Miscellaneous (non-Superhero) - Page 1

Adam Strange: The Man of Two World 2003 (SC TPB) 160 pages

Written by Richard Bruning. Illustrated by Andy Kubert.
Colour: Adam Kubert. Letters: Todd Klein. Editor: Mike Carlin.

Reprinting: The three issue prestige format mini-series, Adam Strange (1990)

Rating: * * (out of 5)

Number of readings: 1

Mildly suggested for mature readers

Additional notes: intro by the author

Published by DC Comics

In the 1950s and 1960s, Adam Strange appeared in DC Comics' science fiction comic, Mystery in Space. A throwback to pulp and comic strip heroes such as Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers, Adam was an earthman transported to the planet Rann -- a world of scientific marvels...and plenty of menaces such as monsters, giant robots, and would be conquerers that he tackled with his wits, a rocket pack, a spiffy red spaceman's suit, and his beautiful Rannian wife, Alannah, at his side.

But Adam's popularity waned and he was reduced to an occasional guest star status in other comics (appearances few and far between since he did, after all, have his adventures on a distant planet).

In 1990, with DC in the midst of its, at times, indiscriminate re-writing and re-working of its characters, came this attempt to re-ignite the character.

Adam, whose visits to Rann are only temporary (he gets zapped by a Rannian sent Zeta Beam which transports him to Rann, but only until the energy wears off, then he reappears back on earth) is told that a new beam will whisk him to Rann, permanently. He returns to earth one last time, to set his things in order, and to visit his ailing father in hospital. Meanwhile, trouble is brewing on Rann. Seems the planet isn't quite the idyllic world it appears. There's social strife, people bitter at the undemocratic ruling council that is comprised of clones of, and answerable to, Sardath (Alannah's seeming nice guy father). Trouble ensues, things blow up, Adam spends time as a fugitive and, by the end, a considerable amount of the basic premise of the series is altered.

There are two ways to write a story -- character-driven (where plot and actions are secondary to the personalities) and story-driven (where the action-adventure of the plot is paramount). Here writer Richard Bruning seems to be trying a third style: attitude-driven. This was during the dark n' gritty phase comics went through in the late '80s/early '90s (a phase that has become increasingly mocked...even by its chief practitioners). Indeed, this three part, prestige format, slightly mature readers mini-series followed on the heels of Mike Grell's commercially successful three part, prestige format, mature readers mini-series Green Arrow: The Longbow Hunters, which was a gritty re-invention of Green Arrow wherein, like Adam, even his costume was changed. Bruning seems to have gone into this, less with a vision of character, or of plot, and more with a vision of making his mark by kicking the franchise in the teeth and seeing what got spat out.

For example, Adam goes temporarily insane in one scene, a plot device leading to his becoming a fugitive. But why does his madness manifest in violence? How does it stem logically from the character and the situation? If he's going to go temporarily crazy, why doesn't he, I don't know, don a dress and think he's Eleanor Roosevelt? The answer, I guess, is just that that wouldn't be gritty n' edgy. And that seems to be so much at the heart of the changes Bruning envisions...that they stem not from a logical extrapolation of the characters and the established reality, but from a desire to prove how gritty the book can be.

The underlining concept (at least, what may be an underlining concept) is that Adam doesn't really know his adopted world half as well as he thinks he does -- and it could be interesting. But too much of it seems to come out of nowhere (not that I'm enough of an expert on Adam Strange that I can say that with impunity). Adam was the so-called Champion of Rann...yet in Bruning's version, no one except Alannah and Sardath seems to even like the guy, let alone regard him as their champion. Much of their animosity stems for old fashioned bigotry (Adam being an alien). But, come on, don't you think Adam would've had some inkling of that if true? For that matter, wouldn't you realistically expect public opinion to be, at least, divided, with Adam still having some supporters?

Bruning seems to follow the lead established by Alan Moore in the seminal revisionist super hero saga, The Watchmen, of regarding old fashioned heroes with a kind of contempt. Here, Adam is portrayed as kind of pathetic, whose Rannian adventures are simply an adolescent fantasy made flesh, where Adam, as everything falls apart, childishly rants "this is the place where I'm the hero and everyone respects me" while on earth he shucks his responsibilities to his ailing father and his sister and cheats on Alannah. Adam barely seems like the protagonist, let alone the hero (in the middle book, he only appears on about 13 of 46 pages!) -- he's ineffectual, not accomplishing anything. If Adam had been removed from the story entirely after the first book, things probably would've transpired exactly the same way! Instead, much of the story concerns various Rannian characters and an earth lady doctor who, inadvertently, follows Adam to Rann. All that might be forgiven if Bruning had woven a complex saga of twists and turns and machinations, peopled by subtly shaded supporting characters. And, to be fair, he's trying. He just doesn't succeed all that well.

Again, it's because it seems as though the attitude is driving the story and characters, rather than the other way around.

And because Bruning focuses on brooding character introspection (not that I felt he realized his characters especially well) and political machinations, it means that the book doesn't even function on the basic level of the original series...as an adventure.

The art is by Andy Kubert, an artist with a style reminiscent of his dad, Joe Kubert. At first blush, it's a good choice, because Joe Kubert's scratchy, brooding art is associated with 1960s DC characters like Hawkman...but Adam Strange was the purview of Carmine Infantino, who lent a brighter, more clean- cut look to the series. Andy Kubert's art is brooding and atmospheric, but maybe Bruning's re-invention of the series would've resonated better if contrasted with bright art and clean lines. Still, the art is certainly decent enough.

Ultimately, The Man of Two Worlds seems too much like someone decided to shake up the character...precisely because no one at DC cared about him (making the dedication at the end seeming a touch insincere). And all they succeeded in doing is stripping the character and the comic of the things that made him interesting (if only as a nostalgic icon) and replacing it with, well, very little. And the experiment was, one assumes, pretty much a failure, as there was no follow up monthly series, and Strange's occasional appearances since this mini-series have generally ignored it (often being retroactive appearances, set before this mini-series). Nor does it entirely succeed as just a stand alone, sci-fi saga since, as noted, the heroes accomplish very little. It feels too much like the main point is simply to set it up for a new series...a series that, then, never materialized.

The most curious question is why DC Comics decided to collect it as a TPB now...some 13 years after it first saw print? (Though I think it might be because DC was starting up a new Adam Strange monthly comic).

This is a review of the story as it was originally serialized in the mini-series.

Cover price: $__ CDN./ $19.95 USA

Alias: Come Home 2003 (SC TPB) 128 pages

Written by Brian Michael Bendis. Illustrated by Michael Gaydos.

Colours: Matt Hollingsworth. Letters: Richard Starkings, Jason Levine, Wes Abbott. Editor: Stuart Moore.

Reprinting: Alias #11-15 (2002)

Rating: * * 1/2 (out of 5)

Number of readings: 1

Recommended for mature readers

Published by Marvel Comics

Alias was a comic book series about a female private eye that had no connection to the TV series about the female spy (how two projects ended up with the same title almost simultaneously, I dunno). Though a "mature readers" comic, with plenty of cussing and adult subject matter (though no nudity or anything, at least not in this volume), it's also squarely set in the familiar Marvel universe, and the heroine, Jessica Jones, is an ex-super hero, now working as a plain clothes private eye. I say that up front, because I had assumed the series was just a regular private eye saga, isolated from Marvel's regular continuity. So it's a bit jarring when characters start talking about mutants and super-heroes, and characters refer cryptically to Jessica's "powers" (though they aren't manifested in these issues). I had then thought she was some old super hero, dusted off for this new series -- but apparently not, she was created for this comic (though there was some suggestion, when Bendis came up with the idea, it was going to be about Jessica Drew/Spider-Woman).

Anyway, this -- the second TPB collection (I think the whole series has been collected as TPBs) -- involves a four part story where Jessica comes to a small town, hired to find a missing teenage girl, and a final, character focused issue.

Among other things, Bendis has had an acclaimed run on Daredevil -- a couple of story arcs of which I was underwhelmed by. Bendis seems very much to be at the forefront of the "decompression" movement in modern comics (as I've heard it called) where stories are stttrrrretched out and the pacing sloooowwed down, and stories that once might've taken an issue now can take five or six. Theoretically it's too make for better, richer, more sophisticated and subtle stories...cynically, one could also argue it's because the writers are eyeing the TPB collection down the line and, frankly, it can be easier, as the writer has to come up with fewer ideas per month.

Alias is very much of the decompression school, where the story creeps along, and conversations get stretched out over a series of pages. One kind of gets the impressions Bendis is probably a big fan of scriptwriters like David Mamet and Aaron Sorkin, because his style of dialogue goes for the same style of lots of rapid fire repetition and half-formed, interrupted sentences. It's a style that can work when actors say it (and can also fall flat), but can be more problematic in a comic. It can seem a tad too...self-conscious, at times. It's supposed to be "real", but can seem as transparently mannered as any comic booky "Take that, you vile villain you!" In a way, there can be a feeling that Bendis is more concerned with how his characters talk than what they're saying. There's the old adage that "less can be more" and one can't help thinking Bendis could learn from that.

As the story unfolds, Jessica discovers there was a rumour the missing girl was a mutant, and learns the local priest preaches anti-mutant sermons. In other words, she discovers there's a dark underbelly to this idyllic small town. But it's not like it's a particularly novel concept -- a small town with a bigoted heart? Who'd a thunk it? And that's where Bendis' style becomes problematic, because one suspects he wants his story to be as much a portrait of the town as anything, but for me the long, oh-so clever conversations kind of undermined the immediacy, the reality of the story -- the humanity -- when it is, I assume, supposed to enhance it. We actually get surprisingly little portrait of the town as a whole.

And the story itself is a bit of a shaggy dog story -- and Bendis doesn't even try to hide it, as the issues trundle by and we realize we aren't really being offered any concrete clues, or potential suspects. In fact, when Jessica finally gets the crucial information -- it's from a character that I'm not sure had appeared before, and where it's unclear why Jessica thought he knew anything! Again, it's as if Bendis is so concerned with his style, his scenes, he has little interest in the greater whole of plot development.

Now, with all those negatives, I don't want to be too harsh. I have mixed feelings about Bendis' dialogue -- but mixed means it's not all bad. There can be some cute exchanges, and there can be a kind of hypnotic rhythm to it all. And there can be an effectiveness here and there. But, again, I say: less is more.

Michael Gaydos' art is also mixed. On one hand, I like it, with its kind of broody, scratchy realism, nicely suited to this story that is meant to be realist (super hero background notwithstanding). I'm guessing Gaydos uses photo references for his characters and wonder if he might even use celebrities -- Jessica herself reminds me a bit of Janis Joplin, while a local sheriff she meets is reminiscent of actor Luke Wilson. But Gaydos' art also reflects a trend that also is part of the decompression movement -- where an artist will literally reuse the same picture over again.

Nothing perhaps draws attention to an inherent lack of drama to some of Bendis' dialogue than the fact that Gaydos will simply re-cycle the same reaction shot over and over (and over!) again, indicating he didn't feel there was anything in the dialogue that warranted a new picture. Sometimes he'll doctor an image -- close a character's eyes, move a hand -- which just reminded me of old cheapo Saturday morning cartoons where they'd just repeat the same image over and over again to save costs. In one such long conversation, Jessica refers to her facial expression...but it's actually the same expression she had throughout the scene!

Obviously a big part of the series is the character development of Jessica, who's a bit of an emotional wreck and given to bouts of heavy drinking and one night stands. Of course, read on its own, it's hard to really get too much into those scenes, because it's not always clear where it's come from or where it's going. And can be kind of confusingly oblique. At one point, Jessica has a drunken dream of a super heroine (herself?) flying with Thor -- but I wasn't sure what it meant or why. In another scene she starts talking to herself in a mirror in the third person, and I wasn't sure if it was supposed to be literal (that there really was another presence there) or what.

The final issue is pure character stuff, as it amounts to just two scenes and two conversations -- that's it, that's all it is, two eleven page conversations. It's not that I can't appreciate the notion of trying such a thing, but it's basically conversations within the greater character arc, and not really a well-structured sequence of its own (ala Cerebus #36). Again, it's a mixed bag -- it can be kind of funny, and clever (and profane)...and it can also be rather long-winded and repetitive.

What's funny about making Jessica a part of the Marvel universe is it's an awkward relationship. Bendis ties this into the Daredevil stories he was writing at the time (there's even a brief scene that we see here and in a Daredevil comic, though from different perspectives). On one hand it can make for an amusingly multi-levelled scene -- on the other hand, should Marvel really be intricately tying together a mainstream series like Daredevil with this "mature readers" series? (Not that you really need to read the other to follow the story). And the characters behave differently in the different formats (in Alias, they swear a lot more!)

This is particularly awkward with Luke Cage, Power Man, with whom Jessica had a tryst. Is the Luke Cage here really talking and acting the way the Luke Cage in those old "Comics Code Approved" comics acted?

It's perhaps ironic that when "serious" writers tackle Batman, they fall all over themselves trying to explain why he is the way he is. But give them a black man who lives in Harlem but doesn't cuss like a rap star and sleep with dozens of women and apparently they just can't understand the character, so simply jettison that characterization in favour of what they think a "real" black man should be like. Hmm. Go figure.

Ultimately, for all my criticisms, there can be an appeal to the series -- in a way. A modest level of interest in the character. But the plotting itself seems a bit thin, and style more self-indulgent than servicing the story.

This is a reciew of the story as it was originally serialized in Alias comics.

Cover price: $ __ CDN./ $13.95 US.

Written by Roy Thomas. Illustrated and painted by Tim Conrad.
Letters: unbilled.

Reprinting the material originally serialized Marvel Comics' Epic Illustrated magazine #2-5 (1982)

Rating: * * * * (out of 5)

Number of readings: 2

Published by Dark Horse

This is an adaptation of the only science fiction novel by Robert E. Howard, who is best remembered as the creator of Conan the Barbarian. Of course, this isn't "SF" in the Star Trek-vein of flashy spaceships and laser guns, but the SF/fantasy hybrid popularized decades ago by Edgar Rice Burroughs and others, where the idiom owes a lot to barbarian fantasy, with swordplay and the like, but set on an alien world where any underlying principle is based in pseudo-science rather than mysticism.

The story has Esau Cairn, a big brawler born "outside his epoch", transplanted from 20th Century earth to barbaric Almuric, where he does the usual sort of Burroughsian things: fights barbarians and monsters, wins friends, meets a gal, rescues said gal and battles the evil overlords of the planet, the winged men called Yagas.

It's a lot of fun if you like that sort of thing. Particularly as Almuric, unlike Howard's other works, isn't as frequently re-issued by publishers, so the story is unlikely to be that familiar. If you grew up reading Edgar Rice Burroughs, this definitely will strike a nostalgic chord somewhere inside you. Even if you didn't, it's fast-paced and entertaining...with apropriately modernized sensibilities. In Howard's original novel, the evil Yagas have dark skins, while good guy characters are white, suggesting an unfortunate racist subtext; here, Thomas and Conrad quietly eliminate that troubling aspect of Howard's original by simply giving all the inhabitants of Almuric -- good and bad -- dark skins (save Esau, who remains white).

I first read this years ago, when it was originally serialized in Marvel's Epic Illustrated, an anthology magazine mixing black & white and painted colour stories. I wasn't sure how I'd react re-reading Almuric all these years later, particularly now that multi-tone colouring, even painted colour, is not uncommon in comics.

Well, the art holds up very well. Tim Conrad uses ink lines to define the figures, but then colours everything in with rich, vibrant paints. He has a remarkable technique for creating a real 3-D effect that boldly carves out the figures and their landscape and literally makes the action leap off the page. Almost twenty years later, and Conrad's painted art here still stands among the best I've ever seen in a comic. And there are single and double-page spreads that are breathtaking.

His actual figure work is more uneven in spots, his style leaning towards squat, even distorted people in spots. But overall, the work is beautiful, whisking the reader away to this sultry, sunny, alien environment.

An old hand at adapting Howard, Roy Thomas' script is well-paced, capturing most of the essences of the novel, even as he trims and condenses in spots -- and the novel was pretty tight to begin with. As such there are spots where there's a feeling stuff is missing, where allusions are made to things that haven't actually been depicted. A scene where the heroine, Altha, speaks poetically of bruising herself on "life's rough edges" reads a little more logically in the original, unabridged text. Still, unlike a Hollywood movie, comicbook writers like Thomas tend to be respectful of their material...this remains faithful to the source novel.

Since Epic was billed as "adult" fantasy, there were a couple of token nods to that in this adaptation, with a bare breast in a panel or two, and one or two bits of profanity that definitely weren't in Howard's 1930s written manuscript. But, overall, there's a feeling Thomas and Conrad only threw those in half-heartedly as an editorial concession, and it only barely warrants a "mature readers" notation.

Dark Horse also published Robert E. Howard's Ironhand of Almuric, a four issue mini-series continuing the adventures of Esau Cairn (nicknamed Iron-Hand on Almuric), written by Thomas with Conrad providing the covers, but not the interior art.

This is a review of the story as it was originally serialized in Epic Illustrated

Cover price: $__CDN./ $10.95 USA.

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