The Factual Opinion

Comics Of The Weak: When Robin Missed An Important Tennis Match To Cry A Bunch

Green Arrow Year One # 6
Written by Andy Diggle
Art by Jock
Published by DC Comics

The final issue of this mini-series ends pretty much the way you'd expect a mini-series about a super-hero's origin--he doesn't die, and he wins in enough of a heroic fashion that, instead of returning to a normal life after his trials, he buys a bunch of material from a dance supply store and starts hanging out on rooftops.  Still, whatever kinks Jock had in the most recent issue have clearly worked them self out--the art here is stellar.  Crashing action sequences, nice linework and just all around dynamic presentation, Jock has got quite a unique style.  There's nobody working in super-hero books that draws like this, and that's a damn shame.  Whether this series has sold well enough for Diggle and Jock to return with something else will be determined in the next few months, or whenever the trade edition of this series is released.  The worrisome thing about this Green Arrow series is how needless it was, and, considering that C-Grade hero Metamorpho is having a Year One mini as well, it looks like DC has more of these in the works.  Origin stories are rarely worth the time--there's a reason why most of them can be dealt with in a scant few pages.  Fleshing any super-hero out to six issues is always going to be sort of masturbatory and boring; after all, if the goal of Green Arrow Year One was to make the prospect of a leftist archer a realistic, human vigilante, than it failed tremendously.  If the goal was to tell a better drawn-than-average super-hero story, than it was a success: but why couldn't it just have taken place in a regular comic book?  There's nothing "definitive" about this series, and considering the reverence with which DC wants the reader to treat these characters, it ends up back in the failure box.  That's way too schizophrenic of a response to have to something that's supposed to be entertaining.

Loveless # 20
Written by Brian Azzarello
Art by Werther Dell'edera
Published by Vertigo/DC Comics

Although original soliticiations for Loveless made it appear that the series would run for at least forty issues, it certainly seems that Azzarello is headed towards a finale.  He has, after all, killed off his original protagonist, and, out of the two left standing, one spends the entire issue with a noose around his neck while trying to keep balance on a rickety stool.  The other, Rose Cutter, hasn't been addressed for any extended period of time in months.  This issue is no different, with her hiding somewhere in the crowd, or as the bride, at the wedding that's been planned by some side characters for the last few issues.  Still, this being Loveless, and Azzarello being Azzarello, ruses are aplenty, as is a level of depraved hatred that is almost toxic.  Standing on the stool, with death wrapped around his neck, a freed slave turned bounty hunter finally openly admits his guilt in the gang-rape of Rose--and in a truly shocking moment of misanthropy, tells those listening that he'd do it again, and he'd rape all of their women if he could.  Azzarello, like Frank Miller, seems determined to destroy any level of currency he currently has with the "I Love Countdown & Mighty Avengers" contingent of comics buyers, and it's going to be a shame if he doesn't take on another long-form project when he finishes up this series.  Hopefully, the lack of sales for Loveless hasn't left him with a desire to escape the horrible taste level of Direct Market comics.

Daredevil # 101
Written by Ed Brubaker
Art by Michael Lark & Stefano Gaudiano
Published by Marvel Comics

Ed Brubaker has finally done the unthinkable--he's figured out a way to sideline a superhero's wife in a new, as of yet unimagined fashion.  Rape, murder, teleportation, kidnapping, brainwashing--these have all been done before.  But incarcerated due to a murder committed while under the influence of some kind of mind-altering fear drug?  That's a pretty new one.  It's also nice to see someone reminding Daredevil that, if he's so worried about his institutionalized wife, why not just break in and spend the night with her?  He is, after all, someone who has no qualms about breaking in to places he's not supposed to be when it's to catch a jewel thief.   While Daredevil is merely a pretty good comic in comparison to Brubaker's work on Criminal, it's still rare to read something that's this consistently entertaining.

Hellblazer # 237
written by Andy Diggle
Art by Leonardo Manco
Published by Vertigo/DC Comics

Diggle has spent most of this recent four issue storyline, of which 237 is the conclusion, with his lead character on the sidelines, picking up scraps of information about a group of people who have been exacting revenge, possibly for years, on the people who have wronged them.  He's done little to prevent the abuse, nor has he actually had much of an opportunity--but that's mostly because John is pretty lazy.  By the time he stumbles, quite literally, upon the group in this issue, he's far too late to prevent them from killing both themselves and quite a few others.  John being John, he runs away and saves his own ass.  All in all, it's exactly what anyone expects from a Hellblazer comic, only it comes across as completely enthralling because it's done so well, and surrounded, as it always is, by comics that are done so poorly.  Hellblazer, like Daredevil, will never reach the heights of art to which it may or may not aspire, but it certainly hasn't phoned it in for awhile now.

Ultimate Spider-Man # 115
Written by Brian Michael Bendis
Art by Stuart Immonen & Wade von Grawbadger

A lot of complaints get leveled against Marvel for not having any straight up heroes operating at the moment--Iron Man acting out an Orwellian wet dream, Spider-Man fantasizing about being single, Wolverine being, you know, a guy with claws who kills people, and Captain America decomposing.  Yet none of that makes a lot of sense when you read Ultimate Spider-Man--it's light, decent fare, with a likable character, the same corny dialog that the characters famous for, and a consistent publishing schedule.  However, it's written by Bendis, the guy that people who don't like Marvel comics seem to have chosen as the reason why all is wrong in the world--and that's pretty much the only reason this reader can see as to why it doesn't get more love.  It's the best version of the character since the days of Ditko & Romita, and it does what any decent super-hero comic on a regular basis: it's appealing to the fabled "younger" reader, it's earnestly optimistic in a field rife with an infantile angst, and it's got a stable artistic team that fits with the narrative.  It's an old-school comic book, in every sense of the description. 

Robin # 167
Written by Brandon Thomas
Art by Freddie Williams II
Published by DC Comics

There's nothing in this entire issue about Robin being on his high-school tennis team, and whether or not Batman is still mad about that.  (The logic being that, Robin being Robin, his secret identity may be compromised by being a total BADASS tennis player.  The only problem with that is twofold--Robin isn't very good at tennis, and tennis is totally boring.  If Robin was on the basketball team, then maybe.  But tennis?  Johnny Dullsville!)  Still, that's the whole reason the issue was purchased.  The tennis idea was pretty fascinating--would Batman sabotage the finals?  Would Robin have to out-serve the Joker to save Aunt May?  Instead, this is one of those issues where the hero talks to some dead person, so you can remember how tough it is for him to keep on going, and then it ends in a graveyard where he promises to keep up the fight, or keep hope alive, or never eat bread pudding.  It's times like these when you wish DC Comics characters had to deal with a draft, and all of a sudden, in the midst of his whining, Robin had to clear land mines in an Iraqi hot zone.  Lesson: If somebody named "Captain Boomerang" kills your father, your father was a douche and you're better off without him.   

Green Lantern Corps # 17
Written by Dave Gibbons
Art by Pascal Alixe, Angel Unzueta, Dustin Nguyen, Patrick Gleason, Vicente Cifventes, Rodney Ramos, Rob Hunter, Marlo Alquiza & Prentis Rollins
Published by DC Comics

That's way too many artists for a regular comic book.  It's nice that they're trying to keep this story on schedule, but horrendously irritating to read.  There's no rhyme or reason to why the art is so divergent in the book--it's just different every couple of pages.  Still, this Green Lantern experiment, which started off as a lark based on the recommendations of a few nice individuals has turned down a bit of a dead end.  What's the appeal to having a book with this many characters?  None of the female characters seem to be any different in personality, the males are identifiable by archetype, and the only drama seems to be who's going to die--but they kill somebody on every page, and it gets old fast.  It's obvious why Green Lantern fans want to read this--it's fan-fiction porn gone-crazy.  But who else is it supposed to appeal to?  Are there really that many people who are going to prefer this version of a lame action movie over watching an actual lame action movie?

Action Comics # 857
Written by Geoff Johns & Richard Donner
Art by Eric Powell
Published by DC Comics

Ends the same way it started, with good Eric Powell art and a Bizarro story that isn't as good as the one that Grant Morrison wrote in All Star Superman.  Two writers, for this?  What is it, exactly, that Richard Donner does for this book?  Does he lay on a couch, belching and saying random words, which Johns interprets into a script?  "Bizarro Planet.  Blue!  Moon on fire!  Crashing triangle.  Papa?  Papa."  The only thing that made this comic in any way memorable was the Goldfish cracker ad, and then only because it's always mildly unsettling when food is given human traits, and then assists human beings in solving problems so they can get back to the business of eating the food that just helped them.

Gotham Underground # 1
Written by Frank Tieri
Art by J. Calafiore & Jack Purcell
Published by DC Comics

In the world of Gotham City, people actually talk like this: "[You're] about as happy to see me as a prostate exam.  Not that I give two craps...save that nonsense for the mooks in bat pajamas."

Really?  That's the best that Frank Tieri can come up with?  Chester Gould's Dick Tracy is pretty good stuff, don't get me wrong, but can't DC even pretend that it's not 1950?  Who calls people "mooks?" 

The other, "omigod i can't be expected to take this seriously" moment that Gotham Underground brings to the table is the introduction of a character named "Tobias Whale" who looks like an albino version of the Kingpin and kills people with a FUCKING HARPOON.  It's not enough that he's a, y'know, big white whale of a dude, but his name is WHALE, and he's got a, one more time, FUCKING HARPOON.  Anytime people argue that violence and sexist content is there to appeal to new readers, Gotham Underground should be the comic that you whip out to prove that, no, DC's only financial plan right now is turning people away from comics as quickly as humanly possible.  There's no audience for something this stupid.  Except, apparently, me.

What If? Featuring Planet Hulk # 1
Written by Greg Pak
Art by Leonard Kirk, Rafa Sandoval, Gary Erskine & Fred Hembeck
Published by Marvel Comics

There are three stories here, one of them only a page long, all of them examining the minutiae of a storyline that isn't really much of a storyline anyway.  The first, a brilliant and detailed portrayal of the seismic narrative involvement of the Hulk's dead wife, only re-imagined that she is the grieving spouse, and the Hulk is the one who is dead.  An unstoppable tale, from start to finish, one that clearly had to be told.  It's as if, to steal a reference, Mr. T had appeared in a Broadway production of Henrik Ibsen's A Doll's House.  Clearly, Greg Pak's talents, currently only showcased in that comic where Hulk is at war with somebody, are severely underutilized.  The second story is mildly confusing, and not really interesting beyond the idea that, if stranded for long periods of time, the Hulk and Banner develop a relationship that includes totally separate lives.  Then the Hulk gets skinny, but is still carved out of steel, and muscles. What?  Final page is the Fred Hembeck story, a mildly funny 3-panel joke that gets stretched to the length of a page.  Although this is probably the place to mention that it's better to end a bad comic on a good note, the Hembeck passage pretty much fits this entire issue:  it's an idea, not really a story, so why the hell not?

The Authority: Prime # 1
Written by Christos Gage
Art by Darick Robertson & Tony Avina
Published by DC/Wildstorm Comics

If the horrible handling of the Wildstorm line can be referred to as a metaphorical abortion, then the publishing of The Authority: Prime could be referred to as the metaphorical fetus, which for some reason is still alive, crawling out of wherever they keep fetuses, and wandering around, trailing out everything that makes it a definable person.  Considering that Darick Robertson has been on books that were pretty entertaining and decently written (Transmetropolitan, The Exterminators) and ones that are still published that are pretty entertaining and decently written (The Boys), one imagines that working on this thing, yet another boring orgy of nonsense featuring a bunch of characters that look and behave like they came out of a I-wish-I-wrote-X-Men sketchbook, must be pretty difficult.  Christos Gage handles the scripting the way most writers have handled any of those Wildstorm books that have somewhere around 30 characters, most of which no reader has seen, or thought about, in a couple of years:  he lets Darick Robertson draw a bunch of fight scenes, and he lets it end with the promise of more fights to come.  That's pretty much it.  But if you're looking for a super-hero comic that will make the Justice League and the New Avengers look Dickensian in comparison, Authority: Prime is your best bet.

Foolkiller # 1
Written by Gregg Hurwitz
Art by Lan Medina
Published by Marvel MAX

Smart people like to joke around about killing and maiming gang rapists and childkillers.  Usually though, it's just a random sarcastic comment like "God i can't wait til they fry that dirty sunufabitch."  Gregg Hurwtiz is the guy who hangs around and keeps talking long after everyone has lost their appetite.  There's not much to say about this issue, other than to acknowledge that yes, it's extraordinarily violent, even by the standards set about in the MAX line, and that it's only somewhat original in it's usage of said violence.  Otherwise, this is really only worth your time if you're someone who feels that Natural Born Killers is a bit of a slog, and could have used more jump cuts.

-Tucker Stone, 2007

Insomnia

Directed by Christopher Nolan
Written by Hillary Seitz
Based on the screenplay by Nikolaj Frobenius & Erik Skjoldbjaerg
Released in 2002
Starring Al Pacino, Robin Williams & Hilary Swank

Nolan exerts an exacting, almost hermetic control over his films--although he's a thoroughly British filmmaker, his clean style of directing seems more in line with the men like Michel Haneke & Krzysztof Kieslowski.  However, Haneke & Kieslowski have never dabbled in the thriller field, which has (with one rather large superhero exception) been completely Nolan's purview.  It's arguable, and very easily so, that even Batman Begins falls right into line with Nolan's various male obsessives--Christian Bale's Batman is just as obsessive as either of the leads he plays in the Prestige, as is Hugh Jackman just as consumed by the same addiction to revenge that haunts the memory-deprived Guy Pearce in Nolan's breakout success, Memento.  Even Nolan's quiet debut, Following, is focused on a man who's obsession with identity leads him into the trap of a man obsessed with control.

Insomnia was to be Nolan's breakout mainstream film--a film overstuffed with recent Academy Award winners, an Americanized remake of a Norweigen cult success.  It, as all Nolan's post-Following films, looks superb, has masterful sound editing and is contains some excellent performances from a wide collection of character actors.  All in all, its appearance is that of a Christopher Nolan film.  Yet it's neither as good as the film it is an adaptation of, nor does its quality as a story match up to the pristine appearance that the film itself contains.

Insomnia was a remake of a Norweigen film by a young director named Erik Skjoldbjaerg, a man who's only other notable impact in America was the truncated, and by all reports awful, Cristina Ricca star vehicle Prozac Nation.  Skjoldbjaerg's Insomnia is one of those rare perfect debuts--a film that's part Hitchcock, part Bergman, through the lens of The Seventh Continent.  Starring Stellan Skarsgard and scored by Biosphere, it's a film that is boilingly uncomfortable, with a protagonist that's completely selfish and cruel.  Skarsgard, in what would later become Al Pacino's role, nearly rapes the local hotelier, molests and psychologically tortures a young girl, and it isn't until the close of the film that he decides to actually finish the job he was sent to Norway for in the first place--to catch the killer of a young girl.  The original closes with him, having escaped scot-free in an orgy of suspicion, driving away alone.

As can be expected with a major American remake from a young director, working with a larger studio budget and some extremely big-name actors, Nolan's decisions to excise the more unsettling parts of the original aren't at all surprising.  Studio films in America are never fully separate from the impetus to make money, and the likelihood of a big-budget thriller showcasing Al Pacino sexually manhandle a child solely to get information is nil.  The innkeeper, played by Maura Tierney in Nolan's film, is also, unsurprisingly, turned into one of those classic Hollywood plot devices: she exists so that Al Pacino can have someone to bare his soul too, after all, it wouldn't be Hollywood without some cheap form of moralization for Pacino's various illegalities.  In the original, it's clear that Skarsgard is guilty of some, if not many, forms of malfeasance prior to his arrival in Norway--in Nolan's it's explicitly laid out that Pacino framed a particularly nasty killer.  And therein do our troubles begin. 

Removing rape and molestation isn't the problem with the remake--in all truth, it's rather pleasant to not have to experience it.  After all, it's not these acts that present Skarsgard as such a dark, unsettling character--it's the combination of his almost completely internalized performance and the stark humanness of everyone around him that allows his merest signs of aggression to come across so strongly.  Pacino hasn't given a quiet performance of any merit since the Godfather films--choosing instead to vary his booming vocals and unpredictable behavior, and his best work has been in films that allowed that type of explosive work to shine: the lunatic obsessive Hanna in Heat, the selfish idealist Lowell Bergmann of The Insider are two brilliant films that would be unthinkable without Pacino's brand of male machismo.  Insomnia was a different beast, altogether.  Choosing to play the role as a man who seems constantly on the verge of a coma, he raises his voice rarely in the film, and he never, ever, opens his eyes beyond a half-lidded squint.  While the setting of both films allows for this, being set in the bizarre parts of the world where the sun doesn't set for weeks at a time, Pacino and Nolan's choice to have the lead play the role as if the character is slowly reaching the point where all his scenes would be performed fast asleep is one that clashes, irritatingly so, with Skarsgards performance.  The truth of an insomniac, as it's portrayed in the Norwegian film, is that of a man who can't sleep, yes, but it doesn't make him less of the man that he is--it just shaves off all the self awareness, the censor, the willingness to allow any external force influence his behavior.  Whereas it's always clear in the Norwegian film that Skarsgard is not to be trusted, Pacino's tired stumbling leads the audience to feel a meaningless sympathy for his behavior, knowing that he'll make the right choices, the only drama is whether or not his exhaustion will prevent him from having the chance.  The choice only worsens as the film reaches the introduction of the murderer, played here by Patch Adams hideous Robin Williams. Williams, a man who's choices in acting range from playing idiot man-children to idiot woman-children, is so far removed from what's required in the role that, at his worst moments, the film veers close to some kind of farce.  He's neither intimidating, frightening, or the least bit believable as a man who's loneliness led to obsession, and then had his obsession turn to murder.  His lack of ability even removes from the viewer the chance to see that thruline that exists throughout Nolan's other work: a man willing to sacrifice everything and anything for that which lays beyond his reach.  By the time the remake reaches it's Hollywood conclusion, where Pacino lies dying in the arms of Hilary Swank, extolling to her the virtue of "never losing your way," the film has meandered so far from having a discernible point of view that it's only curiosity, and the excellent cinematography, that maintains the viewers interest.

Nolan hasn't returned to the field of the remake since, and considering the nihilistic behavior of his protagonists in The Prestige, it's likely that whatever gross sentimentality that infected Insomnia has been excised both by the mediocre response it received, and the opportunity to apply it to a film more willing to receive it, that being Batman Begins.  The type of immature bravado displayed in Insomnia makes sense in a comic book film--it is totally undesirable, however, in a film that is meant to appeal to adults.

-Tucker Stone, 2007

Off The Shelf: Where Zombies Meet Shonen Jump

Off the Shelf is a new weekly feature to compliment, or condemn, the regular "Comics of the Weak" feature that runs on Mondays.  Off the Shelf is a similar take, for graphic novels, trade paperbacks, or whatever odd sort of comics collection doesn't fall into the pamphlet variety.  As these are usually longer and more involved than the comic books that get mostly reamed at the "Weak" there's less likely to be as much hate thrown out them--not because longer comics means better, but just because this reader is less likely to finish something he hates, and therefore, it won't make these reports.

The Walking Dead
Volume 7: The Calm Before
Written by Robert Kirkman
Art by Charlie Adlard  & Cliff Rathburn
Published by Image Comics, 2007

Here it is, the zombie comic that outsold the rest of the trade paperbacks in some vaguely useless rating of trade paperbacks and how well they sell.  As the sub-title indicates, there's a storm coming--and per the usual Walking Dead style, what the storm is, or will be, isn't indicated until the final page of this volume.  Instead, The Calm Before is standard Walking Dead fare--the little group of survivors that the book has collected have finally started building a successful community in the abandoned prison they've made their home.  Here, a child is born, a marriage is celebrated, and a depressed woman finally, after a heartrending setup spanning near the length of the entire series, takes her own life.  As always, Adlard & Rathburn's art is as stark as necessary, as haunting as possible, and as gruesome as expected.  Kirkman doesn't get much affection from this reader for his abysmal work on the Ultimate X-Men comic, but all the success that Walking Dead earns is rightly his.  The Walking Dead still consists of about a 50/50 scale of "stuff you've probably seen in zombie movies" and "stuff that's pretty original,"  but considering the dearth of real alternatives in mainstream comics, it's nice to see something that isn't coated in spandex given such respectful treatment.  As serialized stories go, this series is one of the few that merits a long run--and it's sales seem to reflect that.   After all, this is one of the few post-apocalyptic stories that plays into what makes that fantasy such a constant one in stories: anybody can imagine what the world would be like if one woke up tomorrow and most of the people in that world were gone.  Walking Dead, as the back cover always reminds us, isn't really about a zombie apocalypse.  It's about what happens to people when all wants are stripped from them, and about how they go about pursuing what they need--some kind of society, food, and a chance in a quiet corner to hope for something better.

The Walking Dead's Wikipedia Entry, includes full plot breakdowns.

Rubber Blanket # 3
Edited by David Mazzucchelli & Richard Lewis
Writing and Art Chores by Mazzucchelli, Ted Stearn, David Hornung,
Massimo Semerano & Francesca Ghermandi
Published by Rubber Blanket Press, 1993

Luckily found for a mere 8 dollars, direct from the New York apartment where it's publisher resides, Rubber Blanket # 3 is one of those happy finds that's difficult to even think about negatively.  After all, not everybody can get a copy of Rubber Blanket, which, try as one might, makes it certainly feel special.  Everything in Blanket--the one page gag strips about a couple of miscreants, the mildly idiotic fable about an elderly shut-in and her sycophantic son, and the brilliant "Big Man" story--is so superbly constructed in terms of story and art that it almost seems heresy to not exalt it's praises to the mountaintops.  Truthfully though, the best of this issue is "Big Man" whereas everything else wouldn't be out of place in the countless anthologies put out by Drawn & Quarterly, Top Shelf & Fantagraphics--all of which are far easier to come across than a pristine Rubber Blanket.  (Issues 1 & 2 vary in Ebay prices of 50-140 American, and don't exactly have the page count to merit the cost.)  Still, "Big Man" is the sort of story any cartoonist would, and should, be ridiculously proud of.  A Frankenstein tale set in a haunting Depression era heartland, Mazzucchelli showcases everything that makes him a talent in this short story.  It's a gutsy, simple work that jumps out of the page, living in the readers mind for days afterwards.  It's comics at their best.  It's also a remainder of why it's a sad state of affairs when a man with Mazzucchelli's obvious skill doesn't have more of his excellent work more easily available.

Mazzucchelli's bio at Read Yourself Raw.

My New York Diary
Writing and Art by Julie Doucet
Published in Hardcover by Drawn & Quarterly, 1999

Considering how bloodthirsty Doucet fans can be, it's with trepidation that this reader admits--Ehh.  Okay, we suppose.  The amount with which one enjoys the "story of a collapsing relationship" comic is usually in inverse proportion to the amount that of these sorts of stories that one has already read.  As in, the first 20 or so that you read seem pretty fantastic, and then you start getting a little worn out, and then you just feel like you're reading another issue of Batman, except this time it's a Batman with epilepsy and a clingy Alfred.

Doucet's bio at Lambiek.  Doesn't have all the choice quotes regarding quitting comics, those are to be found at Wikipedia.

The Nikopol Trilogy
Writing and Art by Enki Bilal
English Translation Published by Humanoids Publishing, DC Comics, 2004

Ahh, the Humanoids line--DC's version of an abortion prior to the abortion they had this year with the Wildstorm line.  Apparently, if you take a bunch of foreign comics that no one, excepting the random world traveler, was clamoring for, and then publish an insanely ambitious amount of them in mildly expensive softcovers, and then you don't advertise it, like, at ALL, it doesn't end up selling that well.  Who saw that coming?  Oh wait, that's right, a five year old.

While the Nikopol Trilogy is certainly an interesting read, it's the sort of thing that appeals to people who like to read books about science fiction universes where people eat flying dust and live inside robot-bug colonies while working on the "theoretical market"  and studying time collages.  That's not really to this readers taste.  It makes sense, in it's own dorky way, but "makes sense" doesn't exactly translate to "likable" in this case.  I can comprehend that the gods of Egypt (you know, the ones with the animal heads) live inside a flying pyramid and hang out around Earth and shooting lasers from their eyes while practicing routine cybernetics, but it doesn't necessarily mean that was an area in my life I needed to spend more time with.)  As a side note, this comic, and the movie made about it, spawned something called chess boxing, which is a hybrid sport of, you guessed it, the game of chess, and the game of punching the shit out of people.  For reals.

The only link you care about.  The Official Chess-Boxing Website.

Nana Volume 7
Writing and Art by Ai Yazawa
English Translation Published by Viz Media, 2007

Why is it that even trying to explain a Nana plot, or even remotely thinking about it, makes one's voice rise about six octaves and inspires giggling?  It's got to be one of the most infectious soap operas ever put to the page.  Each and every volume hints at some ultimate revelation of what's coming, the omnipresent future that the narrator voices from, yet all that seems to matter is what's happening right now, right here--is that kid going to stop sleeping around for money?  Who's the drummer with the shaved head in love with?  And is it all going to work out for Nana and Ren?  Meanwhile, the other titular character continues to have the most insane melodramatic relationship for the 7th time in as many volumes, with the 452th guy she's fallen in love with.  Lesson for young girls who read Nana and take it as a model for behavior: you don't have to sleep with everybody who holds your hands, and yes, sometimes he's lying to you.  Boys SUCK!

Free online previews of Nana: Chapters 1 & 2

 

Off To The Revolution
Cartoons by Pat Oliphant
Published by Andrews & McMeel, 1995

Old political cartoons can, when done well, actually make the reader more disgusted than new political cartoons.  Reading about an oil crisis and the repeal of civil liberties in a 2007 newspaper gets the blood boiling, but a nice banana-strawberry smoothie knocks that right out.  Remembering that it's been going on since 1994, and then remembering, oh yeah, before that as well--that's no fun.  Geez.  Maybe i should do something about...oh, wild.  Lookey how they tied Wonder Woman up.  She's preeeettty.

Some excellent Oliphant cartoons:

-Tucker Stone, 2007

Comics Of The Weak: Commodore 64's Vs. Iron Man

Marvel Zombies 2 #1
Written by Robert Kirkman
Art by Sean Phillips & June Chung
Published by Marvel Comics

Robert Kirkman & Sean Phillips struck gold the first time they did a Marvel Zombies mini-series, so it's no surprise they agreed to go back to the well again. In an intriguing turn of events, they've chosen not to focus on the nasty black comedy that made the first series an entertainment, and are instead are treating the reader to a mind-numbingly boring story where, if this first issue is any indication, the remaining zombiefied Marvel characters will somehow struggle through their zombification and become some kind of heroes again.  Just imagine if any George Romero movie stopped in the middle of the carnage and the zombies started to attempt to reacclimate themselves into society.  Sound like fun?  Yeah, not really.

Wolverine: Origins # 18
Written by Daniel Way
Art by Steve Dillon
Published by Marvel Comics

While reading this comic, the reader may start struggling with the notion that, for the first time ever, there's something good going on with an issue of Wolverine: Origins besides Steve Dillon's art.  Fight it off.  Nothing is happening here that hasn't been done better in Ed Brubaker's Captain America series.  Your reaction stems from the fact that for the past couple of years, when you saw Nick Fury, Steve Rogers & Bucky on the same comic page, it was in a series that wasn't about Wolverine's continuing attempts to convince the reader that he's "got what it takes" and "doesn't take no shit" and he's not a "walking, talking, stereotype." 

Justice League of America # 14
Written by Dwayne McDuffie
Art by Ed Benes & Sandra Hope
Published by DC Comics

Here's the image people are complaining about.  Take a notice at how much larger Wonder Woman's breast are than her skull.  Still, behaving as if this is somehow new, or somehow going away, is a bit of a lost cause.  It's like talking about Rwanda--talking about Rwanda is all well and good, but you know, all that talking didn't seem to save anybodies life, now did it?  But go ahead and pat yourself on the back, why don't you?  I'm sure there's a global warming rally you're late for.  Free Tibet!  (Oh wait.  Gosh, i guess Beastie Boys concerts don't change global politics.  Who knew?)

The other thing people are (kind of) complaining about is how Lex Luthors big plot to defeat Superman seems to stem on "upsetting" him, because Superman's next weakness behind that green rock from Smallville is "feelings."  Part of the method is having a big talking Gorilla beat up a Z-grade hero named Geo-Force.  Obviously, this reader is fully in support of beating Z-grade heroes--that's why comics have those characters anyway.  Still, it would make more logical sense that if you wanted to "upset" Superman, you'd beat up somebody who's name he could remember.  After all, Geo-Force is low on the totem pole not just because he's only got a fan club of ten people, but because other comic book characters don't like him much either.  Beat up Jimmy Olsen or something.  That'll really get Supe's fighting back the tears.

Birds of Prey # 111
Written by Tony Bedard
Art by Jason Orfalas
Published by DC Comics

I'd said I wasn't going to buy this again, and then I did anyway.  But why, you ask?  Because on the cover it said "Oracle Meets the Calculator!"  In case you don't know, there's a paraplegic hero computer hacker named "Oracle" and she has a computer hacker nemesis named "The Calculator."  He looks sort of like Val Kilmer in Real Genius, if by Val Kilmer you mean an anorexic rat person.  Anyways, these two powerhouses of modern comic storytelling meet for a battle royal during a tour of a building that's sort of similar to what a crappy writer probably imagines Microsoft's building to be like.  They settle their differences--over the 'Net!  Just like that movie with Sandra Bullock, where she ordered pizza online.  It's a real page turner.

The Mighty Avengers # 5
Written by Brian Michael Bendis
Art by Frank Cho
Published by Marvel Comics

The issue from whence this column stole it's name.  Where it is revealed that, if anybody had ever really wanted to stop Iron Man, all they had to do was buy a Commodore 64 off Ebay, and then route the operating system into...I don't know a gun or something.  Thank god it took almost a year to tell this (so far) five issue story.  It's really been worth the wait.  Like really, really worth the wait.

Oh, and because it's apparently the yearly "women are getting objectified in comics, did you hear about it, it's totally never happened before i think," Frank Cho's art is still really boring and full of heaving bosoms and ass shots.  And whatever, blog about it.

Powers # 26
Written by Brian Michael Bendis
Art by Michael Avon Oeming
Published by Icon/Marvel Comics

Powers cost more money than it used too, but it's longer, and it's going to try to come out in a timely fashion.  Still, it's becoming more and more suspicious that Bendis is seriously retreading his earlier work on the series, much like he's repeating himself in New Avengers & Ultimate Spider-Man.  While it would please a lot of whiny comic fans if the cracks in the Bendis-writes-everything-Marvel facade are starting to show, it's more likely that he's just editing old scripts late at night while working up the next huge crossover series that's going to try to outsell the last huge crossover series.  Still, this issue of Powers is pretty mundane, and the morgue attendant who spends the last couple of pages with a room full of bodies saying "THESE ARE OUR CHILDREN" is a little too much like that woman who's married to Reverand Lovejoy on the Simpsons.  It's like, yeah, we got it.  Dead kids is bad.  Sort of knew that before I gave the fat guy 4 bucks.

DMZ # 24
Written by Brian Wood
Art by Riccardo Burchielli
Published by Vertigo/DC Comics

DMZ #23 was an excellent done-in-one story about a graffiti artist finishing his life's work in the ashes of a war-ravaged New York City.  DMZ #24 was a mundane back-story about a failed suicide bomber's attempt to build a semblance of a life in the ashes of the same locale.  Lesson learned:  Graffiti artists and their life's work?  Totally great read.  Failed suicide bombers and their "angst" over failure?  About as interesting eating a fistful of pennies.

The Checkmate # 19
Written by Greg Rucka
Art by Joe Bennett & Jack Jadson
Published by DC Comics

Rucka's decided to rip a bit on Marvel's Civil War story, and although that's normally something worth criticizing, Checkmate's a bit smarter than Civil War was, so no foul is called.  Still, not much of a surprise here, as the "Fall of the Wall" storyline continues: if you've ever read a comic with Amanda Waller in it, you know that, little pepper that she is, she's always going to wait until it seems like she's cornered to whip out that picture she has where you're going down on a Martian.   Again, lesson time--Airplane bathrooms are the safe blowjob location: AIRPORT bathrooms will get you nailed quicker than This Old House.

Captain America # 31
Written by Ed Brubaker
Art by Steve Epting
Published by Marvel Comics

It should be acknowledged that Captain America isn't being read in a vacuum at this time.  Due to Marvel's "reprint everything in massive hardcover collections whether there's a need or market" attitude, this reader is currently making his second way through the first 25 issues of Brubaker's Captain America.  As has been mentioned in this websites previous incarnation, Captain America was neither a series or character that had ever made it's way across these desks--simply put, we had no interest.  We did, however, like Ed Brubaker.  His work on Catwoman had, up until the brilliant art was replaced with absolute cheesecake, been one of the most surprisingly enjoyable DC comics of recent memory, as had his nihilistic Gotham Central, written with Greg Rucka.  His exit from DC's doors wasn't greeted with a lot of pleasant emotion. 

Why such personal disclosure, when it's well known that "personal disclosure" and "comic books" often inspires revulsion in said reader/writer? 

Because Captain America is a great series, and even as this comic soldiers on, with it's namesake now six issues dead, it remains one of the few comic books that's been written with some long range planning in mind.  Even now, 31 issues, Brubaker is still telling the same story he started in a dark bunker "in Russia, near the Kazakhstan border."  He's telling it with style, with action, and with that almost nearly impossible to grasp quality that Marvel & DC almost totally lack, that Anders Nilsen has in abundance.  He's telling it with maturity.

The Boys # 11
Written by Garth Ennis
Art by Darick Robertson & Rodney Ramos
Published by Dynamite Entertainment

A lighter issue of the Boys than usual--excepting the part where someone has their face ripped off and then delivered in a pizza box, Ennis & Robertson spent most of the issue introducing a few new characters.   As is his wont, there's a Russian pining for the blood-soaked days of Communism, and a few months off has shown that the ear for ridiculously over-the-top Russian slang exhibited in Ennis' Punisher Max series hasn't faded a bit--and neither has this readers enjoyment of said over-the-top Russian slang.  For good measure, the characters may finally have a proper foe in the form of Little Nina, a woman who so far has only exhibited a penchant for some heated masturbation.  (She's probably responsible for the pizza-face thing too.)  Otherwise, it's just more nasty black comedy in the book that continues to showcase why DC gave their testicles away around the same time they gave up on publishing decent comic books.  Which was some time in the 50's, probably.

-Tucker Stone, 2007

The Top 25 Albums of 1983: #6

X
More Fun In The New World

Fun—the first tenant in X’s album title declarative (which could have used an exclamation point, by the way)—in X’s hands becomes simultaneously sincere and tongue in cheek.  More Fun In The New World (which, work with me here, would have been totally even more fun as More Fun In The New World!) alternates party stompers like “We’re Having Much More Fun” and “Make The Music Go Bang” with bittersweet portraits of seemingly mundane, secretly poignant moments like “The New World” and “Poor Girl”—a song that tempers its empathy for the title character with admonitions like “Don’t feel sorry for her,” and “Don’t cry when you kiss her.”  As for The New World, when John Doe rattles off a series of city names, “Route 66”-style, on More Fun In The New World’s opening track, he paints an industrial working class picture of America, dominated by the automobile: “Flint Ford Auto; Mobile, Alabama; windshield wipers; Buffalo, New York; Gary, Indiana; don’t forget the Motor City.”  His narrator obsesses over honesty—giving a vagrant a quarter because he doesn’t want to lie about not having one—and repeatedly declares, “It was better before, before they voted for Whatshisname.”  Even if that last sentiment sounds familiar (if no longer urgent) in 2007, the rest of “The New World” firmly roots X’s sensibility in the 1950’s.  Yet, the lyrics flow over a churning rhythm and swooning counter-melody that could only have evolved from punk rock.  At the time, X got a lot of propers for blending punk elements with other genres—country, surf rock, rockabilly—but, in retrospect, similar praise has been heaped upon just about every punk band that has remained in the cultural/critical canon.  What no one could have possibly noted at the time was how timeless X’s anachronistic qualities would prove.  The president dig in “The New World” resonates now, and likely will again, and it’s not too much of a stretch to imagine that it would have resonated in the 50’s culture the lyrics evoke.  X’s New World is also that world; it’s also this world; it’ll probably be the next world; let’s have more fun.

-Marty Brown, 2007

Comics Of The Weak

Green Arrow & Black Canary # 1
Written by Judd Winick
Art by Cliff Chiang
Published by DC Comics

Well, she doesn't have sex with the corpse.  She does keep it in one of Michael Jackson's old hyperbolic chambers in her basement for a whole month.  That's some kind of fetish at least.  There's not much to say about this issue--the art is by Cliff Chiang, and he's still riding high off his work with Brian Azzarello on Dr. Thirteen, which was way better than the last Nazi Vampire Gorilla comic that anybody read.  He's got a nice little cartoon style, that's pretty easy on the eyes, although everything starts to look like an animation cell after a while.  It reads like all Judd Winick's stuff usually does--like a DC comic that wouldn't be out of place in 1989 if it wasn't for the occasional use of the word "bitch" and lame Dr. Phil jokes.  Then again, I think there used to be Donahue jokes in the Giffen Justice League, so maybe it's exactly like 1989.  Oh, and why does Batman use a red chainsaw to perform an autopsy?  Wouldn't Batman just have nice surgical equipment?  This reader gave up on watching ER sometime around 15 minutes after Juliana Marguiles attempted suicide the first time, but since when does anyone use a fire engine red chainsaw to open up the chest cavity?  It's funny to look at, especially because Batman is wearing a butchers apron over his costume, but it's so out and out ridiculous that it comes across as a really lame joke--especially in the context of a comic that's taking itself way too seriously.

Justice League Classified # 44
Written by Justin Gray
Art by Rick Leonardi & Sean Phillips
Published by DC Comics

The format for comics creations, as it is understood by the public, is something like this: writer writes a script, gets it to the artist or artists, then it goes through some kind of hideous computer colorization, then it gets published, etc.  However, this issue of JLA Classified throws those well-known facts into a curious light, as this comic book was clearly drawn, inked, and colored before any script was written.  Leonardi & Philips drew a bunch of pictures, passed it off to Justin Gray, and he wrote whatever dialog he figured might match up with the drawings.  All after the fact.  That's the only explanation for this story.

Batman: Confidential # 10
Written by Michael Green
Art by Denys Cowan & John Floyd
Published by DC Comics

This is great--if there's one thing non-comics readers hate, it's when comics super-fans walk out of crappy ass superhero movies and talk about how they would have been better if they'd stuck to the crappy ass comics more.  Whereas the obvious truth is that the best superhero movie is never going to be as good as an out-and-out great movie that has nothing to do with comics whatsoever.  Batman: Confidential is going to be a comic that Batman-lovers hate and complain about more than anything in a good long while.  Awesome.  Don't get me wrong, from any standpoint, this comic is pretty much a piece of shit, from the heavy handed opening quote from Hamlet to the soon-to-be-the-Joker character taking a John Rambo level of physical damage, yet still continuing on to swim through some type of chemicals for over four minutes (because, you know, he tells you that it's four minutes) and then popping out and talking about a bunny rabbit in the moon.  None of that is what's going to make fans the angriest, that title belongs to the plot point where it's revealed that Batman hires some thugs to kill the man-who-would-be-Joker, and is therefore, in some sense, responsible for the Joker's existence.  It's just all too weird to be believed.  Denys Cowan has drawn some pretty great stuff in his time--some pretty decent Detective Comics in the 90's, the album art for the GZA's incredible Liquid Swords and some really intricate work for the ill-fated Milestone line that DC put out years ago.  His work here is pretty ugly, but that's probably because he's crying while reading the script he's been given, asking himself why Method Man never calls him anymore.

Suicide Squad #2
Written by John Ostrander
Art by Jaui Pina & Robin Riggs
Published by DC Comics

Apparently, the comics trope of "i have a codeword that makes regular people my willing slaves" is making a comeback.  The one used here is the second in less than a month.  Gosh, that's never going to get old.  This issue is all about how to solve the whole Iraq war--according to John Ostrander, if one wants American servicemen and coldblooded Persian terrorists to get along, they need to be forced into situations where they have to fend off angry Velociraptors and Pterodactyls.  Good to see DC is dealing with the important issues facing the country, with nary a bit of humor to lighten the message.  Somebody should really point out that it's not that hard to throw a little levity in the mix--between this issue, Batman Confidential and the Green Arrow thing, it's starting to seem like comics writers are fancying themselves as Earnest Hemingway, and not, you know, comic book writers.

Green Lantern # 24
Written by Geoff Johns
Art by Ivan Reis, Oclair Albert & Julio Ferriera
Published by DC Comics

Another balls-to-the-wall action comic with bloodshed on an epic scale, this latest issue of the Authority...wait, no, Ultimates...no, that's not right.  Oh, yeah, Green Lantern, that's the 2007 version of every comic since the Authority figured out that if you make it big and bloody enough, it'll sell.  Just in case you've read this Sinestro Corps series for a while, and you've started to forget what race the writer was, Geoff Johns is nice enough to have a black character say something so asinine that you'll remember that Geoff Johns is so totally white that he's almost translucent.  "All I have to do...is stay black."  Right there is the main reason it's so tiresome to read criticisms regarding the lack of good minority characters, be they gay, female or, basically, non-white.  No, it's not cool or grown up or "21st Century" for comics to be full of straight white males.  But I'll be damned if there's anybody who's got the ability at DC right now to write anything but pale boys, Vertigo notwithstanding.  If that "stay black" is the best they can do, then that road to equality is looking a hell of a lot longer, and a hell of a lot uglier.

Wolverine # 58
Written by Marc Guggenheim
Art by Howard Chaykin
Published by DC Comics

Wow.  Keeping up with Wolverine comics is kind of amazing.  So not only does the Angel of Death, Azrael, like to show up at wars and kill people with a sword while wearing a wearing a magicians cloak, but Wolverine beat the hell out of him in 1905.  And every time Wolverine dies, his soul goes and has a soulfight with the Angel of Death in purgatory, and up until now, he's always won.  Except that for time his 74th girlfriend died in his arms right before the soulfight.  It's like Guggenheim is worried about how nobody liked that Green Arrow Wedding Special, so he wanted to make sure we remembered what a shitty comic is really like, so that the hate would be somehow karmically lessened.  The weird thing is that I know he's doing it, yet it still pretty much worked.  As in, after I read this, I started to enjoy the hackwork of Judd Winick a whole lot more.

Stormwatch: PHD # 12
Written by Christos Gage
Art by Andy Smith
Published by Wildstorm/DC Comics

"Bang?  Yeah, look, we're not going to need you on this one.  I know that we had a talk, a few months ago about how the last issue of Stormwatch was going to go down, but then Doug Mahnke skated out, and we had to hired this guy Andy Smith, and he's sort of a low-rent version of Mike Mckone, who kind of sucks to begin with, so we figured, that, you know, since nothing in the issue is really that interesting, we figured we'd go with whimper this time.  Tell you what--we'll give you a call if Grant Morrison ever writes another issue of Wildcats."

Punisher War Journal #12
Written by Matt Fraction
Art by Ariel Olivetti
Published by Marvel Comics

Well, instead of continuing the last issues mediocre dive down the crap tunnel, Fraction and Olivetti decide to take a quick pointless detour through New York, where the Punisher decides to kill massive bug monsters with, in order, two chainsaws, guns, a "gun that shoots swords,"  another couple of guns, another chainsaw, and, in the final portion, by wielding somebodies arm while the dismembered arm holds a sword.  That, my friend, is how you write a comic book that people would actually want to read.  Of course, now that this issue is in the can and on the shelf, it's going to make it that much worse when Fraction gets back to the double-B Boring shit that he started up on the last issue.

B.P.R.D. Killing Ground  #3
Written by Mike Mignola & John Arcudi
Art by Guy Davis
Published by Dark Horse Comics

You really can do a plot synopsis of a BPRD issue in about a sentence--example: Wendigo loose in the compound!  Of course, there's more going on here than that, but it's all mood and nuance, and how does one describe mood and nuance?  BPRD is just good stuff, and it's currently operating as "good stuff" on a regular basis.  Hell, it's about a Wendigo, and that Wendigo being loose in the compound.

Ghost Rider # 16
Written by Daniel Way
Art by Javier Saltares & Mark Texeira
Published by Marvel Comics

As always, if a comic book has an old lady getting decapitated by a flaming skeleton biker, than that means it was worth it to go to a comic store.  The guys in charge of Suicide Squad could take a lesson from the Ghost Rider series--you don't have to try so hard.  If mainstream super-hero comics were supposed to be Malone Dies, they'd be published by Grove Press and you'd have a Nobel Prize.  But your job is to write about people who join something called the Suicide Squad, and about flaming skeletons killing old ladies.  Chill the fuck out.

The New Avengers # 35
Written by Brian Michael Bendis
Art by Lenil Yu & David McCaig
Published by Marvel Comics

Bendis continues on his odyssey of rewriting himself, this time by reenacting his first Daredevil storyline with super-villains instead of low-rent mafia thugs.  While he's clearly found a muse in Lenil Yu, an artist who's style is surprisingly well suited for superhero comics, New Avengers is still, 35 issues in, a comic that reads like the instruction manual to a video-game featuring the characters.  It's arguably the best team-up comic out there (as long as you ignore nostalgic fans who make out with Geoff Johns' JSA and tell you that Power Girl is a model of "female empowerment"), solely because of, and not in spite of that.  After all, team-up comics are never long or well-written enough for the characters to have any relationship beyond "salacious banter" and "weepy respect" as they have to delve, with every issue, into some kind of battle-beyond-all-reason-and-consequence.  Bendis is merely writing the thing that everybody wants, the thing they claim they don't get enough of:  a comic that has all the cool kids doing cool shit, and talking all cool while they do it.  While this issue doesn't feature any of those cool kids, it serves, like the portion of his Daredevil run that it stems from, as a mildly interesting aperitif, where all the bad guys team up to make money and not get caught.  Which is why it's far more interesting to read than DC's current villain team-up over in the Justice League:  super-villains are never going to succeed at winning in comic books, but they do, however, succeed at stealing.  That means something can actually happen in New Avengers.  It's not much--but then again, it's superhero comics.  You'll drive yourself crazy asking for more.

The Exterminators # 22
Written by Simon Oliver
Art by Darick Robertson & John Lucas
Published by Vertigo/DC Comics

Simon Oliver's strange epic insect comic begins taking a turn for a strange epic insect war comic, and Darick Robertson is still hanging around, giving a D-sales comic some star power.  Oliver's made the decision to have a few characters team up with the various monster-sized beetles and roaches that form the "bad guys,"  a choice that ensures that there's some talking going on both sides.  (Because, you know, roaches can't talk.)  When compared against most of the comics on the stands, Exterminators invariably comes out on top, a feat in all parts due to the strength of Oliver's writing--and although this six-parter is starting to drag a bit, as you can only shoot giant roaches with shotguns so many times before it gets kind of redundant, that dragging you hear is just the sound of a really great comic  missing a couple of beats as it nears it's second year of continuous publication.  As always, it's the only Vertigo series that deserves to be mentioned along the lines of Lucifer, 100 Bullets & Preacher--it's just too bad no one seems to be willing to read it to give it that chance.

The Dead Zone

Directed by David Cronenberg
Screenplay by Jeffrey Boam
Based on the Novel by Stephen King
Starring Christopher Walken, Tom Skerritt, Herbert Lorn & Brooke Adams
Released in 1983
Available in the US on Paramount DVD

Bad movies with great directors continues with this 1983 film.  Neither as creative or as gruesome as Cronenberg's other adaptations, The Dead Zone plays out as a intelligent filmmaker trying to redeem a piece of hack fiction, which it, of course, is.  (The Dead Zone is a Stephen King novel.)  There's some interesting stuff here--Cronenberg's fascination with the intimacy of male/female relationships when circumstances go haywire, Martin Sheen's bizarre marriage of lunacy and powerlust--but the movie is based on such meandering tripe that by the end, it was clear why The Dead Zone is a mildly successful television show (yet also terrible) featuring Anthony Michael Hall. The material just doesn't translate into film well--it's too random to sustain a decent arc.  Somewhere in the movie is three or four short stories, blended together heroically by Cronenberg, but still too incongruent to make for a good movie.  Of course, if the main character (who carries the incredibly stupid and unlikely name of "Johnny Smith") is played by a good enough actor, it might have worked.  And it was--by Christopher Walken.

Except it still didn't, and therein lies the next problem.

1983 was still prior to Walken's first promenade into the hack actor market, the insane "Zorn" in Roger Moore's final turn as James Bond, A View To A Kill, and according to some critics, The Dead Zone is considered one of his "best" performances.  I don't see it that way. As enjoyable as Walken can be now, with his constant Saturday Night Live appearances and Fatboy Slim videos, the man who made Deer Hunter, ceased to exist long ago.  Great actors wasting time (and yet, not energy or talent) in terrible movies isn't anything new, but at least you used to be able to count on them to eventually earn their stripes again--Clint Eastwood may have acted with a bunch of chimpanzees and Loni Anderson, but he also gave us Unforgiven.  De Niro may have jerked off with Eddie Murphy and Ben Stiller, but he tore apart Ronin and Jackie Brown. It's sad to to say it, but hey, Walken--what ha've you done for anybody lately? Watching him try to make some semblance of a human being in The Dead Zone leaves the viewer cold and unhappy.  It's neither a good performance by a relatively unique performer (like Deer Hunter) or is it the Walken who goofed his way through David Spade's Joe Dirt and imitated himself in Pulp Fiction.

That's the problem with The Dead Zone.  It didn't come out in 2005, when i could've pretended it was the sister movie to De Niro's Hide and Seek--a great actor slumming in a shit film for a paycheck.  It was 1983, and it was helmed by a director square in the middle of masterpieces, with Scanners and Videodrome on one side and The Fly and Dead Ringers on the way.  The problem can't all be blamed on the source material--after all, Kubrick was able to make The Shining work just fine.  But Walken--now here was a guy who still had yet to unleash the awfulness of The Prophecy and of course, Balls of Fury.  He doesn't just fail to compel in The Dead Zone--no, it's something worse.  He tries, and yet, still fails.  It's a disappointment to watch.

-Tucker Stone, 2007*

The Top 25 Albums of 1983: #7

Madonna
Madonna

Yep, this was her debut album, yep, it came out this year, and yes, that means next year is her 25th anniversary.  Which means if you're not a fan, or if you're merely someone who gives her the grudging respect due a woman who's career has far outlasted the bubblegum that formed her beginnings, it might be time to take that trip to the country that doesn't care about her music, or at least doesn't play it very often.  Just make sure she's not there adopting someone else's children.  (That leaves out Africa, but at this point, Antarctica looks pretty clean.  It's only open for something like four months though, so make friends in Iceland.  They only listen to Sigur Ros & Bjork.)

It's not "inexplicable" that Madonna has been around as long as she has--the woman knows this business better than all of those recent singers who've showed up on TMZ in the last two years.  Unlike most older bands who survive solely on their core fanbase, or whatever niche market they've cornered, she's adapted, she's set trends, and she's added more fans to replace those who she leaves behind.  That doesn't mean you have to like her, or her music--it doesn't mean you have to respect her as a person either--but it does mean that you have to give her the props due her as a businesswoman.  All the contempt and derision that gets thrown out regarding her embrace of religion and sexuality, her omnipresence on MTV (when that mattered) doesn't really make sense when thrown against the stark contrast with which none of those exact same behaviors worked for any of the thousands of artists who did the same--nearly every mildly attractive pop singer has shown you her naked flesh, and she still hasn't come out with anything that sold as well as "Like A Prayer."  While she may have not nailed the same amount of success in fashion or film, it's absurd to compare her to any of the tripe that claim themselves as her contemporary--Spears, Aguilera, Stefani, Knowles, or whomever, there's nobody like Madonna.  Yes, there's plenty who have vocal chops that outshine Madonna, but when you're playing around this field of pop music, that's barely a concern. 

It's unlikely that anybody involved with this album knew what was coming--after all, it was a dance album that had already gone through three producers, with simple vocals by a young woman who, while certainly pretty enough, didn't look that much different than any other New York club girl from the time period.  Her voice, which critics referred to as a "girlish hiccup" wasn't the sort of thing that anybody could have expected to have lasting appeal.  If anything, it was another 80's compilation of songs, some written by the singer and others the rejects of prior pop artists that would end up earning some royalties for all involved.

Except this was Madonna, and she, as simply as it can be put, doesn't lose.  For every Body of Evidence, she's got an Evita, for every American Pie, she's got Confessions on a Dance Floor.  It started here, with 8 songs.  That's it.  "Holiday," "Borderline," "Lucky Star," and "Burning Up" are four of them.  What else can you say about that?  You could say you don't like them--hell, this writer isn't sure how he feels about them, as object de artiste.  But you can still, if you're so inclined, dance to them.  Twenty-four years later, what other bubblegum pop can say that?

-Tucker Stone, 2007 isn't remotely sorry for filling the first two paragraphs with links, so it would be a waste of time to complain.  Instead, try to find the link that takes you to the Church of Satan.  It's there!