GRAPHIC NOVEL and TRADE PAPERBACK (TPB) REVIEWS

Camelot 3000 199_ (SC TPB) 312 pages.

Written by Mike W. Barr. Pencils by Brian Bolland. Inks by Bruce Patterson, Terry Austin.
Colours: Tatjana Wood. Letters: John Constanza. Editor: Len Wein.

Reprinting: Camelot 3000 #1-12 (1982-1983 maxi-series)

Rating: * * (out of 5)

Number of readings: 1

Published by DC Comics

Suggested (mildly) for mature readers.

The King Arthur legends often end with the notion that Arthur will some day return, being the so-called "once and future king". Camelot 3000 runs with that notion (something which, apparently, few writers have done, though it seems obvious enough) by imagining a sequel to the traditional Arthur stories.

It's set a thousand years hence in a high tech future that is under siege from an alien invasion fleet. Into this reality Arthur is resurrected by a youthful archaeologist, Tom. Merlin follows suit and the rest of Arthur's knights are re-assembled. Unlike Arthur and Merlin, though, these are re-incarnations of the original characters, whose suppressed memories of their past lives are revived by magic. This leads to particular complications for Sir Tristan, who finds himself in a woman's body. Ostensibly King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table have returned to thwart the invasion, led, as we soon learn, by Arthur's old nemesis, Morgan Le Fay. But that often takes a back seat to other conflicts, such as a revival of the Arthur-Guinevere-Lancelot love triangle.

Camelot 3000 is a grand idea, and I was curious about it ever since seeing the adds for it in my youth (a coolly anachronistic image of the sword Excalibur rising out of what looked to be a power plant's water supply). Mike Barr, in the editorials that accompanied the original maxi-series, claimed this was an idea he had been working on for years -- even before he started working for DCC Comics. I've noted before (with Batman: Year Two) that Barr can be an ambitious writer...but that he often isn't able to mould his big ideas into a satisfactory whole.

Barr seems so enthusiastic about conjuring the Arthurian mythos that it almost seems to get in the way of this story. Theoretically, the story is about fighting off an alien invasion. The saga begins effectively enough, with England being strafed by space ships and descriptions of refugees fleeing to France. But then Barr kind of sidelines that whole concept for much of the series.

References are made to the invasion, but little is seen. Arthur has a few battles with aliens throughout...but usually only when the aliens attack him at his orbiting satellite, New Camelot. In other words, Arthur and his knights do almost nothing to protect earth throughout most of the series -- which was surely why they've returned! What makes this most glaring is that Arthur's return inspires a populist ground swell clamouring for Arthur to lead earth. This doesn't sit well with many of earth's corrupt leaders (modelled after 1983 geo-politics, including a still thriving Soviet Union). But it seems wholly implausible. Arthur had barely appeared in public, let alone done anything, to warrant such a reaction. His main public act was to draw Excalibur from a stone on global TV -- a scene Barr intends to be dramatic and moving, not just for his characters, but for the reader. But since it's so obviously staged (even within the story, that is) it's more likely to alienate the public with its obvious grand standing than endear Arthur to them. Well, another act Arthur "performs" is to break the neck of one of the government's soldiers, which elicits cheers and grins from spectators -- a scene which Barr clearly means to be inspiring, but is really just unsettling. Bread and Circuses anyone?

As such, what's missing from the saga is an underpinning of plausibility. It's hard to believe in the world, or the people. Even the logic is inconsistent. In the first chapter, England is being systematically destroyed by aliens, and one character remarks they aren't taking prisoners. Yet later in the series, characters seem to be able to go to and from England, and the population seems largely unharmed, even permitted to make holy pilgrimages, with the aliens acting more as occupiers than exterminators.

With the overall narrative a bit ill-defined and under-utilized, what's left is the characters caught up in their personal foibles and machinations. This clearly is what Barr loves best, playing with these ancient icons. But even here I wasn't overly impressed. Barr's Arthur isn't the thoughtful, brooding king (some) interpretations paint him as, but more like a cross between the comic book versions of the Mighty Thor and Conan the Barbarian. In fact all the characters are a bit over-pumped on the testosterone and not exactly ingratiating. Guinevere is toughened up from being a spoiled Queen, and turned into a fellow warrior -- it's a move that may make her more contemporary, but also rather bland and just like all the other characters. In fact, many characters are barely defined at all. Gawain wants to return to his family, and mutters as such every few scenes; Galahad, reborn as a Japanese soldier, mutters on about honour -- but that's it, really, as far as making them 3-D people. The characterization Barr is clearly most pleased with is the gender bending idea of Tristan as a woman, and bitter about it, so much so that he-she considers making a deal with villainess Morgan Le Fay. But even here, the thing just gets repetitive, as Barr hammers away at it incessantly.

Barr revives familiar ideas -- the Lancelot-Guinevere-Arthur thing, the quest for the Holy Grail (though, squeezed into a single issue, it's less a "Quest" than it is a Nip-Out-to-the-Corner-for-the-Grail) -- without really adding to them, or making them convincing, or even always integrating them into the narrative. The love triangle climaxes in bitterness...then is largely forgotten a few issues later. Likewise, the villains frame Arthur and his knights for a crime...but that plays no part in the ensuing events.

There are some interesting threads, ideas that would make nice sub-plots but, as noted, often they aren't sub-plots. They are the plot, and most just aren't that interesting, or convincingly fleshed out. The various villains plot treachery against each other, but since they all want the same thing -- Arthur dead -- it doesn't actually affect the plot any.

Barr also doesn't really milk the old-new idea of medieval knights fighting high-tech aliens very much, robbing the saga of an interesting concept.

And just as an aside: Barr throws in a peripheral Canadian character, which is kind of nice (since this is a global story)...and then proceeds to demonstrate that he has absolutely no idea what a Canadian accent is. Granted, I was more amused than annoyed, but still...

This was DC Comics first Maxi-Series (a limited series, but running more than the usual 3 or 4 issues of a mini-series) and its first experiment with expensive paper, direct sales, and "mature readers" subject matter. The latter amounts to less than half a dozen racy panels (a couple of bare backsides, as well as breasts in silhouette) -- not much compared to 288 pages! There's also a lesbian kiss or two (involving the gender conflicted Tristan) and some violence and horror-images.

Because it was the first, maybe DC and Barr were a little nervous about what they could do with it. One can't help thinking Barr should've dumped the whole alien invasion thing (since he gives it so little weight) and focused instead on Arthur battling corruption on earth, giving the saga a greater socio-political edge (much as T.H. White's classic re-telling of the Arthur legend, The Once and Future King, re-envisioned the myth as a parable for then modern issues, such as the rise of fascism in Europe). Barr touches on corruption (even throwing in a cynical jab at a cowboy president) but he doesn't do much with it -- most issues you wouldn't even know there were any social problems! Later limited series like Batman: The Dark Knight, The Watchmen, and Squadron Supreme would more frankly tackle political issues. As it is, for all the pomp and grandeur, for all the attempt to be dramatic and moving, this epic doesn't really seem to be about anything (except for the open-mindedness to sexual orientation, which should be noted and applauded).

The art is by popular artist Brian Bolland -- a British artist better known for supplying cover art this side of the pond, rather than interiors. I can only think of a handful of things he's done, of which the most noteworthy was Batman: The Killing Joke. A meticulous, detailed, realist artist, Bolland delivers nice art, particularly evoking a kind of Magnus Robot Fighter feel for this clean, high tech future. His eye for details (background figures with gestures and reactions, as opposed to just filling up space) enriches scenes, and the arcane aspects of the story (Merlin and Morgana's respective rooms) is also nicely filled up with eerie and grotesque brick-a-brack. However, though never confusing, his choice of panel composition is, mayhap, not always exciting -- I can't recall too many actively striking or breathtaking scenes.

In the end, this is great idea, but indifferently handled. Despite periodic action scenes, it doesn't really succeed as grand adventure, and despite a plethora of characters, the characterization isn't always involving. There are some interesting aspects, but most aren't realized to their potential. Although, interestingly, in the letters pages accompanying the original series, a surprising number of writers were women, moreso than the average comic book. Indicating that Barr and company, however unintentionally, may have stumbled upon a concept that appealed to both genders...something modern comics have been looking for for years.

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

Cover price: $__ CDN./$14.95 USA

Cerebus: High Society 1986 (SC TPB) 512 pages
a.k.a. High Society

Written and Illustrated by Dave Sim.
Black and White

Reprinting: Cerebus #26-50

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

Number of readings: 1

Published by Aardvark-Vanaheim, Inc.

Cerebus the Aardvark has emerged as one of the most significant publications in independent comics. It began in the 1970s as a satirical series, probably inspired more than a little by Howard the Duck, although Cerebus was a parody of barbarian-fantasy stories. Like Howard the Duck, Cerebus was an anthropomorphic animal in a world of mostly humans. But early on, Cerebus creator Dave Sim announced that the series was really a saga planned to run a whopping 300 issues. At the time, it probably seemed like a lot of hyperbole -- but decades later, the series is indeed closing in on its three hundred mark, and has grown in scope, with epic-size story arcs, more serious and character-driven aspects, and expanding to satirize not just the vagaries of pop culture and comics, but social and political matters as well. It's also engendered some controversy.

Not bad for a little Canadian comic about a talking earth-pig.

I deliberately started with the second volume because, though it would mean I'd have to catch up with the characters and their relationships, most commentators claimed the High Society epic was where the series first started showing its scope and ambition (not that the early issues weren't necessarily enjoyable).

The story begins with the sullen, misanthropic Cerebus -- part Conan, part Howard the Duck -- trying to gain a bed for the night at the only place with a vacancy in the city-state of Iest...the impossibly posh Regency Hotel. To his surprise, Cerebus is given the red carpet treatment because, having briefly been employed in a minor position in the government of the powerful kingdom of Palnu, Cerebus is viewed as a kind of ambassador from Palnu -- and everyone wants to court his favour.

What ensues is Cerebus becoming embroiled in various matters of politics and finance and shadowy machinations. His fortunes rise and fall as he is manipulated -- and tries to do some manipulating himself -- caught up in others' grand schemes even as, ever the mercenary at heart, Cerebus' main personal goal is, as he succinctly puts it, "to have more money than anyone else". Eventually he becomes a candidate for the prime ministership of Iest.

Along the way, Dave Sim's humour varies from, literally, the sublime to the ridiculous. The scenes can be cleverly droll at times, with the humour stemming from just a subtle, ironic turn of phrase, or a sly reaction shot. Other times, the jokes are broader and blacker. Pouncing through the story is the Moon Roach, a demented super hero parodying the comic book hero Moon Knight. Other targets are decidedly less parochial...or, at least, multi- headed. At one point Cerebus attends a political convention...but Sim's has modelled it on comic book conventions. By merging the two targets in one parody, it becomes its own, unique sequence. Likewise, another odd conglomeration is found in a regular character, the master politician Lord Julius, who is modelled after Groucho Marx, right down to his cigars and one liners.

Occasionally, more serious threads emerge. Verbose discussions of international financing are intended to be satirical, but are grounded in reality. In fact, some of the discussions are very much on target. There are also character scenes. The chapter titled "The Night Before" -- Cerebus #36 -- (a title that has nothing to with that issue, but to the larger story arc) features Cerebus reuniting with an ex-girlfriend, Jakka. Sim, the supposed satirist, shows a deft hand at drama, crafting a sequence that is almost achingly poignant as Cerebus obtusely swaggers his way through the scene, oblivious to what he's really doing. It's a stand out piece of work.

Sim's art is also impressive. His people -- constantly straddling the line between realism and caricature -- are serviceable, but not extraordinary. But his Cerebus is highly effective and, frankly, just adorable, despite being an, at times, bad tempered nihilist. It's part of the many layers of humour that Sim indulges in that Cerebus doesn't just look like an aaradvark among people...but a teddy bear version of an aardvark or, as one character mis- identifies him, a "kid in a bunny suit". Sim milks a lot of nuance from his little earth pig, able to convey shifting emotions. Sim frequently plays around with composition -- putting a little figure against a vast background or detailing an elaborate cityscape, or drenching a scene in brooding shadows. Sim experiments but in ways that aren't merely self indulgent, but seem as if he is trying to find the best way to tell the scene (though a run of issues printed vertically are hard to read in the thick spined TPB). It adds to the humour, precisely because the art can look too ambitious to be just a funny animal comic -- and, of course, that's because it is. At the same time, Sim, who was writer-artist-letterer-etc. clearly was getting overwhelmed by the whole thing, his art becoming slightly less impressive as the issues progress and there are a lot of scenes where he provides almost no background at all, choosing to fill in the scene with black ink. It smacks a bit of laziness, but the use of black as opposed to white backgrounds adds a touch of sobriety to the silliness.

Yet, for all the strengths of the series, there are weaknesses, too. It is, at times, a little hard to follow. Already Sim has begun laying out his epic story, so characters constantly pop up who, one assumes, you're supposed to know from earlier stories, with very little attempt to explain them for the new reader. Worse, Sim is clearly laying things out for latter stories, so there are a lot of cryptic lines and hints of bigger things that, ultimately, go unexplained within these pages. At the very least, in a story so embroiled in the politics of Cerebus' fictional world, it might have been nice to include an introduction explaining how things work. Or even a map.

There's a definite sense the series was made for TPB collections, with many issues seeming more like chapters of a larger work than issues intended to be read on their own.

Some of the confusion is intentional. You can go for a few issues, thinking you must've missed something...only to have it explained a few issues later, and you realize you were supposed to be confused. At the same time, there were things that are confusing, period, as new elements are tossed in willy-nilly and suggest -- dare I say it -- a weakness on Sim's part. A recurring thread involving a bird statue is poorly explained to begin with, crops up occasionally in equally oblique ways, and then finally climaxes...in a revelation that doesn't make any sense when flipping back through the book!

Characters, too, will abruptly change personality, seemingly for a joke, or because Sim is trying to move the story in a new direction. Cerebus himself is, at times, slow-witted, confused by what's going on around him, at other times, he is canny, manipulating others. At times he is the butt of the joke, at other times he is the voice-of-reason. Sometimes he is cute in his befuddlement, and other times we are reminded that he is, after all, modelled after a brawling barbarian. Still, it's to Sim's credit that he can pull off these variances in the character and not seem as though he's completely lost the core of the personality.

However, even the point of the saga can be a bit muddled. It is a political satire, but what exactly is being satirized? When Cerebus gains a degree of power...our anti-heroic barabarian aardvark immediately starts abusing his position. Yet one assumed the story was supposed to be about the little guy fighting the corrupt system. Or does Sim actually regard Cerebus' behaviour as legitimate?

A Canadian writer-artist weaving a tale set in a fictional world, one wonders how much Sim lets his "Canadianess" seep through (Canadians being notorious for not wanting to admit they're Canadian in their fiction). The dialogue is mainly modelled after British and American accents, but the flag of Iest looks not unlike the Canadian flag. Most of the pop references are American or British, though there are some mountie jokes thrown in later. Set in a country feeling the victim of a more powerful country's economy certainly seems the product of a writer from a middle power nation, rather than an American or even British writer. One person who read this objected to the characters using the term "republic" to symbolize a truly democratic state (Canada, though a democracy, is not technically a "republic"...yet Canadians enjoy all the freedoms Americans do, and, in some cases, aquired them before Americans did!). This reader saw in the term its modern association with the United States...but Sim could also be using it more for its historical resonance.

Still, I quite enjoyed the book, whatever its shortcomings. It was funny, it was atmospheric, it was involving, it was unusual, and it really did seem grand and ambitious, drawing you into this other world. The High Society epic itself could be seen as comprising three or four smaller story arcs that segue into each other.

As the series has progressed, opinion has become more divided. Some feel Sim has become more self-indulgent, getting further away from the core ideas, with Cerebus himself being relegated to the sidelines for some story arcs. A much later sequence, wherein Sim ruminates on gender issues, has led some fans to accuse him of being a misogynist (an accusation that makes one re-think a last act revelation in this TPB) -- but others have argued that such critics are confusing the work with the author (writers frequently express views in their work that aren't necessarily meant to be their own). But despite such criticisms, the series remains critically regarded with a multitude of advocates.

For my part, High Society is quite entertaining and I'm certainly leaning towards trying more volumes in the series.

Cover price: __

Cerebus: Melmoth 1991 (SC TPB) 250 pages
a.k.a. Melmoth

Written and illustrated by Dave Sim. Background art by Gerhard.
black & white

Reprinting: Cerebus #139-150

Additional notes: intro and afterward by Sim; background notes on Wilde.

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

Number of readings: 1

Suggested for mature readers

Published by Aardvark-Vanaheim, Inc.

In Melmoth, the sixth TPB volume collecting Cerebus, the ground breaking comic about a talking aardvark barbarian in a faux 19th Century kingdom of humans, there are essentially two parallel threads that don't really connect to each other. One focuses on Cerebus himself -- in a state of almost catatonic shock after (mistakenly) believing the love of his life, Jaka, has died -- hanging out on the patio of a diner. The other, set apparently just a few doors down the street, faithfully recreates the last days of Oscar Wilde, though changing the place names to relocate this biographical narrative so that it occurs in Cerebus' fictional world. It's an odd sidetrip in the series, and reflects creator Sim's increasing experimentation with his series.

Now, as I've probably mentioned before, my intent in reviewing graphic novels and tpbs on my site is to, basically, review things as they are, and as I read them. That is: the Cerebus series was a massive, 300 issue epic, that though it told story arcs within the greater whole, nonetheless such story arcs still tend to be built upon what went before. Now though I've read an earlier Cerebus TPB -- High Society (which I really liked) -- I haven't (yet) read other Cerebus volumes. So when I picked up Melmoth, it was just what happened to be on the store's shelf.

And read on its own, it's rather problematic. There's no effort made to set things up for the new reader, to explain what went before, or what things mean -- just reading this story, we'd have no idea why Cerebus is in a state of shock or anything. (Ironically, at the back of the book there's an add for the various Cerebus collections, including Melmoth, which does a better job of setting up the narrative). Now to Cerebus fans, they might see this as an irrelevant observation, but as I said, I'm reviewing this from the point of view of saying: you go to the store, see this on the shelf, and wonder if it'd be worth reading.

And, of course, the whole thing is really, astoundingly thin. I've commented about the whole "decompression" movement in modern comics, where too many writers and artists try to break down a scene (and stretch it out) into as many pages and panels as they can, devoting whole pages to someone walking down the street, for instance. Sim was very much at the forefront of that movement and, to be fair, he does it better than most. In fact, I'll say that as a craftsman, Sim is almost astoundingly brilliant in his handling and understanding of the medium of comics. So even though he'll stretch the most inconsequential moment out over a number of pages, he does it with a style and finesse that most of the other "decompressionists" lack. They're just padding. Sim really is milking little nuances from his scenes, sometimes funny, sometimes poignant.

As an artist, Sim has become extraordinarily expressive by this point in his career, and nothing demonstrates that better than this tale that is veering from the cartooniness of a humanoid aardvark to the realism of depicting real historical figures like Wilde, where the tone shifts from comic exaggeration and caricature, to brooding seriousness. His choice of composition, his use of shadows, is all highly effective. And he's aided immeasurably by background artist Gerhard who presents a beautifully detailed and moody world in which the characters can act out their drama.

With all that being said, it still means you have a 250 page story where almost nothing happens (and was originally serialized over a year's worth of comics) as we just keep cutting back and forth from Wilde's deathbed to Cerebus looking shocked and speaking in monosyllables (though even Sim seems to lose a bit of his direction, as there's suddenly a scene where Cerebus acts a bit more feisty...then we're right back to him acting semi-comatose). Sim uses these scenes for varying effect, sometimes milking them for comedy, sometimes pathos, sometimes something inbetween.

Eventually something happens to shake Cerebus out of his stupor, and further demonstrating the variety inherent in this series that began long ago as simple satire, the audience is shaken a bit too as the final chapter explodes into brutal violence that is a shocking contrast with the sedate body of the volume. And that violence, as well as some profanity, is worth noting and suggesting the volume is best viewed as for "mature readers".

But if the Cerebus part of the story seems kind of thin and protracted, one could argue that's because it's more just cutaways from the real intent of this arc, which is the Oscar Wilde story. But here too, it seems a bit unsatisfying and indulgent. In recreating Wilde's last days, dying of a lingering (but undefined) illness, with Sim literally lifting passages and quotes from the journals and letters of Wilde's friends, that's really all it is: a recreation of Wilde's last days, depicted in their sad and unvarnished reality. Sim does effectively recreate the reality of a protracted and lingering death, but it's not really a "story" per se. Nothing develops or unfolds as a narrative. More, by focusing, literally, on the events, this doesn't really provide much insight into Wilde, the man, the artist, nor into the scandals that plagued him. Just as the Cerebus part of the story doesn't really explain things for those unfamiliar with events in Cerebus' life, so the Wilde part of the story seems aimed primarily at Wilde aficionados, rather than those who might only be vaguely aware of the man.

Again, I say, Sim is, at times, astoundingly brilliant in his grasp of the medium of comics, and on that level Melmoth can be interesting, in the (slow moving) scenes themselves, and in Sim's sliding from comedy to pathos and more. There are some memorable scenes that linger (such as the waitress telling Cerebus about the boyfriend who jilted her or, strangely, an anecdote about shoes!). But as a book -- as a story to plop down on the couch and read -- it leaves you unsatisfied, with little narrative arc to be developed. It remains primarily what, no doubt, Sim himself and his regular readers would agree, is basically an interlude, an extended vignette, rather than a story.

As a final aside, at one point near the beginning, the Wilde character goes on a long diatribe that I'm guessing is original to Sim, rather than lifted from anything Wilde actually said, as it addresses itself more directly to the fictional world in which Sim's has placed the story. And at one point Wilde seems to be making thinly veiled comments about comic books themselves, referring to stories of "mindless vigilantes" read by "myopic...spotted face" readers. It's an old argument made by comics writers working out side the super hero genre, dismissing the genre, and its readership, as arrested adolescents obsessed with juvenile power fantasies. But Sim is an ironic one to lead the attack. Sim became an increasingly controversial figure in comics for his personal views, views that seeped into the comic itself (you can detect a hint of a misogynist subtext in that the society is supposed to be under the sway of a kind of fascist, arch-feminist religion) -- and which you can read about on the web. And my point is: is Sim really in a position to criticize others for losing themselves in delusional power fantasies?

Cover price: ___

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