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Astro City: Confession 1997 (SC TPB) 208 pages

Written by Kurt Busiek. Pencils by Brent Eric Anderson, Inks by Will Blyberg.
Colours: Alex Sinclair. Letters: Comicraft's John Roshell. Editor: Jonathon Peterson.

Reprinting: Astro City (vol. 2) #4-9, Wizard Presents Astro City #1/2

Additional notes: intro by Neil Gaiman; behind-the-scenes sketches; cover gallery.

Rating: * * * (out of 5)

Number of readings: 2

Published by Homage/DC Comics

Astro City is Kurt Busiek's critically acclaimed series set within its own super hero universe. Busiek, with collaborators Brent Anderson (pencils) and Alex Ross (painted covers and character designs) have fashioned a city with its own vast pantheon of super heroes, but the comic itself takes on the nature of an anthology, where the hero featured in one issue becomes little more than a streak across the skyline in other issues, or where the focus might be on a non-superpowered civilian, reacting to the fantastic events around him (ala Busiek's Marvels). Confession, though, was the series' first story arc, where the same character is followed from issue to issue in one unfolding saga.

In that sense, Confession tries to be that elusive animal -- a true super hero graphic novel. By telling a super hero saga where the main characters didn't necessarily appear before, and aren't necessarily meant to recur, Busiek can tell a story with a beginning, middle, and end, threaded with a character arc and interwoven themes. There are no lingering sub-plots, or sense that this is just a pre-amble to further stories.

The protagonist, teenager Brian Kinney, arrives in Astro City, hoping to become a super hero. With Busiek positing the cute (if frivolous) idea that super heroes are like movie stars, and the best way to get into the business is simply to hang out with super heroes and hope to get noticed, Brian quickly gets invited to be Altar Boy, sidekick to the enigmatic Confessor, who keeps secrets even from Brian. But this is the wrong time to be a super hero, what with a string of unsolved murders, mysterious incidents, and an escalating wave of anti-superhero paranoia leading to a crackdown on costumed do-gooders.

Astro City has been much praised, with Wizard magazine (a comic fanzine) proclaiming it "The best comic... Period." And Neil Gaiman waxes euphorically about it in his introduction. There's a lot to appreciate in Confession -- not the least its ambition to be a stand alone "graphic novel". Plus, Busiek clearly wants this to be a thinking man's adventure, complete with plenty of rumination on the events that transpire, and an undercurrent of religious iconography as a theme. With all that being said, it should also be noted that Confession has plenty of pulpy, fantasy and adventure aspects, too. When I first read it, I was thrown a bit some elements, because I didn't realize it was going to be that kind of story.

But in the end, Confession is hobbled a little by its very ambitions.

There's a strong streak of homage at work here, where many background heroes are meant to evoke existing Marvel or DC properties, with even the Confessor and Altar Boy reminiscent of Batman and Robin. But, unfortunately, that bleeds over into the actual plot, with the anti-superhero hysteria something that has been done before, and more convincingly, in other, supposedly less ambitious, comics -- it's almost been done to death. In fact, the plot, complete with some later revelations, borrows rather liberally from a certain Avengers epic. There's even what may be a slight nod to the H.P. Lovecraft story, "The Haunter of the Dark".

That would be fine if Busiek really did tell a smarter version of those stories...but he doesn't really. Like too many modern writers, Busiek is so busy trying to write a great, profound story, he forgets that he needs to first lay a solid foundation. Busiek has to make us believe in the reality, so that we can buy into the anti-superhero hysteria, or so that the revelation of the Confessor's secret will have its desired effect. But, ironically, Busiek's Astro City seems less convincing than Spider-Man's New York, or Batman's Gotham City. The first time through, it's a bit hard to get a grip on certain things, such as a mysterious ethnic ghetto, or even the significance of the Confessor's secret in this reality. A second read through, you know how the pieces go together, but it's still not always convincing on a visceral level. And an inherent spookiness that Busiek sees to be going for at times doesn't really crystallize either. The plotting is also a tad uneven, even simplistic, in spots, with talk of patterns that doesn't really hold up, and a plot lapse between the fifth and sixth chapters, and other things.

There's a sense Busiek is just regurgitating things he's read in other comics but hasn't digested properly himself, trying to pass them off as his own profundity, but lacking the rawer, more visceral edge that stories like The Avengers: The Kree-Skrull War, or various X-Men comics, have. What contributes to that is Busiek's way of telling us, rather than showing us. There's a heavy reliance on the hero's narration to tell the story, which means the reader is kept a little at arms length from the actual events. Gaiman, in his introduction, praises the notion that a story can mean more than it seems...but all Busiek's doing (at times) is just whacking a way at his themes like a farmer with a two by four, stating with blunt explicitness what was implicit in other, earlier stories. Brian expounds on the amazing nature of heroism, how the heroes continue to struggle to protect people who now hate and despise them. Busiek brow beats us with ideas that, frankly, are at the core of many mainstream super hero comics -- the X-Men, or Spider-Man during his various outlaw periods -- as if he's the first one to think of them.

Part and parcel of all this is that, because the story is filtered through Brian, Brian emerges, in many respects, as the only character (although the Confessor is given some fleshing out later). Even Brian's school chums are just there to fill out a panel, or be mouthpieces to debate the issues, giving him no one to really play off of. Busiek wants to establish a character arc, as Brian arrives in Astro City, bitter and ashamed of his dead dad, only to realize by the end that his dad was a hero in his own right. Although a character arc is admirable, it's hard to believe Brian, let alone the reader, wouldn't recognize his dad's inherent nobility. And like with Phil Sheldon in Busiek's similar Marvels, Brian himself isn't an especially well-realized personality. When at one point Brian contemplates quitting being a super hero, it's hard to credit...we've seen no indication Brian has any other interests, or aptitudes.

Wrapping the comics in Alex Ross' painted, photo-realist covers can be problematic, setting standards the interior, pencil and ink art can't match. But I'd forgotten how good Anderson can be from time to time, and he's nicely served by Blyberg's inks. There's enough of a realism to his faces, married with moody, shadow drenched panels, that the interior art doesn't jar with the covers. Though the emphasis on a lot of black garbed figures means there're a few panels where bodies just blend into each other.

This collection closes with "The Nearness of You", an unrelated, self- contained story (published by Wizard) that is reasonably effective. In fact, it, along with Busiek's Avengers: The Morgan Conquest (in which a one-shot story was better than the three issue main epic), makes me think Busiek might be better sticking with smaller, intimate stories. Though even here, Busiek's love of homage intrudes cloyingly, with the story seeming to play off of a certain 1980s DC maxi-series. And the fact that "The Nearness of You" is described as a "short story" when it's sixteen pages says something about a certain thinness to it.

Ultimately, I sort of liked Confession, as much for what it was trying to be as for what it was -- a super hero graphic novel. But although it thinks it's smart and sophisticated, and Neil Gaiman clearly agrees, it doesn't really succeed as well as it thinks it does. There are "simpler" comics that have tackled similar themes with more passion, and created characters with more dimension.

Cover price: $31.00 CDN. / $19.95 USA.

Best of Marvel '961997 (SC TPB) 218 pgs

Writers: Mark Waid, Scott Lobdell, Kurt Busiek, Karl Kesel, Larry Hama, Bill Messner-Loebs, Todd Dezago, Tom DeFalco. Artists: Adam Kubert, Chris Bachalo, Ron Garney, Pat Olliffe, Cary Nord, Mike Wieringo, John Buscema, Joe Bennett.
Colours/letters/editors: various.

Reprinting: Generation X #17, Fantastic Four #416, Captain America #454, Untold Tales of Spider-Man #13, Wolverine #102, Daredevil #353, Sensational Spider-Man #8, Thor #502, Onslaught: Marvel Universe

Additional notes: intros by the various writers and sometimes artists.

Rating: * * * (out of 5)

Number of readings: 1

Published by Marvel Comics

In ye days of olde, DC Comics used to publish their annual "Year's Best Digest", reprinting 10 or so stories culled from the previous publishing year. Most collections contained a mix of good stories, O.K. stories, and a few forgettable efforts that were probably included just 'cause the selection editor was friends with the writer or something. But who cared? They made nice little grab-bags of stories, some you might not have picked up on their own, for a cheap, digest price. Eventually DC discontinued its digests, and so to did the "Year's Best" concept disappear.

Then Marvel briefly reprised the idea in the '90s with The Best of Marvel '95, '96 and '97. No longer cheap digests, they were printed as expensive TPBs, but with the same hit and miss quality, and the same appeal of being a handy little sampling of the company's line. But Marvel, too, seems to have stopped.

Why?

Before I get into reviewing The Best of Marvel 1996, I'll just do a little plug for the concept. Not as an expensive TPB, like this, but printed on cheaper paper to keep the price down, or even utilizing Marvel's new Backpack (digest-sized) format. At a time when the industry is constantly bemoaning its shrinking audience, yearly round ups, collecting better-than-average, relatively self-contained stories from a diversity of titles make a great little advertisement for the titles. A reader buys a "best of" collection, enjoys a character he/she had never tried before, and decides to pick up the monthly comic on the stands. Presto -- instant increase in readership. It alsoo might encourage writers and artists to put a little more quality into things on a monthly basis if they knew their stories might have a shot at being selected for inclusion -- maybe. And finally, "best of" collectioons are just...fun. A potluck reader of four-colour fantasy, but without the pressure an all time greats collection is under (such as The Greatest Superman Stories Ever Told, or The Very Best of Spider- Man). Since it's only the "best" of a 12 month period, one can forgive a little chaff in the wheat.

But above all, such collections need to be cheap, since they're more impulse buys than anything.

The above enthusiasm might seem out of place since my actual reaction to The Best of Marvels '96 was decidedly mixed. As is to be expected, there were a couple of really good pieces, some kind run-of-the-mill stories, and some pretty forgettable stuff, too -- most collected from a narrow four month period!

Since this was at a time when Marvel was cancelling a bunch of its titles (not for long, just to re-start them with new numbering and new creative teams) one can infer this wasn't exactly a bumper year overall. In fact, three of the stories selected (Fantastic Four, Captain America, and Thor) are literally from the "last" issue of their respective titles. There's also a chunk of the book devoted to "Onslaught", which was Marvel's epic crossover story for that year -- including reprinting the final, 48 page conclusion to that saga. But it feels too much like we've been dropped down in the middle (which we have), with too much hitting and not enough interesting stuff to make for a self-contained read, and big, splashy art that's kind of confusing, and the story ending in an unsatisfying way.

The best pieces are the FF story and the Wolverine story.

The Fantastic Four is a 10 page short that re-examines a pivotal meeting between Reed Richards and Victor von Doom in their university days. It's not an action piece, or a superhero piece, but Tom DeFalco deftly manages to tell a human drama while instilling in the reader a sense of the possibilities inherent in the title ("Roads Not Taken") -- it's a "What if...?"-style story, even as it doesn't diverge from established continuity. It's oddly compelling. It's also drawn by the great John Buscema, supposedly his swan song before retirement. Though his retirement may've been short-lived since a couple of years later he contributed to stories reprinted in the TPB Thor: The Dark Gods.

The Wolverine story makes effective use of the split between words and pictures that make comics unique among narrative mediums -- a split that is rarely exploited these days. It's basically two stories, one told entirely with pictures, another told entirely in text, both unrelated, but thematically connected. Ironically, writer Larry Hama says in his intro that he had intended the comic just to be the silent, picture story. Had he stayed with that, it would've been just a novelty, rather than this moody, memorable tale.

Other pieces are O.K. but unremarkable. Some, however, are kind of blah. The Daredevil piece marked a (temporary) change of tone, moving DD back to his wise-cracking roots (in a story involving an implied rape and murder!) but isn't much when viewed just as a story unto itself. The Captain America story has him battling baddies in South-East Asia, but it's actually kind of uncomfortable. By virtue of wearing the flag of a specific nation on his costume, Captain America is the one superhero least suited to international adventure. Spider-Man represents Spider-Man, Thor represents Thor, but Captain America represents, if only symbolically, the U.S. government...with all the baggage, good and bad, that entails.

Ultimately, The Best of Marvel '96 starts out kind of fun, like one of those boxes of assorted chocolates, with the reader unsure what each bite will bring. But, I'll admit, assessing my feelings at the end of the book, I was indifferent to more stories than I actively enjoyed.

But halve the cover price and the concept of an annual "best of" collection, from Marvel, DC, etc., is a sound one. This was O.K. as a grab-bag of different stories and heroes, but pricey when only a couple of the pieces really stand out.

Cover price: $27.95 CDN./$19.95 USA.

Birds of Prey: Of Like Minds 2004 (SC TPB) 144 pages

Written by Gail Simone. Pencils by Ed Benes. Inks by Alex Lei with Rob Lea.
Colours: Hi Fi. Letters: John Workman, others. Editor: Lysa Hawkins.

Reprinting: Birds of Prey #56-61 (2003) - with covers

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

Number of readings: 1

Published by DC Comics

The Birds of Prey comic book series features the original Batgirl, now a wheelchair bound uber-hacker named Oracle who guides street level operatives, namely the Black Canary and, more irregularly, the Huntress. In an industry that has trouble maintaining female leads, this all-girl team has done pretty well for itself, even having spawned a short-lived TV series. That show fiddled with the concept, namely by making Huntress the central character (and a version of the character that owes little to this one), but other aspects of the comic will seem comfortably familiar to TV fans -- some of the heart-to-hearts between Oracle and Black Canary could easily have been conversations between Oracle and Huntress in the TV series. I mention this because even a poorly rated TV series probably had a larger audience than most comics, and the comic might still benefit from a crossover audience.

The Birds of Prey comic has been a generally well regarded effort if you're looking for breezy, two-fisted action tales, often with foes that are crooks and gangsters rather than "super" villains, and with some emphasis on the buddy bonding between the heroines. This trade paperback collection, Birds of Prey: Of Like Minds, showcases the beginning of a new creative team of writer Gail Simone and artist Ed Benes (and, like a lot of recent TPBs, it's been rushed onto the stands so that, if you pick this up, then run to the local comic shop for the latest issue...you'll only have missed an issue or two in-between).

And, for the most part, it delivers the goods as a breezy, action series with an emphasis on buddy bonding.

The Birds come up against Savant, an unstable villain who's well named; he's almost as smart as Oracle, and as physically tough as Black Canary. His stock-in-trade is blackmail and he captures Black Canary in order to force Oracle to do his bidding, forcing Oracle to call in the Huntress for help.

The "Of Like Minds" story occupies the first four issues, then segues into a two-part tale that stems from the first. That's worth noting because I can sometimes read a TPB collection, getting my taste buds set for a complex, epic saga...only to be a bit put-off when, as here, it turns out actually to be comprised of two shorter, and simpler, stories. The kidnapping isn't the first act in an epic story. Rather, it is the story (well, the first story, anyway). Black Canary is kidnapped, Huntress and Oracle work to rescue her.

Simone writes breezily, with an emphasis on wry humour. The result is both enjoyable...but also a touch light-weight. Simone tells a tale that's fun even though it should seem decidedly unpleasant, involving as it does Black Canary having both legs broken and, later, breaking her own thumb to escape handcuffs! Oracle is worried that the Canary, having been through a similar ordeal (way back in Green Arrow: The Longbow Hunters) might be traumatized...but, instead, she remains cheery and unfazed. If this was Daredevil or Batman, it would be treated as a gruelling, gritty saga of human endurance...here, it's all pretty glib. The tone keeps the story from being unpleasant but, I'll admit, one can look back with qualms about Simone's cavalier attitude toward violence.

There's an unbelievable cartooniness throughout...such as a sequence where the Canary, in a wheelchair and with a broken hand, easily trounces three armed thugs.

Still, Simone tells the story well enough, keeping the pace up, and even smartly structuring it so that each chapter has its own narrative focus. The badinage is generally amusing enough and there is some effective quirkiness, particularly involving the villain, as well as his henchman.

The final storyline arises from the first, but leaves a few threads dangling, presumably for later storylines -- though it's not to be continued, per se. Reading on-line descriptions of the next couple of issues, the series seems to start on a new plot line.

The art by Ed Benes and inker Alex Lei borders on a guilty pleasure. Benes is a clean, disciplined artist, nicely handling faces and figures and backgrounds. He has a touch of a Manga style perhaps, with a certain Eurasian cast to all the women, and all the men big and blocky, but not so much so that it slides into caricature. The guilty pleasure comes in because Benes also likes women, or rather, the womanly form. It's interesting how far comics have come (or fallen, depending on your P.O.V.) that where once critics would heap derision on sexploitive comics, this revamped Birds of Prey has been getting mainly good press. Both Black Canary and the Huntress feature costumes with cut-off shorts that could be defined as just a little, ahem, cheeky. And Benes favours low angle shots so that even when focusing on a character in the background, a perky posterior can be featured in the foreground. Granted, Benes avoids endowing his heroines with ridiculous measurements (at least, any moreso than any comic book hero, male or female) and the cheesecake poses at least stem a little from the scenes.

Though I'm ambivalent, what's not to like about beautiful babes in revealing costumes who are given some emotional texture and legitimacy by a female writer? You can respect 'em AND ogle 'em!

All of Benes' women look identical save for their hair. And Simone is also guilty of writing her heroines a little homogeneously. Though, to her credit, amid all the action and glibness, there's some delving into the relationships. As seems to be the overall editorial policy at DC Comics, the characters are portrayed a lot as if they're wisecracking teenagers. At times I wondered if Simone and Benes were angling for a gig doing Buffy the Vampire Slayer comics. I can't say I fully recognized these characters as the Barbara Gordon and Dinah Lance I remembered from days gone by.

The fact that the series is written by a woman probably gives it a teflon coating. I mean, with Black Canary spending much of the story bound, battered and stretched out on a bed, with some risqué dialogue, and banter emphasizing the skimpiness of the costumes, it's hard to imagine a man writing this stuff and not getting hauled onto the carpet for sexism.

Simone also has an unfortunate tendency to treat morality as a kind of fluid concept. Sadly, she's not alone. Characters might debate right and wrong, and even argue liberal views...but, in Simone's world view, ethics are just something to be paid lip service to, nothing more.

Ultimately, what can one say? Fun and sexy and well paced, with some quirky twists and turns, this collection actually makes me open to reading further adventures...even as, breezy and superficial as it is, it admittedly falls a bit short of being riveting drama.

Cover price: $22.95 CDN/ $14.95 USA
 

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