The
City 1994 (SC GN) 64 pgs.
Written by James Herbert. Illustrated and coloured by Ian Miller.
Additional notes: oversized tabloid format; I'm not sure this was ever released in a North American edition. The copy I came across only had the price listed in British Pounds.
Rating: * (out of 5)
Number of readings: 1
Published by Pan Books
This proclaimed "James Herbert" in big, bold letters on the cover, but reading it one gets the feeling that artist Ian Miller is the main force behind this piece. At least in the sense that the visuals are the main point, with horror novelist Herbert not really delivering a story or characterization. I don't mean he's delivered a bad story or implausible characterization -- I mean, there isn't any, good, bad, or indifferent.
The "story" is simply a masked, unspeaking, heavily armed stranger wandering with his armoured dogs through the streets of a surrealistically decayed London, populated by insane people, crazed mutants, and homicidal rats (both giant and regular sized). In various combinations they try to kill him, and he shoots them. Eventually a purpose emerges to his wanderings, and some emotional reactions (he finally removes his mask which had rendered him little more than a prop for most of the story), but all that comes within the last few pages, hardly enough to justify the 50 or so pages that led up to it. Even the background is unclear -- what is supposed to have led up to these circumstances (particularly as the imagery is so weird and surrealistic, you can't just assume this is simply a post-Apocalyptic future). It's sub-titled "The Rats Saga Continues...", and Herbert has written a series of novels about rats over running London, so maybe if your a Herbert fan it's familiar stuff. But if you're not, it makes little sense on its own.
The story can't even be taken as a progression into nightmare because it's all rather formulaic, with each sequence pretty much the same as the previous; there's almost no dialogue and even the captions are simple sentences stretched over more than one panel.
Miller's art is kind of fascinating in a grotesque, repulsive way, and there's some atmosphere evoked, but he's better at the warped buildings and designing the horrific figures than the actual movement/action of the characters. And there were spots that were hard to figure out what was going on.
Hardcore horror fans might go for it better, some horrorphiles seeming horror as a purely visceral experience, but The City doesn't really scare, or horrify, because it needs to evoke some sort of emotional reaction. It needs to draw the reader in and to accomplish that it needs a plot, or characterization, or a sense of the thing progressing in some way or another. It's a book that just makes you go..."huh?"
Cover price:
The Complete Concrete 1994 (SC TPB) 320 pages
Written and illustrated by Paul Chadwick.
Letters: Bill Spicer. Editor: Randy Stradley.
Reprinting:
Concrete #1-10 (1986-1988)
Rating: * * * 1/2 (out of 5)
Number of readings: 1
Additional notes: intro by Geary Gravel.
Suggested (mildly) for mature readers
Published by Dark Horse Comics
Paul Chadwick's unusual hybrid of introspective human drama, slice-of-life comedy, and fantasy-heroics began as a series of short stories published in the anthology comic, Dark Horse Presents. Then the character graduated to his own, full length comic, the entire run of the which is collected in this over-sized, black and white compilation. Subsequently, Chadwick would present the adventures of his titular hero in a series of mini-series, such as Concrete: Fragile Creature and others (and the original short stories have also been collected in a TPB).
The concept behind Concrete is that a mild mannered nebbish and writer finds his mind trapped in a huge, largely impervious, rock-like body. The down side? Obviously, it affects his whole life, hobbling his ability to interact with others, even forcing his whole lifestyle to be altered to accommodate it (like sitting in a chair made of cinder blocks because he'd crush a regular chair). The plus side? He is almost invulnerable and can use his new-found prowess to live the life he always wanted to do, emulating his personal hero, the Victorian explorer Sir Richard Burton, by attempting grand feats and, as a writer, chronicling them. With his sidekicks, personal assistant, Larry Munro, and the government scientist, Maureen Vonnegut, assigned to study him, Concrete sets out on various "grand" adventures, such as swimming the Atlantic, or climbing Mt. Everest, as well as smaller jobs such as hiring himself out as a body guard to a rock star, or helping a poor farming family out around the farm, as well as simply dealing with the peculiarities of his strange condition (such as a sequence where his body starts growing horns, and no one's sure how, or why, or what to do about it). Compounding all this is that Concrete is forced to live a lie. To the world at large, he is the only survivor of a U.S. government experiment in creating cyborgs, but the truth is radically different, a truth that is fully detailed part way through this collection.
I had previously read the later TPB collection, Fragile Creature, and reading this earlier collection my feelings toward the series remain pretty much the same. It's an easy series to like.
Chadwick's subdued, realist, and meticulous art suits the work perfectly, grounding the bizarre fantasy of a giant stone man in an instantly recognizable reality. And when Concrete undertakes his more ambitious feats -- like swimming an ocean -- Chadwick's art allows us to be right there with him, whereas another, more stylized art style, might never let us share as fully in Concrete's adventures. And the character design for Concrete himself is sublimely perfect. Interestingly, the concept behind Concrete would seem to be the wish fulfilment of a couch potato -- and it is, for us the readers. But appparently Chadwick himself has led a more adventurous life (including mountain climbing), which perhaps lends that extra touch of verisimilitude to some of the sequences.
In Concrete, Chadwick has created an enduring, endearing, compassionate hero -- a noble, yet vaguely tragic, everyman capable of extraordinary things. The stories cleverly mix the mundane and the larger than life, as heroic efforts often run up against the ignoble realities of, well, reality, as Concrete's great plans often go awry. The result is a series that is more real, and gentle hearted, than a super hero series...yet more flamboyant, and grandiose, than a simple slice-of-life melodrama. The various stories wander along at a gentle, unhurried pace, building occasionally to quirky, or ironic denouements.
At the same time, that's part of what keeps the series from being truly great. Chadwick clearly likes to thwart expectations, to present stories that don't necessarily wrap up with tidy, climactic resolutions. He's going for a supposed "realism". Yet the result can often lead to stories that seem a little too much like shaggy dog stories, that never quite build to anything. In a sequence in the story about swimming the Atlantic, Concrete encounters a derelict boat ala the legendary Mary Celeste -- but the story ends without his ever learning anything more about it. Once or twice that can be clever and challenging, leaving more unsaid than said. Do it too often, though, and it can become frustrating, and lead the cynic to wonder whether Chadwick just doesn't quite know how to deliver on his premises.
Not that I want to make it seem like the stories don't resolve, or leave threads dangling. I just mean that, as often as not, you can finish a chapter having genuinely enjoyed it...but vaguely dissatisfied. Character threads likewise can fizzle out. Throughout these stories Concrete and Larry both are a little romantically infatuated with Maureen Vonnegut. But not only does nothing come of it, based on the later mini-series I read, nothing ever does.
And for a book drenched in humanity and compassion, where Concrete and his friends are so well portrayed with humour and empathy, Chadwick fares less well at depicting supporting characters and guest stars. Actually, in the whole book, there's a surprising meanness, or at least cynicism, to Chadwick's world view. In the story about the rock star, for instance, Concrete starts to bond with his troubled employer...only to have him turn out not to be what he presented himself as. In another sequence, Concrete encounters some seemingly friendly East Europeans (this being back during the Cold War) who he is instantly suspicious of and, lo and behold, they turn out to be mean old spies. Nothing exactly surprising there, I'm afraid.
Yet with those flaws acknowledged, The Complete Concrete stands as an affecting series, at once funny, serious, melancholic and uplifting. With its "super" protagonist, it might appeal to those who like a little "super heroism" in their comicbooks...even as it might equally appeal to those who turn their noses up at "men-in-tights". Because, rock body notwithstanding, there are no costumed villains or world-shattering plots to be uncovered. Concrete is just a noble, but average man, with above average ambitions, who views the world as it is as quite enough of a challenge in itself.
Original cover price: $34.95 CDN./ $24.95 USA
The Complete Peanuts, 1950-1952
For my review at www.ugo.com, go here.
Concrete: Fragile Creatures 1994 (SC TPB) 156 pgs.
Written
by Paul Chadwick. Ilustrated by Paul Chadwick, with assistance from Jed
Hotchkiss.
Colours: Elizabeth Chadwick. Letters: Bill Spicer.
Reprinting: Concrete: Fragile Creature #1-4 (1991-1992 mini-series) plus an eight page story ("Fire at Twilight", supplemental to the main story) that was originally published in an issue of Dark Horse Presents.
Additional notes: essay by Chadwick
Rating: * * * 1/2 (out of 5)
Number of readings: 1
Published by Dark Horse, copyright Paul Chadwick.
Mature Readers
Concrete was one of those things I'd heard a lot of good things about, but in a way that actually kind of put me off trying it. Y'know, all the wrong people (the intelligentsia) seemed to praise it for all the wrong reasons (it's "better" than that superhero crap the rest of us read). Eventually, I picked up this, one of the TPB collections about Concrete, a would-be writer trapped in a huge body made of, literally, concrete (apparently thanks to some aliens).
And it was quite endearing.
Despite the super-powers, Concrete isn't really a superhero saga. There are echoes of superherodom in that Concrete is a decent guy, even an idealist at times, it's just the story doesn't put him in situations where he can battle villains or right wrongs. Instead, it's about muddling through life. It's a funny, wry, and compassionate comedy-drama. It's slice-of-life...except that it avoids the mundane because, after all, this is the "life" of a seven foot guy made out of concrete (he can't sit on regular chairs, etc). And, in this story, his life entails the larger-than-life milieu inherent in working on a movie set. It's a surprisingly comfortable marriage between the escapism that (most of us) like about comics, with the more down-to-earth reality to which some pundits feel the medium should devote itself.
The story has Concrete getting a job employing his powers behind-the-scenes on a low-budget SF/fantasy movie, the producers figuring he can save them a bundle in equipment and the like. Concrete joins the film crew and experiences ups and downs (some of it based on Chadwick's own movie experiences) as the movie hits funding problems, personality conflicts, and even sabotage. While in a sub-plot, Concrete's friend, Maureen, embarks on an affair with a scientist radical that could get her into hot water with the government officials who employ her to make a medical study of Concrete.
The dialogue is well written and witty at times, the realist art quite effective and moody. The colouring by Elizabeth Chadwick is nice, though sometimes whole scenes are presented in shades of one color -- but if there was a thematic justification for it, it escaped me.
The whole thing is just so darn...likeable.
However, after all is said and done, it's a bit...light weight. The plot is a little loose, perhaps because Chadwick was drawing too much on his own experiences, giving us little vignettes that never become much more. The story tries to get more heightened with a plotline involving sabotage, but it seems a bit haphazard, as if Chadwick threw it in to appeal to those of us crass enough to want a dramatic thread, but couldn't be bothered to put any great effort into it.
The back cover states: "movies are dreams. And a dream, like a person, is a fragile creature". It's easy to assume that "Fragile Creatures" will have greater meaning than just the precariousness of a film shoot, encompassing broader themes like the human condition. Easy to assume. Not so easy to confirm. There's a gentle, absorbing atmosphere at work, and Concrete is a well delineated character, but most of the supporting characters never quite become more than that: supporting characters. The people he meets are interesting, quirky, likeable...but don't move up from being people to appear in this scene or that, or to serve a plot point. When the story ends and Concrete attends a preview screening with these people he's worked with, Chadwick writes of the nostalgia, of the intensity of the emotion that working with a group of people in a pressure situation can invoke (anyone who's worked on any kind of short term project knows what he means) but because the characters weren't fully realized, he fails to entirely transfer that emotion to the reader. We enjoyed hanging with the characters...we just don't particularly miss 'em when they're gone.
This mini-series received an Eisner Award for Best Limited Series. It's an oddly endearing, warm hug of a read, even if Concrete lacks a little...weight.
Cover price: $22.35 CDN./$15.95 CDN.
A Contract with God 1978 (GN) 180 pages
Written & Illustrated by Will Eisner.
black and white
Rating: * * * 1/2 (out of 5)
Number of readings: 1
Recommended for Mature Readers
Published by various publishers over the years (I think)
Comic books have been around since the early part of the 20th Century -- magazines telling stories in sequential pictures and words. First, as reprints of newspaper strips, then with original material. The origin of the "graphic novel" is a bit harder to pin down, with various creators claiming parenthood of that sub-medium of comics -- true provenance hard to ascertain, in part because people can argue over what, exactly, constitutes a "graphic novel".
So though not really the first, as some might claim (Arnold Drake's "It Rhymes with Lust" was published decades earlier!), nonetheless one of the most influential -- or at least, most frequently cited -- is Will Eisner's A Contract with God. Eisner was already a respected and influential figure in comics, both for his studio work (in days when comics were often turned out by artistic collectives) as well as for his signature creation, the crimefighter, The Spirit -- a rather bland, non-descript concept that nonetheless became a touchstone in comics for Eisner's gradually evolving execution, playing around with visuals and narratives so that some of the tricks and experiments Eisner employed in his mix of tongue-in-cheek and film noire remain cutting edge decades later.
But Eisner clearly began to lose interest in the action-hero formula that was comics bread and butter (as evidenced by the experimentation with the Spirit which saw it move more in a human drama direction, with the Spirit himself frequently a peripheral figure). In fact, despite the Spirit remaining Eisner's signature creation till the day he died...I don't think he'd actually written or drawn a full Spirit story since the 1950s! Anyway, as mentioned, by the 1970s Eisner was clearly looking for some new challenge, something to restart his creative fires.
And a Contract with God was it. Still playing within the inner city, seedy, film noire milieu of the Spirit, but now the focus was fully on human drama -- kitchen sink realism -- as Eisner crafted an anthology of tales supposedly inspired by memories of his youth, all revolving around a New York slum, the fictional Dropsie Ave. And instead of being published in a comicbook periodical, the stories were collected in book form. Of course, one of the reasons one can question whether A Contract with God warrants the "graphic novel" label -- although most would say it does, clearly -- is the fact that it isn't, in fact, a novel, but a collection of four short stories.
The result is interesting, somewhat effective...but also a bit disappointing for something that is cited as such a seminal work.
Eisner throws himself into his milieu with passion and authenticity -- and a mature readers bent -- effectively conjuring up this Depression-era Jewish ghetto. His art style, like in the Spirit, applies a decidedly cartoony, caricaturist style to what is, essentially serious, dramatic material, for generally good effect. And his evocation of the streets and shabby tenements of Dropsie Ave. are full of mood and atmosphere -- particularly in black and white.
But the stories themselves are rather thin and even simplistic. In a sense, that's not untrue of a lot of "literary" stories, where "slice of life" can go hand-in-hand with "shaggy dog" stories, and where crafting stories that are too cleverly, or complicatedly plotted, can be seen as too crassly Hollywood. But it's also a reflectuon of the very slightness of the tales. Though a couple of the stories are as long as 60 pages -- Eisner indulges in lots of big panels, sometimes only one or two per page, so that actual story content is considerably less than the page count would suggest.
The title story itself, A Contract with God, though not uninteresting, is ultimately a rather simple -- and obvious -- parable about a pious man whose brush with tragedy causes him to lose faith in god. Even its telling is a bit reduced to its essence as Eisner relies a lot on captions -- describing the events almost more like a picture book than a comic where the narrative is played out in sequential panels.
The story that seems the most complex, the one that most feels like a "graphic novel" is Cookalein, as Eisner expands his focus from just a few core characters (as was the case in the other stories) to a much broader cast as summer hits Dropsie Avenue and we cut between various characters as they prepare to leave the city for a vacation in the country. We follow the various characters, become privy to the secrets and subterfuge, and watch as their various stories end up intertwining. But it too feels a bit anti-climactic when we reach the end, as if, given all the build up, more could've been done with it. As well, it too is a bit obvious in its twists and turns. Heck, when a character proclaims his love for another character who he'd barely exchanged a few words with, there's definitely a feeling we're getting the condensed version of a tale.
There is nothing that unique about the ideas or milieu of A Contract with God that hasn't already been explored by a zillion authors and filmmakers -- which is, of course, part of the appeal. The whole idiom of Jewish working class New York life has been so chronicled, there's an engaging familiarity to it. What made A Contract with God unusual was to tackle that world in a comic book format, and with a mature readers sensibility of nudity and adult subject matter.
Though a problem with the book is that, ultimately, it remains somewhat...depressing, as Eisner peoples his stories of hopeless desperate lives with deliberately flawed anti-heroes, cheaters, and reprobates. It's hard to entirely care about a lot of the characters. In The Supper -- a kind of uncomfortable tale where Eisner seems to see no distinction between adult lust and paedophilia (as a character who plasters his wall with nude pictures of adult women, is none the less teased on by a ten year old girl!) And as an example of my point about unsavoury characters, in a story focusing on the two...the girl actually seems even more loathsome than the adult!
But ultimately, A Contract with God is an eminently readable collection, full of Eisner's striking, idiosyncratic visuals and a seeming conviction on the part of the story teller. If the stories seems a bit simple, almost vignettes at time, that's not much different than a lot of literary stories -- albeit, literary anthologies would probably offer a dozen or so tales to Eisner's four.
Cover price: ___
Criminal Macabre: A Cal MacDonald Mystery
For my review at www.ugo.com, go here.
The Dark Horse Book of Hauntings 2002 (HC) 96 pages
Written & Illustrated by various.
Editor: Scott Allie.
Rating: * * * (out of 5)
Number of readings: 1
Mature Readers
Published by Dark Horse Comics
The Dark Horse Book of Hauntings is a comic book anthology published in hardcover...though not unreasonably priced. Featuring seven original comic book stories by various writers and artists, including some highly respected names like artists P. Craig Russell and Paul Chadwick, it has a new Hellboy story by Mike Mignola (Hellboy, a demonic paranormal investigator -- kind of a cross between Marvel's Son of Satan and DC's The Demon -- will apparently hit the silver screen next year) and a new "Devil's Footprints" story (which was a supernatural mini-series, also available as a TPB). More off beat aspects to this accretion are an actual text short story by the late Perceval Landon first published in 1908 (I believe), given a few modern illustrations by Gary Gianni, as well as an interview with a real life spiritualist.
The first thing you notice from that line up is that there seems to be a lot of care, or at least enthusiasm, put into this project (I mean, an interview with a self-styled spiritualist?!?) all in order to generate a certain thematic cohesiveness. The other noteworthy thing is how restrained the stories are: for a horror comic, in a medium long criticized for its excesses, there's very little gore. Any "mature readers" caution is warranted more for some profanity and a bit of nudity. In fact, only one story goes for a grisly, macabre ending, and it's still drawn with restraint. Instead, by focusing mainly on ghosts and hauntings, the stories can be almost...genteel. Some are definitely going for the chill-factor, but others are humorous or poignant.
The opening story, "Gone", written by Mike Richardson, and beautifully drawn by P. Craig Russell and coloured by Lovern Kindzierski, is about a deserted old house from which no one seems to return. It is blatantly meant to be creepy and works quite well for the most part, unnerving in its very understatedness. But it builds to a kind of weak ending. "Lies, Death and Olfactory Delusion", a childhood reminiscence as the narrator remembers the death of a picked on schoolmate, is by Randy Stradley and Paul Chadwick. It goes more for pathos than horror, and is among the most memorable stories for that. Another winner, at the other end of the emotional spectrum, is Evan Dorkin and Jill Thompson's "Stray", a humorous ghost story...about dogs.
The text story, "Thurnley Abbey", is a very traditional haunting story -- right down to its archetypal hook of the narrator being told the story by a chance aquaintance. It works reasonably well, precisely because a short story can, in some cases, cover more ground than a comic (a picture ain't always worth a thousand words).
Other stories in the collection aren't necessarily as successful, often quite slight, but none are cringe inducing awful, either. Uli Oesterle's "Forever" is moderately fun in its traditional, macabre, EC Comics sort of way involving a scoundrel and a cursed tattoo. Though Mike Mignola's Hellboy contribution, "Dr. Carp's Experiment", with the character called in to investigate a haunted house, doesn't really give you enough to decide whether or not you'd like to track down Hellboy's other adventures for those previously unfamiliar with him (like myself). "This Small Favor" -- the "Devil's Footprints" story -- involves the protagonist also called in to cleanse a home of willful spirits. And the brief "The House on the Corner" likewise relates events surrounding a haunted house, but in a style evocative of an old Ripley's Believe it or Not comic.
Ultimately, this collection of supernatural tales maybe doesn't quite succeed in elbowing itself to the top of anyone's "must have" list. But the very commitment that editor Scott Allie seems to bring to the project is appealing, right down to the elegant, almost old-fashioned, packaging. With two or three better-than-decent tales, a variety of emotional tones, good art throughout in a variety of styles, and a welcome, old fashioned restraint, it's an agreeable read.
Cover price: $__ CDN./ $14.95 USA.
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