“I'm Not Sure I Ought To Have To DO It Alone." COMICS! Sometimes I Return With You Now To Those Thrilling Days of Yesteryear…!

A bit of a break from war comics this time out. Because if there's one thing I know you folks love more than war comics it's Western comics. Damn, if I pander any harder I'm liable to break something! THE LONE RANGER AND TONTO by Truman, Magyar, Lansdale, Parsons & Joyce

Anyway, This...

THE LONE RANGER AND TONTO #1-4 Art by Timothy Truman & Rick Magyar Written by Joe R. Lansdale Lettered by Brad K. Joyce Coloured by Sam Parsons TOPPS Comics, $2.50ea (1994) The Lone Ranger created in 1933 by Fran Striker or George W. Trendle

When I was a kid I used to watch The Lone Ranger but then he got some curtains, and that was the end of that joke. A joke there almost as old as The Lone Ranger himself. Because not only did I (being a man whom we have established in past instalments is basically dust about to happen) watch the B&W TV show but so did my dad when he was a kid in Canada. That’s two very different places separated by decades, tons of water, different opinions on how to spell the word colour, and more miles than I can honestly be bothered to look up today. I checked with “Gil” and he only knows The Lone Ranger from the “poorly received” 2013 movie. He enjoyed it mind you, but since “poorly received” is polite Tinseltown speak for “the audience avoided it like it was trying to rub shit in their eyes” I imagine he was in the minority on that one. Prior to that there was a 1981 LEGEND OF THE LONE RANGER movie, which even I’d forgotten about. I guess what I’m getting at is that by 1994 when these comics appeared The Lone Ranger’s appeal was somehat shy of raging like a prairie fire. While these comics would do nothing to change that state of affairs (a two-hour TV pilot was broadcast in 2003 on the WB channel and someone will one day admit to seeing it) they are by a talented team and if you’re partial to a Lansdale or Truman shindig you’ll probably like these comics too.

THE LONE RANGER AND TONTO by Truman, Magyar, Lansdale, Parsons & Joyce

Posterity may have given this series short shrift but be assured that here the pair bring the same scruffy panache they brought to their three Jonah Hex series for Vertigo. Anyone who has read their salty take on the man with the fried egg eye will know that Lansdale & Truman are as safe a pair of hands as could be found for a property like this. Timothy Truman’s art always looks like it has escaped from The Old West as it is. Even when tasked with superheroes such as Hawkman Truman’s art brings with it a singularly malodorous air of malnutrition and poor sanitation. And I mean that in a good way. I like a strong style; you should see my ties. So, when depicting a world where malnutrition and poor sanitation were something to aspire to then Timothy Truman’s the man, true. His whole body of work shows an obvious affinity for The Old West, so much so that back in 1985 his SCOUT series for Eclipse Comics had been basically set in a futuristic dystopia informed by Native American mythology which was, well, the Old West, just with better hardware and totemic demons. (If I recall correctly there was even a serape a la The Man With No Name in the first issue.) Scout is also, commonly, the name of Tonto’s horse, but that may be a stretch to test Reed Richards there. Here, even though it’s an oater, Truman doesn’t just have to draw horses and horseshit and saloons and spittoons though, because this is also a Joe R Lansdale joint so Truman’s art also has to encompass visual absurdities which range from the plain unsettling to the plumb appalling. He’s up to it though. The tranquil horror of an unfeasibly large pile of bodies is as queasily affecting as a land boat racing across the prairies is ridiculously impressive. Nor does Truman stint none on the small scale stuff, with the creature on the loose (no spoilers) possessing a ball crawling combination of dainty finickitiness and implacability which static images shouldn’t really be able to impart, but my crawling balls can assure you they do here. The art here isn’t pretty and nor is precision at a premium; the utter dicksplash of a Governor looks like Ronald Reagan for only a couple of panels, but it’s enough to make the bit where The Lone Ranger And Tonto give him his comeuppance via sarcasm and cigars that much sweeter. But the value of Truman’s imprecision is the flexibility it allows him, flexibility shown to no greater effect than when a creature swallows a man whole in a series of panels which will have you gingerly touching your own throat like a defrocked vicar in a moment of stress.

THE LONE RANGER AND TONTO by Truman, Magyar, Lansdale, Parsons & Joyce

While I’m trying to avoid spoiling this one it should be as clear as the river when the snows thaw that this time out The Lone Ranger and Tonto are up against a mite more than cattle rustlers or bank robbers. What they are up against is whatever fell out of Joe R Lansdale’s head while he was writing it, and what falls out of Joe R Lansdale’s head during the writing process can err towards the bizarre. And I mean that in a good way. I like a strong imagination; like when you used yours to picture my ties back there. Joe R Lansdale is of course America’s primo mojo storyteller hissownself. He writes weird fiction and crime basically. He ain’t exactly Don DeLillo, but sometimes you don’t want Don DeLillo. After all, you are large, you contain multitudes. So, stop putting yourself down. Comic reviews and a pep talk, no charge! You may know Joe R Lansdale’s work from the movies BUBBA Ho-TEP (2002) and Cold in July (2014), or the episode of MASTERS OF HORROR “Incident On And Off A Mountain Road” (2005). All of which are worth reading in their papery incarnations even if you have seen them. He’s also done a series of books starring Hap Collins and Leonard Pine which are profane and brutally violent in a way which never feels cheap because of the underlying moral horror which fuels them. Could be Hap and Leonard are a Lone Ranger and Tonto for the modern world, though they’d probably break your jaw and steal all your vanilla cookies for suggesting it. In photographs Lansdale looks like he’s stolen Robert Mitchum’s torso, and perpetually sports an expression of guarded tolerance at the very idea that someone would want to do a damnfool thing like take his picture with one of them new-fangled camera doohickeys. Basically the guy writes like he’s trying to smash through a wall. He’s good is what he is. And I don’t say that just because Joe R Lansdale ran his own dojo and could drop kick me so hard I’d be wearing my ass for a hat. No, he’s a good writer. The End. Part of why he’s a good writer is how lightly he wears his ingenuity. Instead of calling a fucking press conference to celebrate his meta antics when they occur he just ups and gets it done.

THE LONE RANGER AND TONTO by Truman, Magyar, Lansdale, Parsons & Joyce

Look, huddle in here round this imaginary fire and picture the scene with me…we’re way back now in the primitive hell of 1994 and TOPPS want to revive the Lone Ranger IP but, well, look, no one wants to start any trouble here but there’s no way around this, while The Lone Ranger’s okay it’s his mate who’s the issue. Because if you have The Lone Ranger you have to have Tonto. (Oh I sense your confusion what with his name being Lone and that, but his name means there aren’t any other Rangers with him rather than he prefers his own company.) Although Tonto was tardy, turning up first in the 11th episode of the radio serial, thereafter he was always with The Lone Ranger. Because after that like Silver, silver bullets, powder blue tasselled jackets and white Stetsons, Tonto is always part of the deal with The Lone Ranger. Tonto had, over time, become built in and by 1994 he’s now part of the origin, being as he’s the one who rescues Allen King/Bill Andrews/John Reid/Luke Hartman/Uncle Tom Cobbley and thus enables him to make the peculiar decision to turn his dead brother’s vest into a mask, and ride about hither and yon firing ostentatiously expensive bullets at men of low character. Which stuff is all just dandy, if highly suggestive of a particularly flamboyant form of PTSD, but Tonto is a Native American and that kind of character has not been, uh, well served in popular literature. For starters his name, unfortunately, means “silly” in Spanish. (In early Martin Amis novels “tonto” means fucked in the head, for some reason. I don’t know why; I’ll ask him next time I see him.) While he spoke in broken English (Tonto not Martin Amis) this was because he had (naturally enough) learnt it as a second language (still talking about Tonto here, not Martin Amis). Despite this actually making Tonto smarter than a monolingual like, say, oh, me his lack of verbal facility was often taken as a sign of stupidity. Luckily, Joe R Lansdale knows how to work round that stuff; he just writes Tonto like an intelligent human being.

THE LONE RANGER AND TONTO by Truman, Magyar, Lansdale, Parsons & Joyce

Which is smarter than it sounds and the smartness doesn’t stop there; he builds the obvious baggage the character brings right into the story itself. Throughout the mini-series references are made to the dime novels portraying the adventures of The Lone Ranger and Tonto. These are clearly meant to represent their earlier movies, books, comics, newspaper strips, etc with their, uh, less than ideal portrayal of Tonto and their possibly Ranger-centric approach. Again and again Truman’ delightfully scrofulous townsfolk treat The Lone Ranger like a movie star while his sidekick is kicked to the side. And it’s this stress between reality and public perception which is as threatening to the pair as any skin feasting fiend. Joe R Lansdale and Timothy Truman’s tale then is not just about a frightsome beast or revenge for sins past but also about two friends whose bond is riven by success and secrets. The entertainment is all in the ride because the end is never in doubt. After all, as all us old gits know, it’s part of The Lone Ranger’s credo that to have a friend one must be one. And The Lone Ranger and Tonto are many things to many people in many ages but they will always be friends to each other. (However, I suspect Tonto is the smarter of the two). THE LONE RANGER AND TONTO is whip-crack smart and scruffy stuff. In 2006 Dynamite would have greater success with a Lone Ranger series but I haven’t read that; I read this one and it’s GOOD!

They are how the West was won - COMICS!!!

"Pop...EVERYTHIN' I Want Costs MONEY!" COMICS! Sometimes I Slap Leather!

Sorry, that garage clearing was a beast. Still, look what I found:

Hawk, Son of Tomahawk by Thorne & Kanigher Anyway, this... TOMAHAWK# 135 Art by Frank Thorne, John Severin Written by Robert Kanigher, Jerry DeFuccio DC Comics, $0.15 (1971) Tomahawk created by Fred Ray & Ed Frances Herron Hawk, Son of Tomahawk created by Mr & Mrs Tomahawk

Here's a DC Western book I'd never heard of and didn't realise I owned. It's got a Joe Kubert cover that looks like an “Egg-timer Special” but still has time for a sweet charcoal effect background, and slips its lack of detail past by walloping you with a fistful of impact. Yeah, Joe Kubert could do you a cover like no other. Joe Kubert was also the Editor here, which explains the presence of Robert Kanigher on typewriter hammerin'. Back then Editors had a favoured stable (Western wordplay, cheers.) of talent whose most valued attributes were timeliness and dependability rather than flash, pizzaz or having performing hair. Kanigher was a sturdy workhouse who Kubert was always happy to employ because he knew that he could ask Kanigher for a 12 page oater by lunchtime tomorrow and Kanigher would deliver - like it was his job or something. Basically, books edited by Joe Kubert tend to have a lot of Robert Kanigher in them because Robert Kanigher got it done. And I tend to have a lot of Joe Kubert edited books because I like the weird genres they put him in charge of (War, Westerns, Apemen and Tor (always Tor)). Just in case you were thinking I was engaged on some stealth rehabilitation of Robert Kanigher or something.

Hawk, Son of Tomahawk by Thorne & Kanigher

The book is called SON OF TOMAHAWK but the indicia reveals it is actually TOMAHAWK, this discrepancy is due to the recent replacement of Tomahawk in the main strip by his son Hawk, Son of Tomahawk. The repercussions of this are documented in the letters page where the level of bewilderment, guarded optimism and plain dislike show comic fans' embrace of change is timeless in its consistency. Unfortunately, I lack any kind of context for this comic so I had to look up Tomahawk and it turns out his adventures were originally set during in the Revolutionary War where he fought on the wrong side (I'm British, natch). In this book he wanders about in his vest puffing on a corncob pipe while his son has all the fun. His son, Hawk, Son of Tomahawk, is a design classic in the same way as a Plymouth Fury. A Plymouth Fury that some crackjob's driven into a wall. Because Frank “Every Rose Has Its” Thorne's art here is characteristically light on detail it's hard to pin down Hawk, son of Tomahawk's look too specifically, as Thorne's work becomes more nebulous the harder you look at it. Basically though Hawk, son of Tomahawk, with his skunk streaked DA, tasselled jacket with tribal decals, and drainpipe jeans would make even Vegas Elvis do a double take. But then this is a new kind of Western hero.

Hawk, Son of Tomahawk by Thorne & Kanigher

Or at least I think it is; this is the only issue I own so it might just be an outlier in what is otherwise a run as salty and plain ornery as SCALPHUNTER or JONAH HEX. Here though it looks like every effort is being made to avoid offence, even to the extent of having a pacifist hero. Hawk, Son of Tomahawk's mum is a Native American and he has a toddler brother decked out in tribal duds. Which is nice, but they are pretty generic and later when some other Native Americans show up they are all stoic and dignified. Which is fine, very respectful and that but it's hardly the stuff of high drama. Luckily, there's always the White Man. I don't know why the White Man gets such a raw deal (reads a history book; cries. Okay, **** the White Man.) The story starts by some bad white guys harassing a peddlar who gives Hawk, Son of Tomahawk a catalogue as a reward. Now, remember the Old West was like a giant open air lunatic asylum where the only recreational activities were murder, rutting, trains and drinking until blindness set in. So a catalogue in the Old West would have been like the Internet but with less naked people involved in wallpaper paste accidents and less pictures of cats hating us. Seriously, Hawk is enraptured and decides immediately to set out to gain enough riches to buy some scented candles, Sea-Bison or a life-size cardboard glow-in-the-dark Abe Lincoln. Whatever; I don't know what they had in those things; vittals and gingham or something. Anyway, he bumps into his big pal who is just setting out with a treasure map. That's quite a coincidence to you, but if you had 12 pages you'd tend to think of it as expedient. There's a nice bit where they find the Ghost Mountain inside another mountain, but the gold turns out to be in a Native American burial ground. (Joke about America being one big Native American burial ground removed on grounds of taste.)

Hawk, Son of Tomahawk by Thorne & Kanigher Up until exhaustion and gold fever set in Hawk, son of Hawk's pal is pretty okay but then he gets all racist and violent like a Farcry game on legs. That's not because he's white though, let's be clear here; gold turns the guy's head, at which point he becomes a big murderous racist. This is good because if someone had more time they could “read” this story about the corrupting effect of the capitalist system and how its emphasis on reward sets people against one another. Or something. Mind you, I don't know if Kanigher accidentally stumbles on this, I've just had a brain fart, or it's actually built-in. It's not every comic that has the brass balls to declare that even The White Man isn't the villain, it's the system of exploitation in which he exists which is the true villain! Socialist Pacifist Western Comics for The Win! Anyway, the whole trapped underground with a violent racist thing is pretty unfortunate for Hawk, Son of Tomahawk, what with his Mum being a Native American. Even worse, he's in a 1970s comic where it seems they are actively trying to get away from the usual Western thing of plugging varmints and owlhoots at the drop of a stetson. Luckily, he's in a 1970s comic where it's still entirely okay for the greed addled white dude to get speared by a toppling corpse because this makes it both no one's fault and karmically just.

Hawk, Son of Tomahawk by Thorne & Kanigher

Basically, and admirably, Kanigher attempts to deliver a message via a tale without villains, heroes or excessive violence. Since all those things are the reasons comics are entertaining its no surprise their lack makes the result a little dull. But I do have to admire how Kanigher leaps out of his own trap built of good intentions. I was entertained after all, just in a different way than usual. It's efficiently and pleasantly drawn by Frank Thorne, whose art has a fluid grace not entirely unlike that of Joe Kubert. Thorne would later become famous for drawing Red Sonja and spend many happy years producing his own comics featuring ladies in a state of undress, and judging Red Sonja-a-like contests while dressed as a wizard. In many ways, I think we can all agree, Frank Thorne won.

AMERICA: "A Glance at Yesterday" by Sam Glanzman

After the lead feature Sam Glanzman gets roped in to do one of his typically informative double page spreads. I’m used to seeing these pop up in war comics so it’s interesting to note he was versatile enough to do The Old West too. Here kids get to thrill to a picture of a wagon train being burned, which is surrounded by informative illustrations of weapons the native Americans would have used to slaughter the same kids' ancestors and some of the headdresses they might have sported to do so. It's nice, dusty looking stuff and it's even nicer to be reminded that space fillers could be quality gear.

"SPOILERS" by Severin & DeFuccio The final 8 pages are a (probably reprinted) story called “Spoilers” by Jerry DeFuccio and illustrated by John Severin. This is a really dense tale with an attention to detail in the text which suggests it is an attempt to adapt a true story into comics. Maybe not though, because during a quick spin around the Internet I found no mention of “Kirby's Raiders” circa 1865. I did, however, find some really interesting pictures of naked people who had been involved in wallpaper paste accidents, and also of cats hating us. It's a nice yarn about a Confederate who goes back home to one of those mansions apparently everybody in the South seems to have lived in (well, everybody white). You know the ones with the big pillars and a big pile of fixings for them thar mint juleps out back. Unfortunately those Northern bastards have been at it and left it not unlike when a burglar breaks in and dumps one out on your bed (apparently it’s from the adrenalin; it makes you loose). As revenge Kirby forms his Rangers and they go around stealing gold from that darned gubbermint. Kirby takes a break, disperse his gang, hides the cash and takes up on a farm where he helps out with his honest toil until a bunch of locusts turn up. Basically, Kirby sees he has become a spoiler like the darn Yankees and the locusts. It ends with a hilariously underplayed final panel where he muses on the lesson he has learned and we are informed that the money he hid earlier had also fallen victim to the locusts. It’s left unsaid, but if I know my westerns then that guy’s life was short and punctuated by violent inquiries as to the location of the loot from his former colleagues. John Severin draws the holy Hell out of it all in his characteristic style - sharp as a craft knife and loaded with detail. Two decent strips and an informative space filler makes TOMAHAWK #135 a comic which is GOOD!

In 1971 for fifteen slim cents you could get Joe Kubert, Frank Thorne, Sam Glanzman and John Severin. Now that's – COMICS!!!

“Muh Version of Whut Happened May Not Be Spicy Enough Fer Yore Little Boy’s Tastes…” COMICS! Sometimes Even A Surly Jackass Weeps For The World!

Man, I just about read the ink right offa these pages when I was just a young ‘un. And I just read ‘em agin right now. If you’re of a mind to, sit back and whittle awhile and I’ll flap my yapper concernin’ ‘em. Anyway, this…

What follows is a gentle amble through the contents of a comic from 1981. That’s all. It should not be taken as the latest shaky salvo in an attempt to prove old comics are better than new comics. Because they aren’t. Or rather; sometimes they are and sometimes they aren’t. A good comic is a good comic no matter when it was made. It’s what makes it a good comic that’s of interest. And that’s of interest because it’s never constant.  So, you know, don’t take this as a personal attack on modern comics from an old man having trouble adjusting to the fast moving world of today (Indoor plumbing! Ladies in trousers! Talking apes!) Oh, you can if you want. Life’s too short to be writing provisos this long. So, I read an old comic and this is what happened inside my head as I did so.

JONAH HEX #55 Art by Tony DeZuniga Written by Michael Fleisher Coloured by Bob Le Rose Lettered by Shelley Leferman DC Comics, $0.61 (1981) Jonah Hex created by Tony DeZuniga & John Albano

Cover by Tony DeZuniga

I’m a traditional guy, so let’s start at the beginning; let’s start with the cover. It’s worth doing because this issue of Jonah Hex is graced by one of my all-time favourite covers. I just totally groove on the daring use of perky yellow to frame a typically DeZuniga-n scene of dust, desperation and violence. The huddled group being picked off by circling riders is a scene immediately recognisable to anyone familiar with the tale of General George Custer. This being a not unlikely freight of knowledge for the audience of a comic about a violent cowboy. Whether such familiarity was formed by hagiography or revisionism (e.g They Died With Their Boots On (1941) vs. Little Big Man (1970)) the clear inference in the image is that there ain’t no one getting out of here alive. Even allowing for you being a real smart alec and knowing Jonah’s likely to be okay because, well, this wasn’t the last issue of Jonah Hex, there still remains the question of how. I saw that cover and I wanted to know what was going on behind it. That’s some powerful cover medicine right there.

Image by DeZuniga, Fleisher, Le Rose & Leferman In a move which would give modern creators conniptions this comic just jumps right on in, picking up as it does immediately from the last issue’s cliff hanger. I think it’s called in media res but I could be wrong; never was one for book learning. True, this page basically reiterates the end of the previous issue which is Bad now, but was Good then because back in days of yore you could never gauren-damn-tee that the previous issue had made it across the ocean, and the idea that single issues of Jonah Hex would be collected between two covers was still a pretty plumb loco proposition. We join the action as, apparently, Jonah Hex and a pretty senorita called Carmelita have just escaped from El Papagaya only to confront the guns of a bunch of grey coats hot for Jonah’s hide. We’re only a page in and, in a shock move, Carmelita The Senorita turns out to have been working for the Fort Charlotte Brigade (FCB). These being the grey coats in question, who are a bunch of ornery owl hoots who want Jonah to pay for his betrayal of his own troops at Fort Charlotte. Jonah is innocent of course; well, Jonah is innocent of that particular charge at least. So, Carmelita The Senorita throws Jonah to the FCB and Micah, the leader, throws her some gold. Man, this comic is moving like a freight train. Say what you like about Michael Fleisher (just run it past a lawyer first) but the dude’s Jonah Hex books have got some momentum.

People mill about for a bit and introductions are made; motives established. Your basics; your meat and potatoes. You know, solid stuff; stuff I’d like to see more of. I like that DeZuniga’s drawn one of the FCB swigging from a canteen. That’s a nice touch; people aren’t just standing about lollygagging. Hey, I wonder what’s in that canteen, maybe it pays off later? Yeah, Tony DeZuniga (1932 – 2012) drew this. I should talk about the art. Everybody on the internet has been told to talk about the art; to tell you how it makes them feel. Tony DeZuniga’s art makes me feel like a leopard in heat; it makes me feel like a motherless child; it makes me feel like a shopping trolley that won the lottery. Tony DeZuniga’s art makes me feel like I just saw some heavily photo referenced pictures the artist made cohere into a satisfactory whole via lashings of gritty spackle and high contrast lighting. And that, muchachos, that’s a good feeling because DeZuniga was a good artist even if his realism is often slightly undermined by stiff staging. Dusty is the word when it comes to DeZuniga; I unconsciously wipe my hands on my shirtfront after reading a DeZuniga book. I also do that after eating crisps and then blithely walk around with crisp crumbs down my front like a simpleton. Drives milady nuts, that does.

Image by DeZuniga, Fleisher, Le Rose & Leferman

So, yeah, see how happy Carmelita is! See how she laughs! I wonder what brought her to this pass. What kind of life she must have had to make her betray trust for gold. What an interesting female character, I look forward to learning more about her in the pages ahe..oh, she just got shot off her horse. It appears Carmelita will not be joining us for the rest of the issue. I wasn’t expecting that; a brutal move but certainly an arresting one. Now here’s a thing, many people die in this issue and DeZuniga, more often than not, got to draw a big jammy splash of gore erupting out of the appropriate area. In 2014 and in comparison to, say, the idiotically violent Damian: Son of Batman these are just papercuts, but in 1981 and compared with, well, anything else in a kid’s reach this is like Sam Peckinpah level shit. This is one violent-ass comic, you just wait. I don’t know how they got away with this; I’m glad they did. This kid just ate it up, and I turned out alright. Cough.

Image by DeZuniga, Fleisher, Le Rose & Leferman

Like many of the supporting cast suspense is short lived in Jonah Hex and it is immediately revealed that El Papagaya shot Carmelita The Senorita. He also calls her a “puta” which, children were unhelpfully informed via a footnote, meant “tramp”. In 1981 in England a tramp was usually a male of advanced years who had chosen a life of vagrancy and begging. This is not the same as a homeless person who can be any age and has had the choice made for them and whose presence is a living indictment of any society in which they exist. Boom! Boom! Try the organic chicken sourced from Fair Trade vendors! Tramp also means "whore", but don't tell the Kids! This issue of Jonah Hex was surprisingly educational; by reading it you would also learn the following terms: pistolas (pistols) and compadres (companions). Enough to get anyone through a weekend break south of the border!

Image by DeZuniga, Fleisher, Le Rose & Leferman Meanwhile, back at the rocky outcrop we find El Papagaya. Now, El Papagaya is a rare thing in Jonah Hex; a recurring villain. This rarity being down to Jonah’s tendency to deal quite decisively with anyone posing a threat to him. He’s prone to go blood simple at the drop of a hat, that Jonah Hex. But El Papagaya is a wily one and always lives to taunt another day. Because that’s the big thing about El Papagaya; his taunting. Loquacious only begins to describe him. He’s called El Papagaya which means parrot because he has one but also, he never shuts the hell up. Well, I think that’s funny. I think El Papagaya is a funny guy he’s so blatantly disingenuous but at the same time totally transparent. He’s probably modelled on the kind of big hatted stereotypes that gave Humphrey Bogart a bad time in those old movies. But El Papagaya has a parrot and is dressed as flamboyantly as an ice skater so he’s better.

It’s a tight bind Jonah and his crew are in and no mistake. To escape Jonah sets light to the dry grass so that the smoke will cover their exit. I know this because it is mentioned several times in the course of two pages. Now, unless Michael Fleisher thought his audience were prone to sudden attacks of amnesia, this isn’t particularly smooth writing. I don’t really know why it’s mentioned so much but I think comic writers used to be a bit insecure and made sure there were lots of words on those pages for a couple of reasons. One is, I guess, they didn’t know who’d be drawing it or if they did they had no guarantee how it was going to turn out. They couldn’t just fire off a chummy E-Mail and get a scan back thirty seconds later. Pure supposition this; also, they were very, very clear about what was going on to avoid any possible confusion. This means this comic is overwritten to Hell and back but it also means I’m not going “Wait, What?” at any point. Anyway, El Papagaya obligingly lets the smoke build to a sufficient density to permit our band to escape.

Image by DeZuniga, Fleisher, Le Rose & Leferman

Now here’s some sexy shit; two whole pages of an old man and his slave talking in a graveyard. It’s not even very good talking but there is plenty of it. Now, the poor quality and large quantity are quite in line with current trends but, unfortunately for him, Fleisher’s made the schoolboy error of putting information in his dialogue. This makes it exposition (which today is Bad) instead of aimless drivel which is stellar character work (which today is Good). Exposition isn’t actually bad in and of itself but there is such a thing as badly executed exposition. Which this is. There’s so much of it in fact that Turnbull’s face is obscured throughout by his exposition bloated word balloons. That’s on purpose that is; so we can’t see him but I don’t really know why that is.

Why we can’t see his face that is. I mean we’re unlikely to recognise him. It’s not like eventually he’s revealed to be Harry Osborne’s dad or anything. He’s just some mad old, bald, fat white guy. Oh my God, it’s me! It was me all along! No wonder they hid his face. It all makes sense now! I’m joking; I’m not fat. Anyway, there’s all this exposition about how Jonah Hex caused Turnbull’s son to be killed and how, By God, Turnbull will see Jonah Hex in his grave for it and all that kind of spittly lipped, stick waving thing. To be fair, this stuff does do a few things, although it does none of them subtly. It corroborates the mission of the men who have captured Jonah Hex so we know they aren’t just delusional lunatics; allows Fleisher to (and it is quite smart this) put the truer spin in the mouth of Solomon so that Turnbull can bat it away out of hand showing both a) Turnbull just wants someone to pay; the truth is moot and b) Solomon’s superficial equality is purely that; superficial. Yeah, it’s clumsy as a sprinter with wooden legs and real feet but it still gets quite a lot of stuff done. It’s convenient to forget that this is the fundamental purpose of a genre comic; getting stuff done. (I know I repeat that later; that’s for reinforcement not because I didn’t re-read this for glaring shittiness. Oops! Missed a bit!) Also, after all the words the sudden silent panel where Turnbull kneels at his son’s grave actually has some impact. Surprisingly so; bonus points for that one.

Image by DeZuniga, Fleisher, Le Rose & Leferman

Back at the camp Jonah and the FCB take a break from TCB and indulge in some more expositionary chit chat. Jonah has noticed that one of their number is a little short in the tooth to have been at Fort Charlotte but, alas, his Dad wasn’t. Jonah tries to explain what (whut) happened but the kid is having none of it and plumb hawks one up right in Hex’s bacony face. Even though there are a lot of words here DeZuniga does a good job keeping things interesting by dropping detail out entirely at some points so the central image is bracketed by blankness and varying the POV as things progress. When the script slackens the art keeps things taut; it’s a joint effort. Words and pictures, you know how that goes. This scene’s pretty important (hey, maybe it pays off later?) but its immediate significance is in the fact that in its first panel the dude with the water flask is going “hic!” Maybe he drank his water too fast and got an upset tummy? Do you think that’s going to pay off soon? Do you think this piece is ever going to end? (Maybe it’ll be like the Tristram Shandy of nostalgic old man comics writing? maybe my heart will give out first?) Remember when drunk people went “hic”? They used to do it in movies too. In real life though they just get angry and violent. Ah, good times. Hic!

We’re on page 8 (PAGE EIGHT!) now, in case anyone’s keeping score and things start moving like a heated tomahawk through someone’s face from hereonin. So far the comics been overwritten (like this piece; like that was on purpose!) and expositing like expositing is a real thing, but Fleisher’s been setting it all up. All the pieces are now in place; El Papagaya’s in pursuit, Hex has connected with the kid, there’s a boozer loose and it’s all about to pay off over the next few pages. And you best believe it’s going to pay off in death and sorrow. Hey, Kids! Comics!

Image by DeZuniga, Fleisher, Le Rose & Leferman

Page eight is where the ordure becomes authentic. Despite Hex’s protestations the boozer (Shenandoah!) wobbles off and picks up a feather from the ground. Why, what harm coul…OMG! A feather! Like a parrot has! It’s El Papa..the ground immediately appears to eat Shenandoah and there is a child scarring two panel sequence of him falling onto some stakes (GHAAAAAAAAAA!). You don’t see anything really. Just the falling body suspended above the stakes below and then an inset of his screaming face, which has been charmingly hued a deep red. That shit sure shook me up when I was a kid. It was AWESOME! GHAAAAAAAAAAA! Hell, yeah! I wouldn’t get this excited again until I saw Walter Hill’s magnificent beast of a movie Southern Comfort (1981; coincidence?). In all honesty I get mixed messages from Walter Hill films. Do you think Southern Comfort knows it is skewering machismo even while it seems to be paying homage to it? It doesn’t really matter because, Powers Boothe. Anyway, I have a weak spot for fiction involving people in a hostile environment being picked off one by one. Some folk are like Hmm, chocolate or Awww, cats but me, I’m all Aw yeah, people in a hostile environment being picked off one by one! And it’s all this comic’s fault. Mind you, it hasn’t escaped my notice that people in a hostile environment being picked off one by one is basically Life, so there you go. Anyway everyone knows how that people in a hostile environment being picked off one by one stuff goes and that’s how this comic goes for the remainder of its pages.

Image by DeZuniga, Fleisher, Le Rose & Leferman

The point, he said realising he was late to take his kid to Cubs and he had paced this badly, is that this tale of Jonah Hex is 17 pages long but, boy howdy, it covers some distance. The actual comic book is a mite longer since there is also a one pager about dead sheriffs, a letter column and a Gary Cohn and Tom Yeates strip called Tejano. Consequently Fleisher and DeZuniga don’t have space to faff about, so they don’t. By the 8th page Fleisher and Dezuniga have worked like ditch diggers to get the reader up to speed with who everyone is, what they want and how they all relate to each other while also defining a deadly scenario to shape the events following. None of it is elegantly done but it all gets done. Round these parts that’s what genre comics are all about; getting’ it done. Fleisher and DeZuniga get it done quick and dirty and it all ends with an overwrought moment of emotion which is still not entirely unmoving despite its relative lack of sophistication. Jonah Hex #55 (“Blood Trail”!) mebbe weren’t quite as good as I remembered, but it still entertained like all get out and that makes GOOD! Did it deserve all those words? No, but like the man said, “Deserve’s got nothin' to do with it.”

Image by DeZuniga, Fleisher, Le Rose & Leferman

As the sun sets sadly on the West Jonah Hex#55 (“Blood Trail”!) couldn’t be more – COMICS!!!