The Factual Opinion

Deathblow # 2

Written by Brian Azzarello
Art by Carlos D'Anda
Published by Wildstorm

While it's become increasingly common for good comics writers to turn out multiple good books in the same month, Brian Azzarello has slowly become the writer that seems to be testing himself higher than the rest.  Not due to a lack of quality in the work of Bendis, Fraction and Brubaker (his closest competitors in the Ironman of funny-book writing,) but due to the breadth and complexity of the comics he pens.  Take yesterday for example:  sitting on the various parts of the shelf are Loveless and Deathblow, two comics that, if lacking an indication of who controls the language, would have nothing in common beyond their vivid art and sour outlook on humanity.   Yet not only does Mr. Azzarello turn a new issue of hyper-noir 100 Bullets every month, but they share store space with the bloody, ghost-filled Civil War Era Loveless and his latest work, the latest installment in one of Wildstorms too-numerous big mean special forces killer characters.  While Deathblow was always a little better than its sister books, the truth is that Deathblow was never really that original. 

Somehow, in only two issues, Azzarello has changed that.  While still maintaining the same level of testosterone laden violence and art that made the original so fun, this new series has a near-toxic level of mystery and intrigue, a goof-ball blister romp through all kinds of weird tongue-in-cheek humor and, even when it's describing a simple trip to the corner deli for fruit, a disturbing undercurrent of violence.  When Michael Cray rides an elevator up to see the family he's been away from since it's conception, he asks "Isn't there a war on?  Why aren't i fighting it?"  The answer, like all of Azzarello's work, is neither definite nor honest, and when Cray finds himself beset upon by children he barely knows he created, one realizes that (whether it makes him a bad father or not) this man shouldn't be here.  When he turns to admit he, quite honestly, doesn't remember this family at all, his military chaperone forces out a smile and says,"Then this must be quite exciting for you!" 

As the book progresses through the still-mysterious characters haunting the backstage of Cray's life, and as we watch Cray attempt to negotiate the possibility that he may not be completely sane, Deathblow leaves the realm of an interesting re-treading of one of the less hideous comics of the early 90's excess and becomes something more: a quality piece of writing married to distinctive art, with a story that's neither too grossly similar, nor too high-pants fancy, than the majority of the books on the shelf...just like everything else that Azzarello has been a part of.  If Azzarello has been given as much free reign on Deathblow as he clearly has on Bullets and Loveless, than the next year could be an exciting one.
-Tucker Stone, 2006

(As anyone who cares already knows, Chris Ware released the latest installment of the Acme Novelty Library this week.  However, due to a totally arbitrary set of rules, neither Chris Ware or Paul Pope are eligible for COW honors.  Rest assured that Acme Novelty Library remains far, far better than anything you, your friends, your parents or your parents friends like, and would win any standing competition with Arrested Development, The Wire, the films of Stanley Kubrick and/or any type of cocaine.)

Starman: Sins of the Father

Written by James Robinson
Art by Tony Harris
1996
Published by DC Comics

Starman is a series that holds the odd, an somewhat unglamorous, lineage of having been one of the first comics to experience multiple positive reviews in the pages of Entertainment Weekly (a magazine owned by the same company that owns and publishes DC Comics.)  Although EW (as it obnoxiously refers to itself) is now regularly mentioning comic books to readers probably more interested in the length of Lindsay Lohan's clitoris, Starman, as they saw, done been there-a few times at that.

Whether the name-check helped the book or not would require a level of research that would destroy the morale of even the most soulless statistician, Starman remains one of the strongest pieces of work DC has put out in years: although the nature of the character is neither as innovative nor ground-breaking as fans (and EW) put it when the book appeared, it still remains one of the rarest pieces of comic fiction--a whole-hearted embrace of the super-hero genre steeped in nostalgia that is both intelligent and entertaining to a reader of any age.  This first collection (still in print) contains the beginning of James Robinson's re-imagining of the character (a hold-over from the 40's,) bringing the reader into the story alongside the character himself--a young man who refuses to wear his fathers spandex, and agrees to the life after only the most tragic circumstances.  By the close of the book, Jack Knight (Starman's son) has grudgingly taken his fathers mantle and brought it into the 20th century.  Tony Harris' art takes a bit to get used to in these environs (his dark blacks and heavy lines are traditionally found in more adult books), but by the end, it's impossible to imagine these characters looking like anything else.

For whatever reason, many of the Starman collections have fallen out of print, making it difficult for any new readers to jump on board--a sad fate, considering this is one of those comics that could be enjoyed by just about anyone whose sense of wonder remains intact.

-Tucker Stone, 2006

Fast Company

1979
Directed by David Cronenberg
Written by Phil Savath
Starring John Saxon and William Smith

Before the subject of the film Fast Company can even be addressed, before it can be acknowledged as Cronenberg's third feature, the subject of the theme song "Fast Company" must be explored.  Much like Zeus, "Fast Company," as performed by Michael Stanley, crushes all songs within it's path, choosing to take whatever creatures it wishes to bed--although the film does not contain a Hera to fear, one wonders in trepidation what the jealous wife of "Fast Company" would look like.  Would it be a song that leaves men and women with bloody ears and ruptured spleens?  Who could tame a song like Michael Stanley's "Fast Company?"  A song that teaches us the plot and the plot dynamic of the film and appears no less than four times in this scant 90 minute feature?  It is best not to imagine such a hellish counterpart--better to sleep easier imagining that the Father of the Gods ("Fast Company" the song) is a bachelor.  Otherwise, no man could shut both eyes.

Fast Company is the first movie that Cronenberg helmed that he didn't write the script for, and excepting a scene where a young hitchhiker gets her naked chest glazed with motor oil, little of his style is apparent.  To some extent, that's to be expected--until the advent of music videos and television, most directors learned their trade while making features.  Although Cronenberg still refers lovingly to Fast Company, that probably has more to do with the making of the film than the film itself: this is, after all, a pretty stupid movie about funny car racing.  Still, the crew that directed the film, for the most part, has been with David ever since.  And while it was his next feature, The Brood, that truly exemplifies how good Cronenberg was becoming, Fast Company was the teams first mission.  It'll have to do.

-Tucker Stone, 2006

Action Comics #845

Written by Geoff Johns and Richard Donner
Art by Adam Kubert

Whether it's because of it's cinema trained writer (The Goonie's Richard Donner) or because Adam Kubert is trying to make sure no one forgets that there are two Kuberts drawing comics right now (Andy Kubert is over with Grant Morrison on Batman,) Action Comics decided to up the ante on crazy-huge widescreen art this week.  In a style that's less similar to a comic, and more like a tech sheet storyboard for a special effects company, Mr. Donner, Mr. Johns and Mr. Kubert decided to turn a comic into the Superman movie that might have been preferable to the most recent version.

Action Comics, while not the most high-powered intellectual piece, looks and feels the way a superhero comic should look as we come closer to the 8th decade of the existence of these guys.  It's a gorgeous, exciting book--all the better to send readers into a holiday festival. 

Happy Thanksgiving.
-Tucker Stone, 2006

Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

By Anders Nilsen with Cheryl Weaver
2006
96 pgs.
Drawn & Quarterly

It's very difficult to deal with Don't Go Where I Can't Follow from any sort of objective or critical viewpoint: simply put, it's the best graphic novel to be released this year. It's a stronger artistic piece than most films, albums, or novels.  It is without peer among many of the cultural objects that have been dealt with so far in the short history of this website, and it is highly recommended to all.

-Tucker Stone, 2006

The Gospel In Brief

By Leo Tolstoy
1921
Translated by Isabel Hapgood
215 pgs.
Published by the University of Nebraska Press

One might imagine that if you combined one of the greatest writers in human history with the most influential piece of literature in human history that the end result would be a book of such herculean perfection that its reader would have to carry around a towel to mop up all the blood that would be pumping freely from said readers eyes.  Sadly, not only is that not the case with Tolstoy's Gospel, but the book suffers from an even greater flaw: it's horrendously irritating while, at the same time, ridiculously boring.

Tolstoy had found an incredibly personal form of Christianity near the end of his life when, due to his horror at the relentless self-righteousness and conformity of the Church, he re-interpreted the religion himself, proceeding to live out the rest of his days vehemently criticizing everyone who didn't conform with his incredibly self-righteous interpretation: it's a cheap irony, and a sad, very real, end for one of the literary giants.  One of his efforts to educate the populace was this.  Removing all the mysticism and miracles from the four gospels, Tolstoy wrote up a short version of Jesus' life, choosing to focus solely on the words of the man himself.  What he ended up with reads just like it sounds: a dull exercise in creative writing that only sees continued publication due to it's connection to literary celebrity.  None of what makes Tolstoy important is here, if anything, Leo threw out his own style and intelligence along with Christ walking across the water.  Beyond the books unrelenting dullness, the constant egomania and inherent criticism of it's writer shine through in every line--Tolstoy so clearly loathes anyone who doesn't agree with him that it's uncomfortable to read about a man like Jesus, who, historically, pretty much loved everybody. 

Although the books brevity (and an overly large font) keep The Gospel In Brief from taking up much of even the slowest readers time, it ends up still taking too much.  Unless you're writing a paper on Tolstoy, there's no reason to spend a moment in these pages.  As an alternative, try sticking your face into the toilet--you're more likely to reach the Lord far quicker.

-Tucker Stone, 2006

Who's That Knocking At My Door

1967
Written and Directed by Martin Scorsese
Starring Harvey Keitel and Zina Bethune

One of the nice things about the spread of DVD is that obscure archival movies are far easier to find than they ever were before.  HMV, Kino and, of course, the Criterion Collection have made it profitable to release old movies, meaning that MGM and Fox have opened the floodgates of their libraries as well.  For the first time in any film-lovers life, marathoning a director's career is something that can be done from home.  While Who's That Knocking At My Door isn't up there with the work of John Cassavettes in the "hard to find" department, it's a film that hasn't seen any widespread release since the earliest days of VHS.  Now usually packaged in one of the two Scorsese box sets (courtesy of Warner Brothers,) a whole new generation of viewers, raised on the Scorsese of Goodfellas, Casino, and 2006's The Departed can experience Scorsese's first attempts at film-making. 

It's as unwieldy as one can expect, and almost as embarrassing as Martin's performance in Dreams.  A film clearly in love with the new wave, Knocking contains about as much intimate black and white photography as it does uncomfortably emotional conversation: this isn't at all the assured and cocky Scorsese that made Raging Bull or Taxi Driver; instead, it's a Scorsese most people haven't experienced before.   (Unless they've seen Kundun.)  Knocking follows a loosely plotted script that centers on the relationship between it's two leads, a romance begun in a conversation on the merits of John Wayne and ending in a pointlessly emotional rejection.  It's a nonsensical film, devoid of the playfulness that made these sorts of stories work when done in French cinema, and the various touches of what made Scorsese such a force in American cinema are few and far between.  Interesting only for it's historical value, and then so because it raises the question of whether it has any, Who's That Knocking is a film that didn't need to see re-release.  Now that it has, it will probably only appeal to people who enjoy irritating their populist friends by saying that the Departed sucked, and if you want to see the real Scorsese, "you should see..."

Throw them a smirk, and consider yourself in the know.

-Tucker Stone, 2006

JLA One Million

Written by Grant Morrison
Art by Val Semeiks
1998
DC Comics

Every year or so, DC and Marvel choose to take their respective universes of super heroes and throw all the comics into a huge storyline--often using words like "War," "Infinity," "Crisis," and "Armageddon" to indicate what a big deal the whole thing is going to be.  As is standard, there's usually a body count, albeit a body count involving characters that you've never heard of because they A) just came into existence or B) were never that popular (which is why they're getting killed anyway.)  There's never any danger of the big guns getting wiped out, and even if they kill a bunch of civilians, well, killing civilians is what motivates the underwear set anyway--so kill away.

DC One Million happens to be the 1998 version of this sort of storyline: the 853rd century of the Justice League returns to our time to do a little "meet and greet," luckily arriving in time for a futuristic plot to annihilate the universe.  Or something like that.  (There's always some weird pop "this is the end of all things" hanging in the balance.)  Although it's far more frightening to imagine that "crime" and "evil" still need to be defeated by people in spandex in the 853rd century (seriously?)  DC One Million happens to be full of a lot of ingenious little ideas, even though it is, quite staunchly, a pretty boiler plate story.  The current trade, quite nicely, ignores all but the most integral storyline--it's quite common to print these things in multiple volumes when one really only needs the most basic outline.  Still, Morrison is able to outdo himself on the finishing touches--Superman still being alive 85 thousand years into the future, being treated as, basically, the living embodiment of God: masterstroke.  The other superheroes roam around, entrusted with the control of entire planets, an idea that would work pretty well if it were expanded upon.  The current vogue for DC and Marvel is to make sure that these huge crossover storylines have massive impact upon their entire line, and it's nice to take a step a few years back and read one of them that only strives to be an entertaining story.

-Tucker Stone, 2006