes anything comic creators say anymore? No, no, no, their wives just say they do; it’s part if the matrimonial pact. Anyway, I had a look at the sales figures and this comic is the #300 best-selling comic. That means people find that there are 299 comics better than this one. At first I thought this meant that readers would much rather read a bad super hero comic than a good war comic. Then I realised these were sales to Retailers. So really Retailers were happier ordering bad super hero comics rather than good war comics. Then I realised the “super hero” and “war” were red herrings and basically retailers were okay ordering bad comics rather than good comics. And at those deep discounts and attractive retailer incentives who can blame them! I guess everyone’s okay with comics being a giant Ponzi scheme? Do they generally work out well those things? Ha ha ha, only joking. I know nothing about retailing and I'm sure it's all fine! Say, while I was enjoying myself reading comics (or, if it was a Tuesday, enjoying myself staring into space silently weeping) my long suffering partner pointed out that there had been a programme on TV about the Hindenburg. Apparently the Hindenburg worked really well. Until suddenly it didn't.

Everything was going so well!

So, this comic no one is reading? Turns out it’s pretty great. BATTLEFIELDS is basically a banner under which Ennis and his various (and variable but very good at the least) artists deliver three part story arcs. Sometimes these arcs are stand alone and sometimes they involve recurring characters. There’s usually a good reason if the characters don’t recur. Death, I’m talking about death there; happens a lot in war, so I hear. Obviously raised on British war comics of the '70s Ennis synthesises the chippily anti-authoritarian swagger and honest violence of these with modern sophisticated storytelling to create (along with his artists) some of the best comics (apparently) barely anyone is reading. They also usually have covers by the divine Garry Leach (and maybe one fine and shining day he could do some interiors?), Leach is of course the man who first drew Alan Moore’s reinvention of Marvelman and is one of the few people who give cross hatching a good name. I’m getting off the subject now, but let’s be clear here – Marvel own Marvelman, Padraig O’Mealoid! MARVEL! Also (SPOILER!) Marvelman may have dated a bit in the last three or so decades. OMG! KIMOTA! Anyhoo, this issue of BATTLEFIELDS kicks off a new three parter involving Anna Kharkova; she being a female Russian pilot previously featured in an arc you need not have read to enjoy this comic. All you need to enjoy this comic is to read it.

"AIIEEEEEE!!!!"

Because, yes, despite the fact that comics is a primarily visual medium this comic, one which consists for the most part of two people in a room talking, is pretty great. It’s pretty great because the words coming out of the characters’ mouths are not bland pap; you know, the kind of page filling sub-TV blather dependant on some weird mutual non-aggression pact between the reader and the writer. These words here have content, these words here have substance and within these words a world unfolds. Admittedly it’s a world consisting primarily of a Quonset hut populated by two people but, still, it’s a world. Unfortunately for all involved it’s a world within a world and all that divides the two is wood, tin and glass which is little use against the irrevocable intrusion of the larger, madder and infinitely more savage world which is the world at war. It’s fine work in the words department is what I’m saying. The staging’s good too with both Ennis and Braun working with very little to convey the passing of time in an unobtrusive but effective fashion. It’s mostly Ennis’ show given the confined cast and setting which means Braun isn't given much to work with. Then again Braun is given the human face to work with and that is everything a decent artist needs; he proves to be a more than decent artist by the way. So, this issue was engaging, effective and intelligent and I’m going to go all the way up to VERY GOOD! Should you have the temerity to doubt my words then you’ll have to read it won’t you now? Check. And mate.

Oh, and because there is no podcast this week here's some thoughts on the latest Big Ticket Thinks in Recentville:

1) There is no question to which the right answer is arming Brian Hibbs. We "don't want any more trouble like you had last year in the Fillmore District", Brian Hibbs! 2) I won't be buying anything by people who actively seek to deny other people equal rights. You do what you want. That's how that Freedom stuff works. 3) Jerry Ordway is a good artist and yet he's still basically turning up at the WalMart parking lot at 6 in the morning hoping someone will pick him to go in the back of the truck. Nope, nothing wrong with this industry. 4) Howard Victor Chaykin is starting a new series about General George Custer in the next issue of DARK HORSE PRESENTS - aw, yeah! You'll miss him when he's gone you know!

Now go and fight like the mad dogs you are! But only fight about what's worthwhile - COMICS!!!

“I Know That Cave!” COMICS! Sometimes They Are Not For The Eyes Of The Vicar!

Hello! It is I, and I have some words! The words this week are about an original graphic novel penned by Gilbert Hernandez - Comics' very own George Clooney-a-like and Living Master of the Form. So, it's probably a safe bet I liked it. Saved you some time there. For those with time to kill this idiocy continues after the <more!>.

LOVE FROM THE SHADOWS By Gilbert Hernandez Fantagraphics Books, $19.99 (2011)

Gilbert Hernandez certainly has his knockers both on and off the page. Quite a lot of the time those off the page are motivated by the incessant presence of those on the page to commence their knocking. After thirty years this knocking has reached a pretty high volume, because yes, this year marks Gilbert Hernandez’ thirtieth birthday. Looking at the author photo on the back-flap he’s had a hard life. Oh, maybe it’s his love that is thirty years old, or maybe his rockets. Either way it’s an anniversary of some kind so I’m joining in by looking at this book. A book which contains knockers and probably has many of same since it also bat-shit.

LFTS is the third in a series of books intended to act as an adaptation of a cinematic opus starring Gilbert Hernandez’ character Fritz from the Luba cycle of stories. CHANCE IN HELL and TROUBLEMAKERS are the two other “adaptations” issued in stand alone form although I believe the stories Hypnotwist and Scarlett By Starlight in NEW LOVE AND ROCKETS are also intended to perform the same function. Then there’s SPEAK OF THE DEVIL which is apparently the real life events which form the basis of the Fritz vehicle The Midnight People which hasn't been adapted yet. It’s all very clever and all very meta but you really don’t need to worry about it unless you want to worry about it. In which case, well, there it is. Really though, all the conceptual fluffery just seems to be a long winded way of Gilbert Hernandez apologetically informing his audience that compared to the high art dishes of his past (Human Diastrophism, X, Poison River etc. etc. etc.(yes, "etc.", he’s pretty good.)) he’ll be serving up a somewhat cruder stew. Cruder both in terms of territory and technique.

Other than strange looks from people with your best interests at heart there’s little to be gained from an outline of the plot. Or “plot” (?!) as it were. Weird business is afoot almost from the off and by p.20 the main character has changed into someone else (maybe?) after entering a spooky cave under her house while being a pursued by some childishly inquisitive men clad in boiler suits and shades.  After that it gets really bizarre. It may be reductive to describe what follows as an imaginatively volatile cocktail of Tyrone Power flicks, Scientology, Russ Meyer and Barry Gifford but as reductive as that may be at least it’s a start. A start which merely intimates the insanity Gilbert Hernandez depicts so dryly over the 120 pages of lucid cartooning herein. So lucid in fact is his art that given the outrageously ridiculous subject matter it becomes in itself a tone, that of deadpan.  This poker faced delivery never falters and lends it all a farcical air which somehow both mercifully undercuts and unmercifully inflates the sense of creeping dread. It’s the work of a comics master tearing into the stained brown paper parcel of his unconscious, and finding a piping hot slurry composed of decades of pop culture detritus. Using his decades-honed skills of cartooning elegance and narrative clarity Gilbert Hernandez proceeds to mould his own serious concerns into the hectic pop hodge podge masquerading as a plot.

Yes, Gilbert Hernandez has flensed the trash of his past but he has not done this for nostalgically onanistic purposes. All these trashily  startling and confoundingly crazed pages point not to a talent titting about but rather to a talent continuing to develop; to develop in areas and ways in which he himself seems more driven than coherent in purpose. LFTS is no spinning of the wheels, it is no plucking of the foreskin. No, it is yet another step out beyond expectations and another skip up and over stagnation. LFTS is nonsensical, filthy, horrific, messy, unsettling, funny, dumb, lurid and as smart as all get out. LFTS is an example of a comics creator who has reached a place where he can do what he wants, however he wants and has found that there is still stuff he wants to do. It's part of Gilbert Hernandez' Big Ern Moment. Thirty years in and Gilbert Hernandez has definitivley won and all these weird, impolite books (of which LITS is but one) are the bits where he staggers around with his comb-over wisping freely and declaring to all and sundry (but mostly to himself), “They can’t touch me now! I'm above the Law!”

And after thirty years who can deny him that? Not I. No, not I. So, LOVE FROM THE SHADOWS is VERY GOOD! Besides he still does the straight stuff, Pops. Who isn't looking forward to JULIO'S DAY and MARBLE SEASON? People who hate COMICS!!!

A Brief Note From The Backroom Boys:

The more visually inclined amongst you will have noted the lack of images accompanying the preceding “thing”. This was not the intention. Alas, life spits on intentions like a sailor on shore leave. Yes, at present John is without a scanner. Last week The Haunted Scanner gave up the ghost and stopped being haunted and became a haunter. Not that there’s actually an after-life for scanners (although given the stuff Gilbert Hernandez comes up with it wouldn't be the most unlikely prospect I've entertained recently). Anyway, we’ve disposed of it in the time honoured and totally safe tradition of disposing of electrical goods (hefting it over a disused building’s fence in the dead of night) and now only the mourning remains. And the waiting. The waiting for a new scanner to appear out of thin air. Until that happens I’m afraid it’s going to be reduced rations content-wise. So, just letting y’all know there.

Ta-Ta For Now!

Oh Good, Another Year. COMICS! 2012 The Year I Really Didn't Pay Attention!

I do so hope all across the globe had a happy holiday and got stuff and ate stuff and watched stuff and generally did stuff where stuff was involved. I did, which is why I've been AWOL so sorries and all that but here’s my wrap up for 2012. A year I paid little attention to while it was going on, made no notes and am now left floundering for stuff to write! Appetising, non? Anyway it’s Saturday night and I've places to be, people to see, y’know how it is. Yes, I am lying. This is all I have. Anyway, let’s see how this goes. My money’s on - badly.

Well, don’t look at me. I only read what I bought and I only bought what I could afford and, worse, I only bought what could afford from my LCS in England. So, no, Chris Ware isn’t here, nor is Michel Fiffe, nor LOVE & ROCKETS: NEW STORIES. And if none of them are here then this is a piss poor reflection of the worth of the year indeed. So, rather than do a list of comics I've sort of done a list of people because, amongst other things, 2012 was the year it finally sank in that people are quite important too. Oh, don’t worry they still aren't all that important or anything. Not important enough to be dealt with equitably or decently or any such pinko nonsense. But they are important because if it wasn't for people I wouldn’t get my comics! Also, some people who don’t even make comics were quite important in my enjoyment of the year and while there are no doubt umpty billion lists praising SAGA there probably are only two lists with Graeme McMilllan on (this one and The Pulitzer Council) Which seems a bit off balance. So here’s my 2012 via some people I managed to think about some words for. Just be thankful I didn't call it a sideways look at 2012. That’s always a golden invitation to run screaming in the opposite direction; a sideways look at…! Christ.

Of the comical periodical stuff I did read I’d have to say it was Richard Corben who ruled the roost for most of the year. It’s unfortunate that Richard Corben is 72 years old since there’s naturally assumed to be some degree of special pleading involved; “Y’know it may look like a pretzel in a pool of sick but, bless, he tried and, really, what can you expect at that age? It’s just sweet he’s still breathing unaided.”<pats Ricard Corben on head in patronizing fashion> But NO! I say thee nay! This year via his RAGEMOOR series, shorts in CREEPY and EERIE, his DARK HORSE PRESENTS Poe pieces and, at year’s end, his issue long masterpiece of luridly coloured puppets and profanity THE CONQUEROR WORM Richard Corben took comics by the scruff of the neck and shook it until its celluloid collar popped open and its top hat lay askew. The stronger stories may have benefited from the presence of Jan Strnad and John Arcudi lending form and shape but even when Corben scripted unaided there was no doubting the colossal talent gracing the page, talent the continuing development of which was a sight to recoil from in stunned disbelief. In 2012 Richard Corben was subsumed entirely into The Eisner Hall of Fame. It wasn't enough but it’ll have to do.

I didn’t see a lot spoken about Corben’s work this year and part of me suspects it was because he confounded expectations by keeping the hefty teats of yore largely under wraps. It was as though without the usual easy ingress to an automatically superior vantage most critics were held at bay. As a theory this was utter tosh of course and belittling to the fine critical minds which scrutinize comics on a daily basis ("All-New X-Men gave sight to the blind! And made the lame to walk!"). But yet it was utter tosh I could easily apply to the almost deafening silence which greeted Gilbert Hernandez’ FATIMA: THE BLOOD SPINNERS. This was a delightfully rough and ready thing which seemed like something scribbled in a notepad during the course of a particularly somnolent double period of Chemistry by a randy and imaginative teenager. Its excess of imagination coupled to a compulsively crude execution was one of the most refreshing things I read in 2012. It was a throwback to the days when comics weren't respectable and didn't give a shit. It was a throwback to The Golden Age and not just because if Gilbert Hernandez is producing comics then it is a Golden Age anyway.

Thankfully, female secondary sexual characteristics are not a staple of the work of Roger Langridge. This is extraordinarily fortunate as there was a bit of a creepy trend developing there wasn't there? It was all getting a bit unsettling, but you can all breathe easier as now we’re on about Roger Langridge, who is decency incarnate. Langridge was a busy little bee this year but his busyness had little impact on the quality of his work. First on my radar was his JOHN CARTER work for Marvel which was a fine (if editorially meddled with) slice of pulp pie indeed. Then he wrote and drew the SNARKED series which was a continuation/expansion of the work of Lewis Carroll with a few surprises chucked in ( A Derek and Clive cameo anyone?)  As beautifully illustrated in Langridge’s signature clear lined big foot style as ever the real surprise in SNARKED was in the writing. A funny, eventful romp brimming with incident and intelligence it may have been but at the end, at the last, it punched you right in the sternum with an ending which was at once heart rending and uplifting. A great ending for a great book because SNARKED was a great book but Langridge didn't stop there. Oh, no, no, no. No. Next up we had THE MUPPETS: FOUR SEASONS which was from Marvel so, rather classily, it didn't have Langridge’s name on the cover. This was a neat little comic and was certainly better than The Muppets movie. Admittedly I saw this movie slumped on the couch in someone else’s house on Christmas Day with sugar fuelled children interrupting my viewing at intervals that could almost have been scientifically calculated to result in maximum irritation. The highlights of The Muppets were Chris Cooper and the fact that Mickey Rooney is still alive! Holy shit! Let’s put on the show right here, Mickey Rooney! The film was okay but Langridge’s comic was better. Which is probably about right for POPEYE too. I've never seen the Altman film but Langridge’s POPEYE was a pitch-perfect resurrection of Segar’s classic creation being both loony and lovable at one and the same time. Some great art too by a bunch of fellas including Langridge himself.

It wasn't just comics though! There were also books about comics and chief amongst these was Sean Howe's MARVEL COMICS: THE UNTOLD STORY. I'm such a shitty critic that, unlike the rest of comicdom I haven’t got around to that yet. It looks fine enough but it isn’t the book I want about Marvel. I know that without cracking it open because its publication wasn't accompanied by news footage of the Marvel building webbed with yellow Crime Scene tape, long shots of people in Hazmat suits on rain misted moors next to excavated piles of dirt,  thirty-something men in sloganed T-Shirts and cargo pants with black bars over their eyes weepingly describing whizzing into milk cartons and coiling into pizza cartons while grainy phone footage of a single nightmarish toilet floated in the top right of the screen, the RSPCA triumphantly releasing the mangy chimp Brian Bendis had held captive for over a decade, Gary Friedrich eating a warm meal under a roof he owned free and clear, herky-jerky footage of a judge with screaming eyes banging a gavel in a room full of people rising as one in a blizzard of paper and the face of Jack Kirby sharing the screen only with the word  “VINDICATED!!!”. No, there wasn't any of that but there were good reviews so I’ll probably give it a go at some point.

I did read CONVERSATIONS WITH HOWARD CHAYKIN, which actually came out last year but I’m counting it because I  read it this year and, y’know, my house my rules, kids! Also, pick your clothes up or you’ll get the back of my hand! CWHC was pretty great being as it was a collection of interviews with the self proclaimed Jew from The Future spanning so many decades I didn't so much feel sad with age but glad I’d made it this far.  I’m glad HVC has as well since he is always such an enjoyable natterer. Brannon Costello does a nice job picking interviews that chronologically flow nicely through HVC’s career showing his changes in attitude (well, refinements) to his work, comics and his position therein. Unavoidably there’s some repetition but it’s the kind that just cements how fundamental some things are to the HVC world view. Since this is an entirely legitimate and productive use of repetition kudos to the author are dutifully tendered. Although I imagine the time spent with the great man himself in order to provide the career-overview-thus-far interview which rounds out the book was a reward worth more than riches. More than rubies. Costello is entirely fair to his subject who comes across as an 'umble man who tries to produce the best work he can despite the restrictions of the marketplace. Oh, and he likes ladies.

There are a couple of omissions here (or, rather, not here); the first being my personal conversation with HVC:

JK:  Your seminal work of the ‘80s, and here I’m thinking specifically of AMERICAN FLAGG! and THE SHADOW, seems to contain a strong John Severin influence amongst the customary Toth and Gil Kane elements. In particular the faces have a crispness to the definition they previously lacked. Would it be true to say that it was at this point that you began to fold Severin into your style? HVC: Bojemoi! What are you doing in my bedroom? It’s three in the goddamn morning! Who are you? Who sent you? I have a gun! Jesus, what’s wrong with your teeth?

Back in the real world, this volume does not include any of The Comics Journal interviews with HVC. Hopefully this is because TCJ are going to publish a big ass lavishly illustrated landscape format volume of them like they did with the Jack Kirby (KOIBY!!!) interviews. Even more hopefully the HVC volume has only not come out yet because they are working on a Gil Kane volume. It would be nice if TCJ did this, particularly as it would count as some small measure of recompense for their poaching of the younger Savage Critics like some journalistic pied piper of fucking Hamlin. A second reason is that TCJ interviews are always good readin’. Particularly those with Gary Groth. Younger readers (i.e. under 40) may not be familiar with the particular and recurrent joys of a mainstream creator getting Grothed. Things would usually start out all chummy with the interview containing a slow but insistent buttering up along the twin lines of “you’re much better than this genre” and “you must have lead an interesting life”. This apparently innocuous praise would lead to the creator foolishly stepping right into Groth’s Horns of The Buffalo whereupon they would snap closed behind them and the hapless chump would be battered by a tirade of variously worded interrogatives, the common gist of which would be that they were letting down themselves, their family, the medium, the children of the world, generations yet unborn, art itself, human civilisation and Bea Arthur from Golden Girls by choosing to draw Spider-Man rather than document their family’s hard scrabble immigrant struggle to survive. Good times, I miss them still. Ah, got a bot off track there. Focus, John!

There were many reasons to thank Jeff Lester this year. The nauseated awe engendered by his latest meticulously reported dietary fad (in 2013 - it's dandruff and vole tears!), the unending hilarity of hearing him justify his consumer choices to people who don't really care beyond the initial act of poking him with a stick, his grace and manners when I E-Mail him to ask a stupid question and, of course, thanks to Jeff Lester I saw a movie I enjoyed. I know Jeff Lester enjoyed this movie because he kept banging on about it like my Uncle kept banging on about God after that piano fell on his head. It was called THE RAID: REDEMPTION and it was very violent which is why I took to calling him Gentle Jeff Lester. I never said it was clever! Or funny! Anyway this was certainly the best movie I've ever seen in which a bunch of Indonesian police get out of a van, cross an Indonesian street and enter an Indonesian apartment building filled with Indonesian criminals whereupon -everyone tries to kill each other for the next 90 minutes – Indonesian style! It’s an Indonesian film, as you no doubt gathered, so we went for the dubbed version. I know, I know, purists are balking here as subtitles are the way to go with the old foreign flicks. Hey, we did try the subtitled version but, being a bit out of practice, I soon grew tired of looking down to read “Look out!” only to look up to find three characters were now dead. As you can tell there isn’t much plot but that’s okay, there’s enough plot to hang all the fighting on and this is some fighting alrighty. The main character has a pregnant wife and his brother’s involved and his Dad looks at him meaningfully so there’s no doubt at least one 20,000 word piece on Culture of Carnage: Tradition & Responsibility in The Raid: Redemption floating about on The Internet. One thing did puzzle me about the film i.e. how outlandish was it? I’m not terribly informed about Indonesia but is it in fact the case that every man Jack of them has a BA Hons in Hurtin’? I like to think so. I like to think that at any moment an Indonesian altercation could escalate from harsh words into a whirlwind of expertly choreographed brutally inventive violence. I bet chucking out time at the pubs is interesting in Indonesia.

This year it was difficult not to believe I had personally wronged Graeme McMillan and that as a consequence my mind was crumbling under the weight of my unassaugable guilt; so often did I glimpse his name in the periphery of my vision like some vengeful phantom in a wordy nerve shredder from the turn of the last Century. But, no, the man who gave up his heathy homeland for the Love of his lady was merely trying to earn a crust. I hope the crust was large and tasty because 2012 was the Year Graeme McMillan would not, could not and did not stop. Graeme McMillan worked so hard this year that I think he broke a fundamental Law of Nature. How else to explain that although no one on all the planet had the time to read everything he wrote Graeme McMillan, just one frail man, somehow had the time to write it? And like the hero of his own story he was, at last, in Time. Graeme McMillan, although with your persistent pace of production you shame all we shirkers I offer you this small reward, I offer you an answer to your question of “What if Brian Bendis wrote Star Wars comics?” Answer: Shit. But in space. No, thank you, Graeme McMillan.

Kim Thompson worked hard this year. Kim Thompson worked so hard Kim Thompson deserves recognition. Particularly so as his hard work had no concrete result. Kim Thompson was the man who tried to corral Dave Sim. After offering a sugar lump of hope to the “controversial “ creator his efforts at open negotiations were met only with finger nips and shoulder bumps as the recalcitrant creator purposefully avoided the proffered treat before, finally, dumping a big load on Kim Thompson’s metaphorical brogues and hee-hawing off with another’s saddle on his back. A fancy gold saddle he had cruelly hidden from Kim Thompson’s view all the while. Not only that but Kim Thompson had to put up with everyone chiming in (mea culpa! Mea bloody culpa!) which while entertaining for the rest of us must have tested Kim Thompson’s  patience somewhat.  Although it is to be hope that Kim Thompson found some respite in the humour afforded by the rather, er, special fan of Sim’s who dominated proceedings and that writer fellow unsubtly jockeying for work doing introductions. Well, they made me laugh and that’s what’s important. Me.

Baby-faced Brian Hibbs was of course important to me this year because, well, he’s Ballistic Brian Hibbs! Whaddya want, I should draw you a diagram?!?!

No doubt Bashful Brian Hibbs would like me to point out that

SNARKED can be purchased from HERE. POPEYE can be purchased from HERE. POPEYE CLASSIC COMICS is also aces and can be purchased from HERE.

What will 2013 hold then? Haven't the foggiest, mate. But it's sure to contain COMICS!!!

The very best to all of you and all of yours from me and all of mine!

All Steve Ditko art from THE STEVE DITKO OMNIBUS VOLUME ONE (DC Comics) Joe Kubert art from JEW GANGSTER (ibooks)

Wait, What? Ep. 101: Little Shavers

Kirby. Kubrick. 2001.

2001 for Episode 101?  I don't think it's deliberate, but knowing Mr. McMillan, I wouldn't entirely rule it out either.

After the jump:  Welcome to a new age of... Show notes!

0:00-1:51: Testing, testing! (Okay, I admit it: the new age of show notes is pretty much exactly like the old age of show notes.)

1:51-6:39:  Graeme (and his new friend, a mystical crow) share an observation about Brian Bendis and his interviews on Word Balloon, which leads to a bit of discussion about our sound problems for Ep. 100.  And if anyone wants to do up a splash page for "Even Troopers Have Their Limits!" as described herein, we would figure out some way to thank you for it (probably in twitter shout-outs and old review copies, and if you've listened to enough episodes, you know exactly how the labor for those rewards is being divided).

6:39-10:13: Are you experienced in the art of... K-Box?  Graeme and Jeff begin developing their next money-making scheme before your very eyes--the oral history of infamous Internet commenters.

10:13-29:58: On to the comics! Graeme wraps up his New52 Zero Issue overview with an examination of the highly remarkable revisions to Tim Drake's history. And Jason Todd's history. And Guy Gardener's history.  And Damien Wayne's history. And Selina Kyle's history.  You may sense a trend here.  (Also there were a few parts where I could've edited out the musings of mystical crow in there, but I didn't.)

29:58-34:28: You know what's not an Issue Zero?  Prophet #29 by Brandon Graham and Farel Darymple.  It is probably Jeff's favorite issue since the reboot, if for no other reason than it nails Space Conan angle he finds so enjoyable.  Graeme is much more coolish on the reboot generally, and that is a thing we rap about at least long enough to provide...

34:28-49:25: The world's greatest segue to what Graeme has been reading:  Jack Kirby's 2001: A Space Odyssey!  In the first of this episode's two dramatic readings, Graeme performs Kirby's text page from the first issue to help make sure our minds are properly blown.

49:25-53:38: So properly blown are our minds, in fact, that Jeff has to get off the phone and call back due to worries about the tech quality of the call.  (Also, it should be noted:  Jeff is recording despite managing to once again strain his back, and so has taken a muscle relaxant to allow him to twist at the hips easily and sit comfortably and other fun stuff that feels more and more like dire necessities once they are taken away.  For extra Whatnaut points, can you determine precisely when the muscle relaxants kick in and make Jeff even more thickheaded and easily baffled?)  We get back, Graeme wraps up talking about Kirby and then moves on to Steve Englehart's '70s run on Dr. Strange.  Us talking admiringly about Englehart is pretty much the free space center spot in the middle of the Wait, What? bingo card, isn't it?

53:38-59:28: Jeff exhorts Graeme to check out Tom Scioli's amazing love letter to Marvel Comics, Final Frontier, a webcomic that starts with a quartet of Fantastic Four analogs giving a farewell concert on the roof of their impressively stacked building, and gets only stranger, wilder, and more hilarious from there.

59:28-1:17:34:  Here's a shocking surprise--Graeme had never heard of Mike Allred's movie, Astroesque!  Jeff saw it fourteen years or so ago, and can kinda remember it?  From there and a consideration of the Allred mystique, it's on to discuss the Cult of the Indy Creator, whether it hurts or helps the artist, and what it might mean for comics and/or Matt Wagner (about which, Jeff has bungled some of the points he's taken from the very keen piece on Wagner by Jason Michelitch over at Hooded Utilitarian ) and/or Gilbert Hernandez.

1:17:34-1:21:12: And from there, we get to Jeff confessing his trepidation about Brandon Graham's Multiple Warheads and Brian Lee O'Malley's upcoming Seconds and why or why not that should be the case.

1:21:12-1:21:58: Graeme has a tender moment alone with you, the listener. (Well, more like thirty-five seconds... but it is very, very tender, so there's that.)

1:21:58-1:30:54:  Then a moment of high drama:  Will Jeff and Graeme remember where they left off?  (They do.) Will they have more to say about the expectations of creators and readers, and their shared responsibility for a work? (Yep.) You must tune in to find out! (Except you don't, see, because I already told you...but that's not to say it isn't interesting listening.)

1:30:54-1:41:48: News time!  It's more than just a thing Jeff tries to get Graeme to talk about while he tries to find a reference. Kirkman! Millar! Ultimate Avengers hardcover! Sale prices at Comixology!

1:41:48-1:47:31: Time for our second dramatic reading--this time it's Jeff, covering that well-known cowboy's lament, Letter from Matt Fraction to Jaime Hernandez in Love & Rockets New Stories #5 (in the key of E).  And maybe we get our new podcast motto out of it?

1:47:31-end: Speed round! (By which I mean, the time of the podcast where we kind of act like we're on speed.)  Jeff likes The New Deadwardians.  He likes it a lot.  Graeme mentions Larime Taylor, an artist who draws comics with his mouth.  And then we spend some time wondering about Morrisoncon, which will be over by the time you ever hear us talk about it. (And once again, we prove which of us is the optimistic one and which the more pessimistic one.)  Also, the return of our special guest-star, information about our upcoming birthdays, and how you can prepare for at least one of us, should you so choose.

Chances are you can still find us on iTunes, sort of, but, hey, there's always, like, here?

Wait, What? Ep. 101: Little Shavers

As always, we hope you enjoy...and thanks for listening!

Better than never: Hibbs on 6/27

As far as I am concerned, this isn't "last week's comics" until I open the front door of the store on Wednesday!

BATMAN INCORPORATED #2:  This one is kind of a master class in communication using comics, as Morrison and Burnham basically tell you Everything You Ever Needed To Know About Talia Al'Ghul (But Forgot To Ask) in an incredibly economical, yet massively packed, 20 pages. Some pages have as many as five different scenes on the page! An absolutely EXCELLENT tour-de-force on this one.

  FUCK ALAN MOORE BEFORE WATCHMEN NITE OWL #1: Uh, wow. You know, I expected some of these would be bad, but I really never expected them to be almost a parody of the very idea of prequelling WATCHMEN.

This is just staggeringly bad: from the bizarre rapey childhood home, to the changing the original text (the worst sin of all in a project like this), to the scenes of Rorschach using-'hurm'-as-a-catchphrase ("DY-NO-MITE!"), to the cringeworthy "destiny of love" bullshit, I almost get the feeling that Staczynski thinks he is trying to make WATCHMEN "better". This comic, sadly, just reeks of hubris and shame.

I'd hoped to at least appreciate the art, but I found Joe Kubert's inks to be kind of overpowering on son Andy.

Either way, the writing just kills it here: this is everything you possibly feared a "Before WATCHMEN" comic might be.  Full-on CRAP.

FATIMA THE BLOOD SPINNERS #1: Beto is just insanely prolific, isn't he? Terrifically gory, this is a kind of perfect 70s-ish exploitation B-movie, but totally of the moment as well somehow. Gore! Horror! Large Breasts! I'm glad I live in a world where I'm going to sell more copies of this than of THOR and HULK combined, y'know? GOOD HYPERNATURALS #1 : I think this is kind of a perfect comic for you if you have a sympathy for the basic concept of Legion of Super-Heroes (Future, many heroes from many worlds), but not necessarily liked any specific execution of that concept. Or if you like the Marvel Cosmic stuff that DnA did, it's similar tonally. Extremely sturdy construction of ideas here, if not exactly brimming with truly compelling characters. I thought it was solidly GOOD. LOEG III CENTURY #3 2009:  It may be because I simply "got" more of the references and cameos, but this was vastly my favorite of the three parts of Century, and it brings everything together in a deeply satisfying way. I also find the idea of the universe being saved by **** ******* to also being oddly perfect and correct. Kevin O'Neill's art, as always, veers between the grotesque and perfectly captured. I thought this issue was pretty damn EXCELLENT.

(You can also get v1 & v2 on the Digital Store, if you wanted) PROPHET #26: With all of the people telling me they can't buy this book in their LCS, I'm more and more convinced that Image erred in renumbering from the 90s series. Without a doubt, this is the best science-fiction series being published today. And a great series got better with Brandon Graham himself drawing this issue, and kicking the concept a door open further. I admire (and get frustrated, I admit) by how this book doesn't try and spoon feed you its concepts. Really VERY GOOD stuff. OK, that's really all I have time for today, time to open to the teeming hordes (ha!) I am, seriously, going to try to get to THIS week's books before Friday and be "caught up" again. Wish me luck!

What did YOU think?

-B