writer: Michael Jan Friedman & Robert Greenberger
artist: Beni Lobel
A one-shot based on the upcoming movie After Earth, this was something of a cheat for a reader who likes to combat his image for reading mostly DC comics. The movie is directed by M. Night Shyamalan, who has been a favorite of mine since his breakthrough 1999 effort The Sixth Sense, which at once catapulted the filmmaker into superstardom and forever linked him to the idea that he's a one-track talent. Two years ago he attempted to subvert that idea by helming the big screen adaptation The Last Airbender, based on a different Avatar than the one that became one of the biggest box office success stories of all time. Critics and audiences still seemed to chafe at having a second look at Shyamalan's talents, but I found it to be a refreshing look at a fantasy epic as well as a fresh spin on his instincts (though he does that in all of his films, whether recognized or not).
Anyway, After Earth seems to be a continuation of this, if the Innocence one-shot is any indication. Innocence itself is a self-contained an highly entertaining look at the overarching concepts behind the film. I don't know whether to outline those concepts or not, spoilers being such an important part of the Shyamalan mystique (highly exaggerated as it may be).
Okay, here it goes: Earth has to be abandoned, and the society that survives is split into two warring groups that only grudgingly cooperate. Things get worse when humanity comes under siege from an alien menace that is superior to any weapon yet developed.
That's pretty much it. The story hinges, however, on the idea of legacies in a more human sense, from generation to generation and father to son. As I said, the one-shot reads extremely well, especially for something derived from a movie. Those projects are always hit-or-miss, let alone for ones that haven't even happened yet. What's even more impressive is that the story makes you care for a high concept and legitimately leaves you wanting more. There's plenty to tell here.
I could go on, I suppose, especially at how After Earth reflects concepts rarely attributed to Shyamalan but present in all his films, but I'll let you decide if I've begun to change any of your ideas, or if the movie or this comic sounds appealing on their own merits.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Reading Comics #80 "Essential Wolverine Vol. 2 #2"
Continuing my reading of Essential Wolverine Vol. 2, collecting comics originally published in 1990-1991, we now reach:
WOLVERINE #s 31-33 (Marvel)
These issues mark the debut of writer Larry Hama and artist Marc Silvestri in the series. A markedly different tone from the Jo Duffy stories that precede it though in the same Madripoor setting, as Hama focuses more on action, and the future Image co-founder Silvestri adds a more dynamic style.
The latter, perhaps not so surprising, as that's what the Image revolution was all about, putting art first, which perhaps wasn't so surprising, since the Image founders were all artists. The funny thing is that Silvestri's Wolverine looks a lot like Erik Larsen's Savage Dragon. Perhaps this is something of a coincidence, since Larsen created Dragon well before these comics, but now that I start thinking about it, the connection does go pretty deep. Since Dragon is big and green and sometimes has She-Dragon around, I always made the natural association with the Incredible Hulk. But the similarities with Wolverine could not be more glaring. If you know anything about Savage Dragon, you know that he has the same healing factor as Wolverine, a fact that Larsen has exploited in some very deliberate ways over the years.
If I go on about Savage Dragon in this update, it's because the storytelling is perhaps not terribly inspired. Perhaps not coincidentally, Wolverine's healing factor plays a huge role in these issues. This version of the character has some pretty definite limits, though Hama doesn't seem particularly constrained by them. He seems more interested in his drugs-are-bad message, which is a fine message except it's directed more at the cliche villains pushing the drugs than actually talking about the drugs themselves, which Hama may inadvertently glamorize. There is a renewed Japanese link to Hama's Wolverine, but nothing too inspired.
It, ah, may or may not be worth noting at this point that Hama and Silvestri are responsible for nearly every remaining issue in the collection.
WOLVERINE #s 31-33 (Marvel)
These issues mark the debut of writer Larry Hama and artist Marc Silvestri in the series. A markedly different tone from the Jo Duffy stories that precede it though in the same Madripoor setting, as Hama focuses more on action, and the future Image co-founder Silvestri adds a more dynamic style.
The latter, perhaps not so surprising, as that's what the Image revolution was all about, putting art first, which perhaps wasn't so surprising, since the Image founders were all artists. The funny thing is that Silvestri's Wolverine looks a lot like Erik Larsen's Savage Dragon. Perhaps this is something of a coincidence, since Larsen created Dragon well before these comics, but now that I start thinking about it, the connection does go pretty deep. Since Dragon is big and green and sometimes has She-Dragon around, I always made the natural association with the Incredible Hulk. But the similarities with Wolverine could not be more glaring. If you know anything about Savage Dragon, you know that he has the same healing factor as Wolverine, a fact that Larsen has exploited in some very deliberate ways over the years.
If I go on about Savage Dragon in this update, it's because the storytelling is perhaps not terribly inspired. Perhaps not coincidentally, Wolverine's healing factor plays a huge role in these issues. This version of the character has some pretty definite limits, though Hama doesn't seem particularly constrained by them. He seems more interested in his drugs-are-bad message, which is a fine message except it's directed more at the cliche villains pushing the drugs than actually talking about the drugs themselves, which Hama may inadvertently glamorize. There is a renewed Japanese link to Hama's Wolverine, but nothing too inspired.
It, ah, may or may not be worth noting at this point that Hama and Silvestri are responsible for nearly every remaining issue in the collection.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Reading Comics #79 "Essential Wolverine Vol. 2 #1"
Regular readers will remember the series of reports I did on Essential Classic X-Men Vol. 2. As it happens I get to revisit that, because the large batch of comics I covered in the Quarter Bin "Brother's Blitz" columns also included Essential Wolverine Vol. 2, and so I'll be doing exactly that again, giving my thoughts as I read through the collection.
Starting out we have in the first reading:
WOLVERINE #s 24-30 (Marvel)
All comics in this collection were originally published between 1990 and 1991. As we begin, he is apparently on a leave of absence from the X-Men, believed dead and living in Madripoor, a small island nation off the coast of Asia. The first issue is written by Peter David and is pretty storybook in its examination of the inhabitants of this country, the typical assassins of a superhero (or crime) story mixed with street urchins. Comics legend Gene Colan provides the art.
The other six issues from this reading are written by Jo Duffy, notably a woman working on one of the most masculine characters in comics. Art varies from John Buscema to Klaus Janson to Barry Kitson. Though only the final four issues comprise the "Lazarus Project" arc, it's all essentially a connected narrative concerning the life Wolverine has made in the tiny country under the assumed identity of Patch (so-named because he wears a patch over one eye).
While there's plenty of story happening around him, the issues are notable in that they're related to the reader via a running monologue from Wolverine, the kind of caption narration that has fallen out of favor with most creators. I happen to love this kind of comic book storytelling. I like when creators are confident enough to show as well as tell. Most amateur writers have it drilled into them that telling is somehow a sin of the craft.
In this particular show, it's very reminiscent of the kind of movies Hollywood was making at the time, still influenced by the Vietnam and Cold Wars, what gave us John Rambo. Wolverine in this version is Rambo via Clint Eastwood (no chairs involved).
What's funny is that Wolverine could have a comic like this at perhaps the height of X-Men popularity (at least in the comics), that is nothing at all like you'd expect from a character known, as I've said, to be about as manly and savage as you can get. It was a different time. It was before Image. It was perhaps the last time Marvel could truly be itself and get away with it. And so we end up with a Wolverine who sits around drinking tea and gambling and basically doing everything he can to stay out of trouble. In this version of the character, he's very similar to the Bruce-Banner-on-the-run as seen in the old Hulk TV series and in some of his recent movie experiences (or even where Wolverine himself in when we first meet him in the movies).
It's not even the classic Wolverine-in-Japan stories. Some of that is touched on, though, and it actually seems the most extraneous element of Duffy's stories. I'll admit to some skepticism early in the reading. This isn't the Wolverine I expected. But it's a Wolverine I started to love.
I don't read a lot of Marvel comics, and I don't read a lot of Wolverine comics. I enjoyed the "Old Man Logan" arc, and Marc Guggenheim had some interesting thoughts about why Wolverine can't die, and perhaps more recently Jeph Loeb seems to have done some interesting things concerning Sabretooth (those are some stories I will read at some point).
We'll see how the rest of the collection goes.
Starting out we have in the first reading:
WOLVERINE #s 24-30 (Marvel)
All comics in this collection were originally published between 1990 and 1991. As we begin, he is apparently on a leave of absence from the X-Men, believed dead and living in Madripoor, a small island nation off the coast of Asia. The first issue is written by Peter David and is pretty storybook in its examination of the inhabitants of this country, the typical assassins of a superhero (or crime) story mixed with street urchins. Comics legend Gene Colan provides the art.
The other six issues from this reading are written by Jo Duffy, notably a woman working on one of the most masculine characters in comics. Art varies from John Buscema to Klaus Janson to Barry Kitson. Though only the final four issues comprise the "Lazarus Project" arc, it's all essentially a connected narrative concerning the life Wolverine has made in the tiny country under the assumed identity of Patch (so-named because he wears a patch over one eye).
While there's plenty of story happening around him, the issues are notable in that they're related to the reader via a running monologue from Wolverine, the kind of caption narration that has fallen out of favor with most creators. I happen to love this kind of comic book storytelling. I like when creators are confident enough to show as well as tell. Most amateur writers have it drilled into them that telling is somehow a sin of the craft.
In this particular show, it's very reminiscent of the kind of movies Hollywood was making at the time, still influenced by the Vietnam and Cold Wars, what gave us John Rambo. Wolverine in this version is Rambo via Clint Eastwood (no chairs involved).
What's funny is that Wolverine could have a comic like this at perhaps the height of X-Men popularity (at least in the comics), that is nothing at all like you'd expect from a character known, as I've said, to be about as manly and savage as you can get. It was a different time. It was before Image. It was perhaps the last time Marvel could truly be itself and get away with it. And so we end up with a Wolverine who sits around drinking tea and gambling and basically doing everything he can to stay out of trouble. In this version of the character, he's very similar to the Bruce-Banner-on-the-run as seen in the old Hulk TV series and in some of his recent movie experiences (or even where Wolverine himself in when we first meet him in the movies).
It's not even the classic Wolverine-in-Japan stories. Some of that is touched on, though, and it actually seems the most extraneous element of Duffy's stories. I'll admit to some skepticism early in the reading. This isn't the Wolverine I expected. But it's a Wolverine I started to love.
I don't read a lot of Marvel comics, and I don't read a lot of Wolverine comics. I enjoyed the "Old Man Logan" arc, and Marc Guggenheim had some interesting thoughts about why Wolverine can't die, and perhaps more recently Jeph Loeb seems to have done some interesting things concerning Sabretooth (those are some stories I will read at some point).
We'll see how the rest of the collection goes.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Reading Comics #78 "Batman R.I.P."
Grant Morrison has been writing regular installments in his Dark Knight saga since 2006. In recent years he's successfully transformed a nebulous "son of Batman" character into the next Robin and perhaps the ultimate culmination of the Ra's al Ghul quest made famous by Christopher Nolan's films, which may be his most lasting contribution to the franchise.
Yet what most fans will probably say is Morrison's biggest story is his version of the traditional "death and return arc," last attempted with the "Knightfall" saga that was featured in Nolan's conclusion, The Dark Knight Rises. This story involves Final Crisis, in which Batman is zapped by the omega beams of Darkseid, but is depicted in its full arc in "Batman R.I.P.," which now reads like Morrison's version of Nolan's vision.
The collection of the story includes Batman #s 676-683 as well as key material from DC Universe #0, all released the same year as Nolan's The Dark Knight, which depicted a psychological duel between Batman and the Joker, memorably portrayed by the late Heath Ledger. Morrison had earlier made his initial mark on the franchise with Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth, which was released at the same time as Tim Burton's Batman.
"Batman R.I.P." is the conclusion of Morrison's Black Glove arc, featuring a conspiracy that attempted to reconcile the most bizarre elements of the franchise, mostly 1950s tales that heavily employed sci-fi elements into the Dark Knight's adventures. The key piece of the puzzle is Batman's embrace of Zur-En-Arrh as a psychic defense, a fail-safe mental default state that allows Batman to still function in the case that Bruce Wayne has been compromised, originally suggested by a trip to an alien world with its own Batman.
The Black Glove is run by Doctor Hurt, who masquerades as Batman's dead father, Thomas Wayne, who has set an elaborate plot that everything but Batman believes is a paranoid delusion he refers to as the Black Casebook, a file he's kept throughout his career detailing his most bizarre experiences, Morrison's record of the tales previous creators told and he's cleverly reclaimed. Most of "R.I.P." is Batman outsmarting even this, what's supposed to be the ultimate test, because he's prepared for everything, pushed himself to the limits of endurance, and threatened to push his closest allies away.
I say that it's Morrison's version of Nolan's films because it may help to keep one in mind while you consider the other. Morrison famously lets his readers fill in some of the gaps he glosses over as he builds his labyrinthine epics, and his Batman tales are perhaps his most labyrinthine yet. The "R.I.P." collection does not include sequences directly from Final Crisis, nor crucial explanatory issues later reprinted in another volume (Batman #s 701-702).
Perhaps most intriguingly, it's a Joker tale in which the Joker is not strictly the center of the story. With Scott Snyder's "Death of the Family" bringing the character back into the spotlight, the Joker is at his most relevant since Ledger's iconic performance. Morrison's Arkham Asylum featured a lot of Batman's foes, but central to it was the Joker assuming ringleader status and engaging the Dark Knight in a battle of wits. "R.I.P." recasts Joker as a pawn of Doctor Hurt, and so far as Hurt is concerned, everything works out perfectly, even when Joker inevitably rebels from his role. Morrison had done some cosmetic alterations of his own to the Joker, including etching a permanent grin on his face and leaving a bullet hole between his eyes. In the DC Universe excerpt, Joker and Batman share another conversation. How do you talk with someone like the Joker? Carefully. His words follow their own logic. Batman's biggest challenge has always been to follow that logic. In a sense, Morrison admits that most of Batman's experience in "R.I.P" is derived from those efforts.
Yes, it's a little curious that the writer is ending his saga with al Ghul's legacy rather than the Joker, given this. Imagine Grant Morrison telling his version of the ultimate Joker story. It would not be hard to imagine it becoming the definitive Joker story, over and above even Alan Moore's classic Killing Joke.
And yet that's the joke of "R.I.P." It features a villain who believes they can do what the Joker has never done. Batman is always looking for a pattern. He admits that he hates doing that. He hates having to interpret psychopaths. And yet because of the Joker, he's had to do exactly that. And that's the thing Doctor Hurt didn't count on, even the goons that kidnap Batman directly after his apparent death. In Nolan's Dark Knight Rises, Batman fakes his death to lead an ordinary life. In "R.I.P.," Batman's apparent death leads to an extended absence of an entirely different kind. Both lead to important new phases of Batman's life. In Dark Knight Rises, it's retirement. In Morrison's saga, it's the realization that he has always had allies. His mission is not his own. He is not alone.
That's Batman Incorporated, however. We're discussing "R.I.P." How does it still stand as the linchpin of Morrison's vision? Can you read it in the same way you can read "Knightfall" today? Well, even "Knightfall" requires three omnibus volumes to read the whole story. There are three acts to follow: Bane breaking the Bat, the new Bat, and the return of the original. "R.I.P." stands as a testament all its own. Sure, the story doesn't end in this collection. You would need to read at least The Return of Bruce Wayne to see where Batman went after Final Crisis, and how he came back. The last issues in the "R.I.P." collection suggest where the story goes, and further emphasizes the conditioning that helped Batman survive Hurt. Part of it serves as a character study that can be enjoyed outside of either "R.I.P." or Crisis, so that's something of an independent story itself.
With Nolan's Batman, the whole saga is spelled out. In Morrison's, it helps to be a fan, but even in "R.I.P.," even if you don't know who Bat-Mite is, you will still end up appreciating that a flesh-and-blood man has gone to extraordinary lengths to achieve perfection in a quest to avenge the death of his parents and overcome every manner of obstacle set in his path. There are certain parallels to "Knightfall" inherent in a story like this, but Morrison is uniquely qualified to fully illustrate what makes Bruce Wayne Batman, and "R.I.P." is his definitive statement.
Yet what most fans will probably say is Morrison's biggest story is his version of the traditional "death and return arc," last attempted with the "Knightfall" saga that was featured in Nolan's conclusion, The Dark Knight Rises. This story involves Final Crisis, in which Batman is zapped by the omega beams of Darkseid, but is depicted in its full arc in "Batman R.I.P.," which now reads like Morrison's version of Nolan's vision.
The collection of the story includes Batman #s 676-683 as well as key material from DC Universe #0, all released the same year as Nolan's The Dark Knight, which depicted a psychological duel between Batman and the Joker, memorably portrayed by the late Heath Ledger. Morrison had earlier made his initial mark on the franchise with Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth, which was released at the same time as Tim Burton's Batman.
"Batman R.I.P." is the conclusion of Morrison's Black Glove arc, featuring a conspiracy that attempted to reconcile the most bizarre elements of the franchise, mostly 1950s tales that heavily employed sci-fi elements into the Dark Knight's adventures. The key piece of the puzzle is Batman's embrace of Zur-En-Arrh as a psychic defense, a fail-safe mental default state that allows Batman to still function in the case that Bruce Wayne has been compromised, originally suggested by a trip to an alien world with its own Batman.
The Black Glove is run by Doctor Hurt, who masquerades as Batman's dead father, Thomas Wayne, who has set an elaborate plot that everything but Batman believes is a paranoid delusion he refers to as the Black Casebook, a file he's kept throughout his career detailing his most bizarre experiences, Morrison's record of the tales previous creators told and he's cleverly reclaimed. Most of "R.I.P." is Batman outsmarting even this, what's supposed to be the ultimate test, because he's prepared for everything, pushed himself to the limits of endurance, and threatened to push his closest allies away.
I say that it's Morrison's version of Nolan's films because it may help to keep one in mind while you consider the other. Morrison famously lets his readers fill in some of the gaps he glosses over as he builds his labyrinthine epics, and his Batman tales are perhaps his most labyrinthine yet. The "R.I.P." collection does not include sequences directly from Final Crisis, nor crucial explanatory issues later reprinted in another volume (Batman #s 701-702).
Perhaps most intriguingly, it's a Joker tale in which the Joker is not strictly the center of the story. With Scott Snyder's "Death of the Family" bringing the character back into the spotlight, the Joker is at his most relevant since Ledger's iconic performance. Morrison's Arkham Asylum featured a lot of Batman's foes, but central to it was the Joker assuming ringleader status and engaging the Dark Knight in a battle of wits. "R.I.P." recasts Joker as a pawn of Doctor Hurt, and so far as Hurt is concerned, everything works out perfectly, even when Joker inevitably rebels from his role. Morrison had done some cosmetic alterations of his own to the Joker, including etching a permanent grin on his face and leaving a bullet hole between his eyes. In the DC Universe excerpt, Joker and Batman share another conversation. How do you talk with someone like the Joker? Carefully. His words follow their own logic. Batman's biggest challenge has always been to follow that logic. In a sense, Morrison admits that most of Batman's experience in "R.I.P" is derived from those efforts.
Yes, it's a little curious that the writer is ending his saga with al Ghul's legacy rather than the Joker, given this. Imagine Grant Morrison telling his version of the ultimate Joker story. It would not be hard to imagine it becoming the definitive Joker story, over and above even Alan Moore's classic Killing Joke.
And yet that's the joke of "R.I.P." It features a villain who believes they can do what the Joker has never done. Batman is always looking for a pattern. He admits that he hates doing that. He hates having to interpret psychopaths. And yet because of the Joker, he's had to do exactly that. And that's the thing Doctor Hurt didn't count on, even the goons that kidnap Batman directly after his apparent death. In Nolan's Dark Knight Rises, Batman fakes his death to lead an ordinary life. In "R.I.P.," Batman's apparent death leads to an extended absence of an entirely different kind. Both lead to important new phases of Batman's life. In Dark Knight Rises, it's retirement. In Morrison's saga, it's the realization that he has always had allies. His mission is not his own. He is not alone.
That's Batman Incorporated, however. We're discussing "R.I.P." How does it still stand as the linchpin of Morrison's vision? Can you read it in the same way you can read "Knightfall" today? Well, even "Knightfall" requires three omnibus volumes to read the whole story. There are three acts to follow: Bane breaking the Bat, the new Bat, and the return of the original. "R.I.P." stands as a testament all its own. Sure, the story doesn't end in this collection. You would need to read at least The Return of Bruce Wayne to see where Batman went after Final Crisis, and how he came back. The last issues in the "R.I.P." collection suggest where the story goes, and further emphasizes the conditioning that helped Batman survive Hurt. Part of it serves as a character study that can be enjoyed outside of either "R.I.P." or Crisis, so that's something of an independent story itself.
With Nolan's Batman, the whole saga is spelled out. In Morrison's, it helps to be a fan, but even in "R.I.P.," even if you don't know who Bat-Mite is, you will still end up appreciating that a flesh-and-blood man has gone to extraordinary lengths to achieve perfection in a quest to avenge the death of his parents and overcome every manner of obstacle set in his path. There are certain parallels to "Knightfall" inherent in a story like this, but Morrison is uniquely qualified to fully illustrate what makes Bruce Wayne Batman, and "R.I.P." is his definitive statement.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Reading Comics #77 "Dinosaurs vs. Aliens"
Remember that underwater scene in Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, where Jar Jar Binks is distracting Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn as they try to make their way to the Naboo capital, running into a series of giant sea monsters?
What I'm referring to is the parade of sea monsters. In DVD commentary it's explained in detail, the motivations and details that might not have been apparent while most the of the audience was busy being annoyed by Jar Jar. Perhaps the most famous element from the sequence is Qui-Gon explaining that "there's always a bigger fish."
I call this image to mind because it's pertinent to Grant Morrison's new graphic novel, Dinosaurs vs. Aliens, produced in conjunction with Liquid Comics and Dynamite Entertainment (the same publishing scheme that made 18 Days possible two years ago). DvA is a potential film from director Barry Sonnenfeld (perhaps best known for the Men in Black trilogy).
Like 18 Days (which was to be the first phase of a potential screen epic, in that instance an animated series), DvA is illustrated by visionary artist Mukesh Singh, whose work is greatly enhanced by vivid coloring.
Morrison has history imagining the inner lives of terrestrial characters other than humans in We3, which looked at the aftereffects of a military program that turned a cat, dog, and rabbit into commando warriors who subsequently broke from their training and succeeded in returning back into the ordinary world. DvA is very much the reverse of that arc. This graphic novel represents only the opening salvo of aliens on the verge of extinction coming to Earth and discovering dinosaurs waiting for them. As humans have ever since digging up their bones, the aliens expect dinosaurs to be dumb and easily wiped out.
But Morrison's dinosaurs are clever, and have their own culture. They will not be so easy to eliminate.
The story in the volume unfolds as the aliens approach the planet, relating their tale in hindsight, thereby making it clear that they will meet their match later on. Most of the words in the volume are in narrative caption, though dialogue creeps up eventually. The dinosaurs, naturally, are silent except for animal sounds, but it's Singh's task to illustrate Morrison's version of that Phantom Menace sequence, drawing the reader into a world where the inner lives of beasts are explored in the context of their lives.
The dinosaurs in DvA are garbed in primitive decorations, and that's the first and most startling evidence that they're more sophisticated than most estimations allow. Dinosaurs have been a cultural fascination for decades, with Jurassic Park representing the high point of that interest. In recent years, as more examinations have modified classifications and some facts have shifted around, it's almost been like when Pluto was declared to no longer be a planet: something was lost along the way. As we've come to know them better, they've become less exotic.
Morrison clearly has retained his fascination. Included in the back end of the volume along with sketches from Singh are excerpts from the script, and Morrison's continued interest is clear. Dinosaurs fit perfectly with his ability to grasp complicated systems, which has been demonstrated in his Batman work, The Invisibles, Seven Soldiers of Victory, and other comics.
In an introduction, Morrison admits a favorable impression of Sonnenfeld's Wild Wild West, which is otherwise classified as one of Will Smith's few outright failures, a movie that quickly became a punchline. Yet it is also an imaginative wonder, and that's the kind of thing that Morrison will always enjoy.
You can easily enjoy this on its own terms, or as a possible prelude to a future movie blockbuster.
What I'm referring to is the parade of sea monsters. In DVD commentary it's explained in detail, the motivations and details that might not have been apparent while most the of the audience was busy being annoyed by Jar Jar. Perhaps the most famous element from the sequence is Qui-Gon explaining that "there's always a bigger fish."
I call this image to mind because it's pertinent to Grant Morrison's new graphic novel, Dinosaurs vs. Aliens, produced in conjunction with Liquid Comics and Dynamite Entertainment (the same publishing scheme that made 18 Days possible two years ago). DvA is a potential film from director Barry Sonnenfeld (perhaps best known for the Men in Black trilogy).
Like 18 Days (which was to be the first phase of a potential screen epic, in that instance an animated series), DvA is illustrated by visionary artist Mukesh Singh, whose work is greatly enhanced by vivid coloring.
Morrison has history imagining the inner lives of terrestrial characters other than humans in We3, which looked at the aftereffects of a military program that turned a cat, dog, and rabbit into commando warriors who subsequently broke from their training and succeeded in returning back into the ordinary world. DvA is very much the reverse of that arc. This graphic novel represents only the opening salvo of aliens on the verge of extinction coming to Earth and discovering dinosaurs waiting for them. As humans have ever since digging up their bones, the aliens expect dinosaurs to be dumb and easily wiped out.
But Morrison's dinosaurs are clever, and have their own culture. They will not be so easy to eliminate.
The story in the volume unfolds as the aliens approach the planet, relating their tale in hindsight, thereby making it clear that they will meet their match later on. Most of the words in the volume are in narrative caption, though dialogue creeps up eventually. The dinosaurs, naturally, are silent except for animal sounds, but it's Singh's task to illustrate Morrison's version of that Phantom Menace sequence, drawing the reader into a world where the inner lives of beasts are explored in the context of their lives.
The dinosaurs in DvA are garbed in primitive decorations, and that's the first and most startling evidence that they're more sophisticated than most estimations allow. Dinosaurs have been a cultural fascination for decades, with Jurassic Park representing the high point of that interest. In recent years, as more examinations have modified classifications and some facts have shifted around, it's almost been like when Pluto was declared to no longer be a planet: something was lost along the way. As we've come to know them better, they've become less exotic.
Morrison clearly has retained his fascination. Included in the back end of the volume along with sketches from Singh are excerpts from the script, and Morrison's continued interest is clear. Dinosaurs fit perfectly with his ability to grasp complicated systems, which has been demonstrated in his Batman work, The Invisibles, Seven Soldiers of Victory, and other comics.
In an introduction, Morrison admits a favorable impression of Sonnenfeld's Wild Wild West, which is otherwise classified as one of Will Smith's few outright failures, a movie that quickly became a punchline. Yet it is also an imaginative wonder, and that's the kind of thing that Morrison will always enjoy.
You can easily enjoy this on its own terms, or as a possible prelude to a future movie blockbuster.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Reading Comics #76 "Nightwing and the Color Red"
When Nightwing launched as an ongoing series in 1996 under the auspices of Chuck Dixon, it was immediately defined as much by the title character as the city of Bludhaven, which continued to define both until the latter became a smoking crater in 2006 thanks to the events of Infinite Crisis. Dick Grayson's life in this more corrupt neighbor of Gotham City was defined by the many colorful characters around him.
I enjoyed reading the series for years until it came time to leave comics behind in 1999. Some years later I came across a trade collection that more or less picked up where I'd left off, The Search for Oracle, in which Barbara Gordon and her Birds of Prey colleagues share time with the original Boy Wonder. A few months ago I coincidentally stumbled across the next volume in the collection, Big Guns, collecting issues originally published in 1999-2000: Nightwing #s 47-50, Nightwing 80-Page Giant, and material from Nightwing Secret Files & Origins.
From the beginning, Bludhaven's corruption was almost best understood in its police department. Chief Redhorn was no Commissioner Gordon. Inspector Dudley Soames got his head twisted around by Blockbuster and became the psychopath Torque. In this collection, Redhorn's on the lam and Torque is on the loose. Redhorn's successor is a fairly harmless man, but the new inspector, Mac Arnot, is classic scum. Unfortunately for both of them, Nightwing's biggest threats in this collection are nothing but bad news.
Let's talk about those threats for a minute. One of them is Sylph, the woman in red polymer scarves (which act in much the fashion of the cape in the short-lived TV series The Cape, highly adaptable for business). She's a woman trying to get revenge on the businessmen who drove her father to suicide. The other threat is Hella, a former cop trying to get revenge on the corrupt cops responsible for the death of her entire family. She has notable red hair.
In the New 52 comics, Dick's costume has red on it where there was once blue. This decision was recently described as making more sense to the color scheme of his Robin origins. Yet Dick Grayson's connection to the color red runs deeper. Donna Troy wore a red costume while they served in the Teen Titans together. Starfire of course has red hair, and to some fans she's still Dick's most famous romantic conquest (though their attempt at marriage was even more disastrous than the frog wedding in Lois & Clark). And of course, Barbara Gordon has red hair. (So does Batwoman, who was notably introduced opposite Nightwing in the pages of 52.)
Babs is still around in these pages, operating as Oracle, the source of all information in DC at the time. This was also the time in which Dick and Babs came closest to having a real romantic relationship. It was a giant tease that lasted for years but has mostly been forgotten since.
Dixon was a writer who could really get inside the heads of his characters, and know how to build a world around them. He proved it in Nightwing and Robin (and earlier this year in the Cobra annual; he currently writes IDW's ongoing G.I. Joe comic, but I spend my IDW time with Cobra, written by Mike Costa, who has managed to streamline Dixon's approach). With the introduction of Blockbuster as Nightwing's chief adversary, there were a lot of fans who drew parallels with Daredevil, defined by his adversarial relationship with Kingpin. In these pages Blockbuster is mostly a nonentity, recovering from a heart transplant (being a big guy has certain disadvantages), but he still manages to loom over the proceedings.
Another of the brilliant things Dixon did was make Dick Grayson a cop. This was an ambition that began well before the stories in this collection, but Big Guns sees his first official action operating from the other side of the law. Any further need to distinguish between Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne was certainly accomplished with this move. True, as eager as Dick is to function with a badge rather than his fists, he often abandons one for the other in order to get results.
In a lot of ways, that's just one of the reasons why Dixon's Nightwing was the original Gotham Central. Aside from the focus that had already been put on the police department, inserting Dick into the mix gives that much more of a look into some more ordinary law enforcement than is typical in a superhero comic.
Aside from the color scheme shared by Sylph and Hella, the fact that they're both female is another signature element of Dixon's run (shared by his successor Devin K. Grayson), to continue defining Nightwing by the women around him. This is atypical in comics. The closest, naturally, would be Daredevil, whose relationship with Elektra became legendary under the auspices of Frank Miller. A lot of Nightwing's foes were women, so it's no surprise that both of the ones in this collection are, too.
As I'd hoped, Big Guns serves as a wonderful reminder how excellent Chuck Dixon's Nightwing was.
I enjoyed reading the series for years until it came time to leave comics behind in 1999. Some years later I came across a trade collection that more or less picked up where I'd left off, The Search for Oracle, in which Barbara Gordon and her Birds of Prey colleagues share time with the original Boy Wonder. A few months ago I coincidentally stumbled across the next volume in the collection, Big Guns, collecting issues originally published in 1999-2000: Nightwing #s 47-50, Nightwing 80-Page Giant, and material from Nightwing Secret Files & Origins.
From the beginning, Bludhaven's corruption was almost best understood in its police department. Chief Redhorn was no Commissioner Gordon. Inspector Dudley Soames got his head twisted around by Blockbuster and became the psychopath Torque. In this collection, Redhorn's on the lam and Torque is on the loose. Redhorn's successor is a fairly harmless man, but the new inspector, Mac Arnot, is classic scum. Unfortunately for both of them, Nightwing's biggest threats in this collection are nothing but bad news.
Let's talk about those threats for a minute. One of them is Sylph, the woman in red polymer scarves (which act in much the fashion of the cape in the short-lived TV series The Cape, highly adaptable for business). She's a woman trying to get revenge on the businessmen who drove her father to suicide. The other threat is Hella, a former cop trying to get revenge on the corrupt cops responsible for the death of her entire family. She has notable red hair.
In the New 52 comics, Dick's costume has red on it where there was once blue. This decision was recently described as making more sense to the color scheme of his Robin origins. Yet Dick Grayson's connection to the color red runs deeper. Donna Troy wore a red costume while they served in the Teen Titans together. Starfire of course has red hair, and to some fans she's still Dick's most famous romantic conquest (though their attempt at marriage was even more disastrous than the frog wedding in Lois & Clark). And of course, Barbara Gordon has red hair. (So does Batwoman, who was notably introduced opposite Nightwing in the pages of 52.)
Babs is still around in these pages, operating as Oracle, the source of all information in DC at the time. This was also the time in which Dick and Babs came closest to having a real romantic relationship. It was a giant tease that lasted for years but has mostly been forgotten since.
Dixon was a writer who could really get inside the heads of his characters, and know how to build a world around them. He proved it in Nightwing and Robin (and earlier this year in the Cobra annual; he currently writes IDW's ongoing G.I. Joe comic, but I spend my IDW time with Cobra, written by Mike Costa, who has managed to streamline Dixon's approach). With the introduction of Blockbuster as Nightwing's chief adversary, there were a lot of fans who drew parallels with Daredevil, defined by his adversarial relationship with Kingpin. In these pages Blockbuster is mostly a nonentity, recovering from a heart transplant (being a big guy has certain disadvantages), but he still manages to loom over the proceedings.
Another of the brilliant things Dixon did was make Dick Grayson a cop. This was an ambition that began well before the stories in this collection, but Big Guns sees his first official action operating from the other side of the law. Any further need to distinguish between Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne was certainly accomplished with this move. True, as eager as Dick is to function with a badge rather than his fists, he often abandons one for the other in order to get results.
In a lot of ways, that's just one of the reasons why Dixon's Nightwing was the original Gotham Central. Aside from the focus that had already been put on the police department, inserting Dick into the mix gives that much more of a look into some more ordinary law enforcement than is typical in a superhero comic.
Aside from the color scheme shared by Sylph and Hella, the fact that they're both female is another signature element of Dixon's run (shared by his successor Devin K. Grayson), to continue defining Nightwing by the women around him. This is atypical in comics. The closest, naturally, would be Daredevil, whose relationship with Elektra became legendary under the auspices of Frank Miller. A lot of Nightwing's foes were women, so it's no surprise that both of the ones in this collection are, too.
As I'd hoped, Big Guns serves as a wonderful reminder how excellent Chuck Dixon's Nightwing was.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Reading Comics #75 "BlueSpear"
Andi Ewington's Forty-Five was one of the most innovative comics of the past few years. It's a graphic novel comprised of interviews with or concerning forty-five superheroes. BlueSpear is the followup that looks at one of the more notable characters from it. Helpfully, it reprints the original interview and uses it as a springboard for another evolving storyarc, something Ewington cleverly employed in the original interviews as well.
Ever since Superman appeared everyone has been creating their own superhero landscapes. While most companies try to create entire lines, some creators do it in a single story, with Kurt Busiek's Astro City perhaps the most notable example. Ewington's tapestry was unique in that it bucked most comic book conventions, and on its own could easily have stood as a landmark of the medium. He's since begun work on a trilogy of more conventional sequels, of which BlueSpear is the first.
BlueSpear himself is as much defined by his own emerging mythos as by his relationship with Akira Tomikawa, the brother of the boy who drowned in a fishing accident and emerged a superhero. Both the interview and the spotlight graphic novel heavily feature this aspect of the character's story. In fact, the original interview is taken with Akira, whose pathos is just one of the ways Ewington managed to evoke a realistic approach to the genre. In BlueSpear Ewington works alongside Eddie Deighton, one of the managing editors of publisher Com.x, a small British imprint, as well as artist Cosmo White (replacing original interview artist Calum Alexander Watt; another notable element of Forty-Five was that there were as many artists as subjects). White's work, beautifully enhanced by the pastel color scheme, is reminiscent of Jeff Smith, visionary creator of Bone and RASL.
Unlike with the interviews, this time a more identifiable story is necessary, and at first it's a little jarring to see this world expressed in more crass terms, but it quickly evens out over the course of forty pages (there are pin-ups that fill out the rest of the comic). BlueSpear, so named because he discovered, well, a blue spear at the bottom of Funakoshi Bay in Tokyo that forever altered his destiny, ripping apart a family and making him an instant celebrity. It also makes him a target for less savory individuals, who attempt to band together to steal the spear from him. They use Akira as bait, naturally.
BlueSpear himself remains elusive even by the end of the story, the true details of how and why he was chosen by his signature weapon. Whether additional volumes will focus on him or other creations from Forty-Five remains to be seen. The project itself remains an exhilarating example of how superheroes can be approached both on an epic and human scale.
Ever since Superman appeared everyone has been creating their own superhero landscapes. While most companies try to create entire lines, some creators do it in a single story, with Kurt Busiek's Astro City perhaps the most notable example. Ewington's tapestry was unique in that it bucked most comic book conventions, and on its own could easily have stood as a landmark of the medium. He's since begun work on a trilogy of more conventional sequels, of which BlueSpear is the first.
BlueSpear himself is as much defined by his own emerging mythos as by his relationship with Akira Tomikawa, the brother of the boy who drowned in a fishing accident and emerged a superhero. Both the interview and the spotlight graphic novel heavily feature this aspect of the character's story. In fact, the original interview is taken with Akira, whose pathos is just one of the ways Ewington managed to evoke a realistic approach to the genre. In BlueSpear Ewington works alongside Eddie Deighton, one of the managing editors of publisher Com.x, a small British imprint, as well as artist Cosmo White (replacing original interview artist Calum Alexander Watt; another notable element of Forty-Five was that there were as many artists as subjects). White's work, beautifully enhanced by the pastel color scheme, is reminiscent of Jeff Smith, visionary creator of Bone and RASL.
Unlike with the interviews, this time a more identifiable story is necessary, and at first it's a little jarring to see this world expressed in more crass terms, but it quickly evens out over the course of forty pages (there are pin-ups that fill out the rest of the comic). BlueSpear, so named because he discovered, well, a blue spear at the bottom of Funakoshi Bay in Tokyo that forever altered his destiny, ripping apart a family and making him an instant celebrity. It also makes him a target for less savory individuals, who attempt to band together to steal the spear from him. They use Akira as bait, naturally.
BlueSpear himself remains elusive even by the end of the story, the true details of how and why he was chosen by his signature weapon. Whether additional volumes will focus on him or other creations from Forty-Five remains to be seen. The project itself remains an exhilarating example of how superheroes can be approached both on an epic and human scale.
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