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Breakdowns -- Astronauts In Trouble Is My BusiNYX

October 16, 2003

I know…easily the worst column title ever, and I love it, as I love my own stench.

Speaking of stench, as I write this, Bill Jemas is reportedly out as Marvel Comics’ Publisher, finally confirmed by Marvel, though he has not been terminated. Rather, he has a new position that would seem to be a step down, career-wise. A friend of mine opined that this is Marvel’s way of getting Jemas not to sell his stock right now, which makes sense.

And everyone seems to have something to say about this, from columnists to message board posters, and I guess I just can’t resist, either. From what I gather, Jemas’ outrageous persona was tolerated as long as he was seen to be helping bring Marvel back from oblivion, which for the most part, he was. But it didn’t appear he was satisfied being “just” the Publisher, and wanted to have a greater influence on the creative direction of the Marvel titles, and to create his own as well. He seemed to have fine ideas for revamping Spider-Man for the ULTIMATE line, but I think most would agree he was more than fortunate to have a writer like Brian Michael Bendis to be expanding on his vision. We’ll probably never know what Jemas’ specific contributions to the Marvel of today were, but certainly he leaves it better off, creatively as well as financially, than it was when he got there. But vanity projects like that poor-selling hardcover about what he and Joe Quesada did to reshape Marvel, or the pitiably unfunny MARVILLE that never would have been approved if it wasn’t Jemas doing it, can’t have helped his standing at the company, nor could his tendency to go well beyond Stan Lee-style braggadocio into mean-spiritedness (like his “Sequential Sluts” comment about Sequential Tart) or his condescension towards retailers and plain lack of sense regarding reprints. For those who liked many of the creative changes for Marvel under Jemas, I don’t think there’s much to worry about, as Quesada has a pretty good track record that will likely improve without a Publisher second guessing his editorial decisions. It’s possible that could happen, of course, but it makes little sense for Marvel to replace Jemas with another version. In fact, it’s likely the new guy is much taller. And the only shame of it for those who loved to loathe Jemas is that we’re now not likely to see gems like ULTIMATE DAREDEVIL & ELEKTRA, the ongoing series that finds the college lovebirds righting wrongs in a legal clinic, or THE PEOPLE’S THOR, with the Norse God helping ungrateful, primitive aliens in a hateful allegory of U.S. foreign policy. It’s up to you as the reader which Jemas you wish to remember. U-Decide.

In more positive news, or even more positive news, depending on your feelings about Jemas, Fantagraphics Books have undertaken the most important, and most lucrative, one would think, project in their history, beginning the publishing of the complete 50 year run of Charles Schulz’ PEANUTS, in 25 volumes of $28.95 hardcovers, designed by the cartoonist Seth and featuring unseen material and essays. The first volume will have an Introduction by Garrison Keillor of Lake Wobegon fame. I’ve loved the strip since childhood, and these volumes will be a worthy, grown-up replacement to the yellowing paperbacks I have. It’s really one of the biggest comics stories of the year, and I’m really looking forward to beginning to get these, even if it means a twelve year commitment!

The Firsts

NYX #1 by Joe Quesada and Joshua Middleton. Marvel Comics. $2.99
It should come as no surprise to anyone familiar with the history of this project that the book is flawed. The team originally slated to do the miniseries, Brian (CHANNEL ZERO) Wood and David Choe were not only let go after the book was announced as being in the works, but Choe expressed his frustrations over this in an incendiary online rant that took shots at Quesada and, for some reason, David (KABUKI) Mack, who had nothing to do with this project. So for Quesada to eventually pick up the reins of the project and write it smacks of a kind of vengeance, which doesn’t often lead to enduring art.

But somehow, and yes, all that did happen a couple years ago, Quesada manages to write a pretty engrossing story of a troubled teen girl, Kiden, who is dealing with her hormones and lack of parental guidance through fights at school and drug-enhanced clubbing at night. Her brother’s a dealer and her mom is trying to make a connection with her but Kiden is only going through the motions. Quesada nails this sequence, showing how children know their parents well enough to say what they know they want to hear. And for the most part, the script is good, sensational but well-structured in presenting the more realistic problems Kiden will have to overcome if she’s going to do something with her life and her new mutant abilities. I won’t spoil what her power is, but while not all that original, it’s not over-used, and is almost overwhelming in its possibilities.

The main problem with the book is also one of the best parts: the art. Middleton has a lovely clean line that at first reminded me of Rob Haynes, but Middleton’s anatomy and body language is so much more natural and fluid, the fashions are accurate, and he’s helped greatly by soft pastel hues that effectively evoke the daze in which Kiden lives. The problem comes with several shots that are just gratuitous, including Kiden dancing suggestively with her girlfriend, sleeping in her panties, and the complicated sexual symbolism on the cover of Kiden with a pacifier lolling in her mouth. Is it phallic? Pedophiliac? Both? Not to be prudish—it is kind of sexy—but one can’t really argue it’s an appropriate image for a comic marketed to a mostly 20-40 year old male audience. Besides just being pervy, though, the lewd art serves to undercut the sympathy for Kiden that the creators are presumably trying to engender. The book is structured so that the reader believes that Kiden’s wretched life will begin to improve, but when her creators are willing to exploit her along the way, how can we believe they know what’s best for her?

CAPER #1 (OF 12) by Judd Winick and Farel Dalrymple. DC Comics. $2.95
On Sales 10/29
Judd Winick is a talented writer, and good for him for broadening his range beyond the superhero comics water-treading he’s been doing for the past couple years. BLOOD AND WATER, his vampire miniseries, was a step in the right direction, and now he takes on the crime genre with this new maxiseries, or rather, what looks to be a series of three miniseries under a somewhat misleading umbrella title.

Rather than a caper, this is a mob story, but substituting San Francisco Jews for New York Italians, a change treated superficially as yet but nonetheless appreciated. Jacob and Izzy Weiss are enforcers, forced into this life after avenging their father’s murder. They’ve been at this for years and are always reliable, but they screw up a bit this time, scaring a delinquent extortee so bad he jumps off a building, meaning the boss isn’t going to get paid. It’s Izzy’s fault—he’s the kid brother with the mean streak, while Jacob is the cool one with the brains. The libido, too—he’s been shtupping Myron’s wife for some time; Myron, the guy who took the fatal leap, which will certainly complicate his relationship with the dame.

Speaking of shtupping, Winick piles on the Yiddishisms thicker than corned beef on a Reuben. But while he tries a little too hard here—and there’s too many “fucks” for this era, even from the mouths of criminals—it’s a good set-up with plenty of conflict. Dalrymple seems to have drawn this with less loving detail as his own POP GUN WAR, with some really awkward and/or flat panels and little detail, but the basic storytelling is fine and cinematic and he really draws some interesting faces.

Graphic Novels and Trades

UNION STATION by Ande Parks and Eduardo Barreto. Oni Press. $11.95
On Sale 11/05
Ande Parks, whom I only really know as Phil Hester’s inker of choice, has written a “true crime” graphic novel set in Kansas City, 1933, and like ROAD TO PERDITION or TORSO, it takes the truth and works up a grim, bittersweet tale around it.

In this case, the story is an otherwise unremarkable criminal named Frank Nash being delivered to Union Station by train, where law enforcement will then pick him up, his eventual destination Leavenworth. What happens is a bloodbath, resulting in dead Feds and cops. What then follows is a complicated story with FBI agent Reed Vetterli, a good-hearted but ineffectual mama’s boy who ran from the action and wants to redeem himself; Charles Patterson, the reporter who wants the real story, which will put him and his family in jeopardy in a town where the corruption spreads not just to the police but his own editor; and Verne Miller, the killer with a bit more class than the rabble with whom he’s forced to work. There are also scenes for Verne’s wife, a ballistics expert, the corrupt cop who fired on Nash, and more, and one realizes some judicious editing is needed. It’s a tough call, as most crime comics keep their casts small and their subplots spare, so the effort is admirable here. However, it ends up being a little confusing, and diminishing the overall enjoyment a bit. Patterson, the pure hero, is the most interesting character here, or at least he’s put under the most difficult and compelling pressure, while Vetterli needed more space in which to build up his courage and shot at redemption. He’s absent for too long in the book and when he finally appears, it’s almost all over for him. It would have been better to drop much of Miller’s storyline and focused more on the investigation.

But what really gets the reader through some of the superfluous scenes (and they’re all written well enough; they’re just not all necessary) is the stunning artwork of veteran Barreto, an artist whose old-fashioned style—some Romita, some Swan—is even more enjoyable because it’s completely out of step with what one might expect from an Oni book. Barreto is excellent at Prohibition-era stories (see BATMAN: THE SCAR OF THE BAT), and appears to be having the time of his life here, using Zipatone like he just discovered it and putting immense care into inking every shadow and line on a face. His work is enough to justify buying the book, and while Parks loses focus here and there, it’s always entertaining and ends with all the feeling and conviction of a 1930s Warner Bros. gangster classic.

ASTRONAUTS IN TROUBLE by Larry Young, Charlie Adlard and Matt Smith. AiT/PlanetLar. $19.95
For those already familiar with Young’s three AiT books, there’s not much new to see her beyond some new Introductions. But for those who have been curious, this is the one you want. It contains the graphic novels LIVE FROM THE MOON and SPACE: 1959 as well as ONE SHOT, ONE BEER and the short back-up stories, all under an attractively spare, NASA-inspired cover.

I had only been back reading comics for a few months or so after a hiatus of almost three years when I started reviewing them, and Young was one of the first to send me comps, including these three books. Not to overstate it, but they were very nearly a revelation: unpretentious adventure stories with good characterization and not a superpower in sight. And while my tastes and critical faculties have grown since then, that basic description still stands.

LIVE is a rollicking adventure about the world’s richest man attempting to colonize the moon, and the only people who can stop him are the Channel Seven news team brought there to broadcast this bold declaration. They do get a little help from some Mafia-appropriated rockets as well.

This is the more inventive of the graphic novels, a smooth blend of action, humor and deft characterization, and it has a real sense of wonder to it as well. Matt Smith handles the first three chapters quite well, but while his Mignola imitation has more visual razzle-dazzle, it’s Adlard who really brings out the humanity in Young’s script. I didn’t find myself loving, or really knowing, the characters as much as I wanted to, but I liked them a lot, and Young does make sure to give everyone some dimension.

SPACE: 1959 is a solid follow-up, a kind of prequel with a different Channel Seven news team, this time covering a secret government base where a maverick general is determined to beat the Russians to the moon all by himself. It’s a similar set-up as LIVE, substituting the general for the rich industrialist and with a different news crew with their own quirks, but it suffers a bit in comparison. It’s just not as involving and the characters are not as interesting, though the general does emerge as a good character, not a madman but merely a patriot with great conviction, and Young presents him without judgment.

ONE SHOT, ONE BEER isn’t so much a story as a series of barroom anecdotes, but it’s tremendously entertaining and shows Young having more range than one might have thought after the somewhat redundant SPACE: 1959. He tries a bit of Japanese fable, sci-fi adventure and a funny tall tale from an obviously unreliable narrator. The whole thing works quite well, adding splashes of color to the AiT world and with a real sense that Young is having a ball and wants to share the fun with you, the reader.

Reading all these again, my impression of Young is that he is a craftsman more than a sensitive artiste. That’s not to say that he, Adlard and Smith have not created art; they have. But instead of poetry and wild flights of fancy, I get the feeling Young just worked really hard studying the mechanics of storytelling until he was able to assemble a really solid piece, and then he did it again, and again. The stories are more like coffee tables than vases or paintings, but then, which are you going to get more use from?

RAYMOND CHANDLER’S MARLOWE by Various. ibooks. $17.95
Chandler is one of my favorite writers, so I tend to get a bit annoyed when other writers, particularly comics writers, cite this or that book of theirs as being influenced by Chandler or written in his style. Almost invariably, these crime comics, though maybe good in their own right, are much coarser in language and much more violent than Chandler’s work really was. Their work usually is more similar to Spillane than Chandler. So I approached this book, which adapts three of Chandler’s Philip Marlowe short stories, with trepidation.

It’s excellent. Or at least very, very good. Tom DeHaven and Rian Hughes adapt “Goldfish,” which has Marlowe doing a favor for a female friend rather than a client, trying to locate some purloined pearls. It’s a bit grislier than most Marlowe stories, with one poor sap dying of shock as his feet are burned with a steam iron, but the chunky, minimalist stylings of Hughes lightens the tone a little, especially in conjunction with his inventive use of color, a different shade for each page, and an unusual use of white to highlight faces. DeHaven’s adaptation is impeccable, retaining the best of Marlowe’s narration and dialogue and moving the plot swiftly without losing anything essential. The ending, which explains the goldfish bit, is surprising, funny and a little disgusting.

“The Pencil” is a harrowing tale, adapted by Jerome Charyn and David (V FOR VENDETTA) Lloyd, again with Marlowe in a job not typical for a private eye. Here, he helps a small-time criminal get out of town when the mob has marked him for death with the delivery of a pencil. There’s no femme fatale troubling Marlowe here; instead he’s got Anne helping him on the case, a good woman who longs for him and who Marlowe unapologetically manipulates and uses. No one ever said he was an angel. Other than these novel aspects, the remainder of the story contains classic Marlowe elements: lots of tough guys giving him trouble; Marlowe coming back fast with a wisecrack or a smack. Lloyd’s art is devastatingly good here, perfectly composed and drawn, and he adds a wonderfully rough texture to his precise inks with the liberal application of what appears to be charcoal. Clearly the best, most attractive story in the collection.

“Trouble Is My Business,” as adapted by James Rose, Lee Moyer and Alfredo Alcala, is a good effort, and after all this is one of Chandler’s most-loved stories, not least of which for the ballsy title. Here a rich, arrogant old man hires Marlowe to find his ne’er-do-well son, who is into a gangster for a lot of gambling money. Moyer’s style is reminiscent of Mike Grell, complete with some stiffness and heads being a bit too big for their bodies, and Alcala also uses charcoal, but after “The Pencil” it just looks overused, making Lloyd’s use of it seem more subtle than perhaps it is. Rose’s script retains some good lines for Marlowe but doesn’t flow smoothly, cutting corners noticeably as it reaches the end. It’s still a respectable attempt, but probably should have been slotted in the middle, so the book ends with “The Pencil.”

Full Bleed: We Hold These Truths To Be Self-Evident
I’m not a fan of “Jess Lemon,” the pseudonymous character used by Heidi Macdonald (and others, I think) to trash generally well-liked comics so that it doesn’t hurt Heidi’s ability to gather news from the publishers of these comics. However, I do like the intention behind it, and in this case the result is not just amusing but truthful. I was honestly already thinking of discussing this topic before I read this (actually, I almost wished I hadn’t read it, because I don’t want to copy anybody), and wanted to explore some myths, preconceptions and misconceptions about comics.

Somehow, though, the following didn’t address this theme much at all, and became a sort of brief history of comics “ages.” So take what you can of it, and I’ll get into the other theme in a future column…

It Was a Golden Age - No, it wasn’t. The Golden Age of Comics begins somewhere in the late 30s, the big landmark event being the publication of ACTION COMICS #1 featuring the debut of Superman, a smash hit that would cause hundreds of imitations and make superhero comics one of the most popular comics genres of this time. And Superman, as created and depicted by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, is made for some energetic, action-packed comics. Likewise, Bob Kane’s and Bill Finger’s Batman had a grim, violent appeal, and Will Eisner’s THE SPIRIT, a newspaper strip only, would eventually evolve into a delightful, innovative work. And there was very attractive, entertaining work being created by the likes of Joe Simon and Jack Kirby, Reed Crandall, Lou Fine and Jack (PLASTIC MAN) Cole.

But the thing is, these comics were created for children, produced as rapidly and as cheaply as possible by publishers with not the slightest pretension of art over commerce. Look at the “Millennium Edition” reprints of ACTION COMICS #1 or DETECTIVE COMICS #27 some time, and you’ll see that aside from the crude power of the Superman or Batman stories the thick issues are garbage. The Fines and Kirbys and Eisners stand out not only because they were legitimate talents but also because the majority—and there were many more comics produced in the 40s than there are today—of the other creators were hardly even competent. They were largely teenagers hopped up on coffee churning out as many pages as they could to make a paycheck, concerned mainly with quantity than quality, and never having the notion that their work was anything but disposable, to be thrown away or used to line birdcages after reading once. These creators, being young, patriotic and horny, imbued their work with an energy that only in relatively few cases endures and overcomes the lack of sophistication, thought or artistry of the material, most of it now to be considered interesting for its kitschy trash qualities or as examples of a bygone era’s sexism, racism and nationalism.

Silver Fishing - The Silver Age, then, beginning sometime in the 50s, possibly with the first appearance of the second Flash, Barry Allen, is the time in comics where some measure of craft appears, if not any great depth or meaning. The medium improved with the influx of more seasoned and educated writers, more experienced artists, and a need for more imaginative material. You couldn’t use Hitler or Tojo as your villain anymore. Writers like Gardner Fox and the dope-smoking John Broome brought lots of clever and wacky pseudoscience to titles like JUSTICE LEAGUE OF AMERICA and GREEN LANTERN, Simon and Kirby created one of the first pieces of comics self-parody in FIGHTING AMERICAN and Harvey Kurtzman and the rest of the EC Comics crew exorcised post-War demons in their war and horror comics, while Kurtzman brought an edge to comics humor in MAD.

I didn’t mean to give a minimalist history lesson there, but the point is that while the Golden Age was important in establishing modern myths and icons—superheroes—the era was, like the beginnings of most media, one of crude enthusiasm and slavish imitation. But unlike formerly disreputable art forms like jazz, the architects often did not possess basic skills, and homogeneity was favored over virtuosity. It’s in the Silver Age that the foundation is added to with a broader range of tone, more intelligence and respect for the readers, and a vastly increased lexicon of storytelling language. That said, most of the work was still produced with children in mind, and the prevailing message was still to trust authority and distrust your international neighbor. Also, while the goofy superhero stuff from DC is a lot of fun, much of it is too goofy to stand up very well, and much of the juice seemed to have run out of comics until Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko et al redefined the superhero in the early 60s, giving him the fabled “feet of clay,” i.e. more realistic problems and self-doubt, reflecting, if unwittingly at first, the creeping social malaise of the country.

Feel Our Relevance - The Bronze Age of comics is hard to pinpoint, but I guess you could say it starts when the good stuff isn’t so good anymore, or not as good. Lee/Kirby on FANTASTIC FOUR becomes Lee/Buscema on F.F. and Kirby on the exciting but unfocused Fourth World books. One can also say it begins with the first generation of comics fanboys becoming writers, artists and editors—people like Roy Thomas, Jim Shooter, Len Wein, Steves Gerber and Englehart, Neal Adams, Jim Steranko, John Byrne, Jim Starlin, Denny O’Neil and Chris Claremont and many more, expanding on characters they grew up with and trying to add layers of meaning from the news, drugs and books of the day they were processing. When people talk about The Bronze Age, they’re really not talking about the revolution in underground comics by the likes of R. Crumb, Spain, Kim Deitch, Jaxxon and others going on around the same time, late 60s through the early 70s, though these undoubtedly influenced the “mainstream” of Marvel, DC, Charlton and Tower. I think as regards the superhero stuff, there were some admirable attempts at investing the work with deeper meaning and more contemporary social relevance from the likes of O’Neil and Adams on GREEN LANTERN/GREEN ARROW and the cosmic comics of Starlin, but most of the work feels dated now, due to various factors including poor printing and coloring, uneven artwork due to the rigid demands of a monthly publishing schedule, and overly earnest, melodramatic writing in a confining cliffhanger format where the subject matter required sublety and careful development. For my money, the 60s and 70s superhero stuff with the least pretensions seems to hold up the best, like AMAZING SPIDER-MAN, the O’Neil/Adams BATMAN and Englehart/Rogers DETECTIVE, and the Claremont/Byrne MARVEL TEAM-UP. Living in the 80s - I guess this is “my time,” as far as when I really got into comics in a big way. I remember buying at least 60% of everything Marvel published, week after week, developing the bad habits of sticking with titles I knew weren’t any good, but hoping things would change. There was a feeling I had, and the sales of comics back then proves I’m not alone in this, that it was practically my job as a Marvel (or DC) fan to know every character in the Marvel Universe. Devil-Slayer? Check. The Serpent Squad? Anaconda, Black Mamba, yeah yeah yeah, check. But for all the crap, now that the dust has settled, we can see that there was some really good work, from Frank Miller, John Byrne, Walt Simonson, Alan Moore and others, mainly pushing the envelope of superhero comics, making their big statements with them (WATCHMEN; THE DARK KNGIHT RETURNS; THE MAN OF STEEL/SUPERMAN relaunch; THOR) and moving on to do creator-owned work, following people like Howard Chaykin with AMERICAN FLAGG! and Mike Baron’s and Steve Rude’s NEXUS and of course the artless but phenomenally successful TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird. This was a great time for comics, with a lot of range and enough money to justify good production quality, at first on the independents and then with some better paper for select Marvel and DC books. The Prestige Format began, and took off, though the good books that demanded this presentation were quickly crowded with junk that barely merited newsprint, following the form of the oversized graphic novel they replaced. The end of the 80s is, in retrospect, a depressing time, as some of these lions went to sleep or dissipated their energies, Byrne’s NAMOR no SUPERMAN, Moore’s BIG NUMBERS unfinished; Miller cranking out an ELEKTRA graphic novel and working on screenplays.

The Incredible Shrinking Industry - The 90s were bizarre, and can now be looked back on as a kind of embarrassing fad one got caught up in, but the kind of fad that ruins lives. The popularity of several Marvel titles, all reflecting the grittier sensibilities and overly mannered art of the day, made superstars of Jim Lee, Todd MacFarlane, Marc Silvestri, Rob Liefeld and to a lesser extent, Erik Larsen, and they, along with never-star Jim Valentino, formed Image Comics and brought a whole bunch of Marvel readers with them. The variant covers, the trading cards…it was actually kind of fun for a little while, and I remember with Image there was a feeling that while the books weren’t great, they were maybe the start of something cool, some new universe made by young, hip creators making up the rules as they went along. It’s easy to make fun of them now, as they weren’t very experienced writers and most had no real stories to tell that Claremont or Kirby hadn’t told first, but one has to admire the guts it took for them to start, and to in some manner keep Image alive today. As far as the 90s, amid all the first issues and variant garbage, there were some encouraging signs from the veterans, chiefly from the Dark Horse LEGEND imprint of Byrne, Miller, Simonson, Chadwick, Mignola, Art Adams and Gary Gianni, doing new and interesting books they owned, and not a bad one in the batch. Alan Moore returned to remind readers of that old sense of wonder of Silver Age Superman and the kitschy zip of 60s Marvel, with SUPREME and 1963, respectively. As the speculator boom ended and the Image creators fought and worked on more lucrative projects than comics, there was a thinning of the ranks and a rise of creators with fresh energy but old-fashioned sensibilities, shepherds of storytelling values of old, Mark Waid and Kurt Busiek, but the industry was also desperate for new ideas or new approaches to old superheroes, and so the careers of Warren Ellis, Grant Morrison, Mark Millar, Garth Ennis and others began to rise, followed soon by an American contingent steeped more in pulp novels and 70s cinema than British comics and sci-fi, Brian Michael Bendis, Brian Azzarello, Greg Rucka and Ed Brubaker. And here we are today.

I’m not even sure why I just did that, but thanks, caffeine.

Next Week: I’ll probably have more of a point, either getting into comics myths and misconceptions, or, hopefully, an interview with another well-known comics reviewer. Also, I might have said last week I’d be reviewing B. KRIGSTEIN at long last, so maybe I ought to do that, and maybe get into some Frank Miller stuff. I’m sure there will be reviews of new stuff as well, perhaps even a review of the new Mark Millar/J.G. Jones book WANTED.

Chris Allen

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