The Wake #3

Part Three (of 10)
written by Scott Snyder
art by Sean Murphy

Wow!  We're just 30% into Snyder and Murphy's claustrophobic, underwater monster thriller and it feels like we're already in the frenetic rush to its conclusion.  If The Wake's introductory episode took its time burying its protagonist and its audience in the isolated, deep-sea oil rig, slowly dragging us down to the bottom of the ocean, the action since arriving has been fever-pitched.  Snyder doesn't mind killing off several of his already small band of humans.  Matthew Brenner, the unfortunate rig worker attacked in the previous issue is gone; team members Bob Wainwright and Leonard Meeker along with at least one other rig worker—more if the final scuba-suited count can be trusted—don't make it out of this issue, and Agent Cruz takes a nasty bite to the shoulder.

Considering the mermaid's violent behavior—from its initial attack on Roos outside the rig to its more understandable attempts to escape captivity—Dr. Archer's former encounter is further suspicious, or at least exceptional.  How, or perhaps why, did she get away?  It is also notable that the toxin released by the mermaid induces hallucinations of their abuse of sea life in both Wainwright and Meeks:  a vision of the ethical scientist Wainwright feels the most need to apologize to and a feast of beluga whale enjoyed alone at Meeks' unregulated open-sea home.

Snyder continues to amplify the chronological scope of his series, peering with increasing distance at human history:  a strange glimpse of an early human cave artist; a megalodon hunt over 5 million years ago, early even within the species existence of the mammoth; and now an asteroid collision with Earth 3.8 billion years ago witnessed from Mars.  Though The Wake #3 offers no glimpse of humanity's watery future, so tantalizingly flashed at the end of the previous issue with man's destruction of the moon, presumably because of its effects on the tides, the issue never loses sight of its place in the story's ever-expanding historical breadth. 

[September 2013]

The Private Eye #1

written by Brian K. Vaughan
art by Marcos Martin
with Muntsa Vicente

We live in an era in which privacy is a small virtue, in which openness about one's private life is considered a mark of honesty, and in which the details of our identity and our lives are kept online in virtual space.  Brian K. Vaughan, Marcos Martin, and Muntsa Vicente posit a future a few generations down the road in which that "cloud," that veil of security in a digital world, is eradicated.  The information cloud—not unlike the real estate bubble—has burst.  And vinyl records and public payphones have resurfaced.  Identity and privacy are supremely valued, and pseudonyms and disguises have correspondingly proliferated.

Enter our protagonist, a mostly illegal private eye/paparazzo tasked with uncovering the truth behind others' identities...for a price.  He takes the case of a beautiful young woman, Taj McGill, wanting to know just how much of her past others will be able to uncover, but in a surprise twist, one I can say with all honesty I had not anticipated, her past catches up with her, and she finds herself the victim of her former acquaintances, specifically a sketchy Frenchman suitably named De Guerre, a clever nod to the French term nom de guerre—i.e., a pseudonym—and his belligerent personality.

While I'm not overly fond of Martin's illustration style, which I find overly angular and unimpressively designed, there is no doubt that his unique vision of a future in which costume is both expression and disguise is delightfully variable, sadly untrue for his facial expressions which emote poorly.  It nevertheless has a look generally well suited to the story, and given the excellence of a few of his panels, I'm willing to grant some leeway for some of his more uninspiring pages.

Buy THE PRIVATE EYE at PanelSyndicate

Note:  Both Vaughan and Martin received a good chuckle in their Afterword:  "When I told Marcos I was thinking about a comic set in a futuristic U.S. that no longer used the internet, his first suggestion was that we should make the story exclusively available online.  This is what it's like collaborating with Marcos Martin."

[March 2013]

Collider #1

"The Paradigm Shift," Part One
written by Simon Oliver
art by Robbi Rodriguez

The premise behind Oliver and Rodriguez's new sci-fi offering from Vertigo is exceptional:  the laws of physics are coming unraveled.  Physics, in fact, is now a new cause for emergency.  Protagonist Adam Hardy is part of the FBP—an FBI off-shoot tasked with repairing and researching these phenomena—and, apparently, the son of a researcher "some years ago" (with videotape and big-box desktop computers) caught in a mysterious quantum tornado.  It's a premise that demands a lot of explanation, but Oliver's exposition is considerably less cumbersome than necessary exposition is wont to be.  The immediate drama, a seemingly routine gravity failure at a local high school, turns into a minor emergency of its own, an indication that even in the new non-Newtonian world the rules are about to change again.  By the end of the issue, they most certainly have.

Collider's characters thus far lack definition.  They embody, for the most part, familiar stereotypes:  the cocky Fed, the socially awkward brain, the easy-going daredevil.  However, the sparks are there for plenty of development.  Admirably, none of the characters are without their faults, some more so than others, but it promises a series with enough sensibility to avoid easy heroes and villains.  It also teases conflicting factions in the physics drama, seemingly financially motivated, which ensure the inevitable conspiracy subplots.  However, in a world in which the rules are changing, it's no surprise someone would be there to attempt to monetize it.

For the most part, Collider #1's artwork is fine but unexceptional, largely because so many of its panels feature characters doing little else but talking.  When Rodriguez is allowed to flex his muscles, particularly in Collider's trippy failing-physics scenes, he excels.  His visual imagination for physically fictional scenarios is a wonder, a style superbly complemented by Nathan Fox's pop-art cover, one of the finest of the year.  It's a world in which even the movement of light is unpredictable.  Hopefully, the story will be the same.  If this is the new direction of Vertigo, I'm enthusiastically on board.

[September 2013]

Dream Thief #2

written by Jai Nitz
art by Greg Smallwood

The first issue of Nitz's thus-far stellar mini-series relied heavily on disorientation for its effect, protagonist John Lincoln waking to increasingly incriminating evidence of his sleepwalking actions.  With Dream Thief #2, the rules—if we can call them that—of the mask are becoming clearer.  When John falls asleep, the memory of a murder victim possesses his body to enact revenge upon his killers.  Though he has no control over his actions in this state, John is subsequently able to recall them, as well as all other memories of those who possess him, gathering a collection of talents, abuses, and interests.  Seemingly, the mask itself cannot be discarded or destroyed.

His second time behind the mask, Lincoln finds himself possessed by Jimmy Oliver, a gay ex-army man turned stuntman turned porn star, whose lover betrayed and killed him when he refused to participate in their drug-running business.  There's nothing particularly mainstream about Jimmy, but Nitz writes him with sensitivity and ease, and from his perspective there's nothing particularly exceptional about his life.  It's the kind of storytelling sleight of hand that makes Dream Thief such a stand-out.

Though structually Dream Thief is more an action/horror story than anything, it continues to surprise with its healthy sense of humor and whimsy, one Nitz is willing to acknowledge:  "Jimmy changed my ringtone to "Yakety Sax."  Note to self:  The dead still have a sense of humor."  (Dream Thief #2, p. 2)

Lincoln repeatedly struggles to differentiate his identities, slipping pronouns in flashbacks and imagining/remembering some of Jimmy's most intimate moments—conversations with his father, his first on-screen sex scene, his death—and, though he takes this slippage in stride, John cannot help but be changed by it.  After all, who are you when you are suddenly flooded with someone else's memories? 

Polarity #4

written by Max Bemis
art by Jorge Coelho

The superhero mythology of his bi-polar metaphoric fever dream continues to spin away from Bemis, but his handle on the heart of his semi-autobiographical mini-series is strongest here.  His delivery, a more or less straightforward manifesto of hipster loathing and acceptance, is somewhat unoriginal and unsubtle, but after three issues of erratic (if entertainingly whimsical) angst and superhero antics, it was necessary for Bemis to clear the air, to clarify as much as possible his own relationship with his cultural movement.  And, in conformity with the overall impression of previous issues, it's pleasantly generous if frustrated.  As before, Polarity #4's finest moments are the small, personal ones.  Tim's confession of love to Lily, in particular, is both genuinely sweet and funny.

The superhero conspiracy is, however, if you'll forgive the turn of phrase, somewhat half-baked.  The transition of Dr. Mays from trusted confidant to deranged, power-hungry mad scientist is a considerable stretch, even if his weary frustration is comical as both.  The shadowy forces behind his employment remain entirely in the shadows, and the reasons for wanting to develop an army of mental-patients-turned-superpowered-soldiers remains unexplained.  The placement of sleeper agents, including the homeless man with multiple personalities, is clever but sloppily deployed.  The conclusion of this criminal conspiracy conversely far too tidy.

[July 2013]

The Wake #2

Part Two (of 10)
written by Scott Snyder
art by Sean Murphy

What an opening!  The deep evolutionary history of Snyder's The Wake provides even in its briefest moments of Part One some of the series' best intrigue.  Part Two ups even that ante.  What looks to be the prize of a successful hunting expedition, a large mammoth littered with spears, is revealed instead to be the bait for even larger aquatic prey, a gigantic megalodon, which dramatically drags down a massive hunting party of web-fingered humanoids as they continue to attack with killer precision.

The Wake has taken little effort to disguise its monster:  a mermaid.  Yet, its mermaid is quite mysterious.  Most importantly, it has been attempting communication with its sophisticated song for its full captivity, and Dr. Archer plans on listening.  It also, seemingly, can get into human heads, cause hallucinations or dreams.  It is simultaneously elegant and terrifying.

The team assembled by DHS, though introduced in Part One, are better realized here, particularly Meeks:  Leonard Meeker, a deep-ocean engineer and marine poacher.  Dr. Archer, to her surprise, is assigned by Agent Cruz to lead the team in their investigations, much to the consternation of her former boss and NOAA yes-man Wainwright.  Her expertise in whale song not withstanding, her former encounter with the creatures, suspected by Cruz and recalled with increasing frequency by Archer herself, seems to weigh heavily on both Archer and the direction of the story.

Once again, Sean Murphy and colorist Matt Hollingsworth deliver exceptionally fine artwork, capitalizing on The Wake's most explosive and epic moments—the megalodon launching out of the water comes to mind—and recreating the darkness and industrial shadows of the deep-sea drilling station.  They, with Snyder, have concocted a brew of human epic—indebted to Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey—and lyric horror—to Scott's Alien—with a mystery all its own.

[August 2013]

Bedlam #8

"I'm a Victim Here"
written by Nick Spencer
art by Ryan Browne

Though his methods are considerably more similar to 21st-century political terrorism, it turns out Spencer's new villain is as madly and philosophically motivated as his last...and perhaps more importantly, as Madder Red.  Speaking literally from the mouth of his victim/unwitting accomplice, he announces himself a savior, a man willing to induce the murderous birth pangs of a new freedom.  And Press continues to see through the ruse of the crimes.  Where Acevedo and her fellow police investigators follow only the most tangible clues, Press understands the rhetoric of violence.

Spencer too speaks this language.  While the opening act of his new villain—a series of public bombings in a cafe, city bus, university, and an office building—is eerily familiar, his second act—a dramatic epidemic of simultaneous suicides—is unearthly and fully in keeping with the tone Spencer has cultivated in Bedlam.

However, "I'm a Victim Here"'s finest and most surprising moment is its exceptionally quiet unveiling of the First, the rich only son of prominent business family and current city councilman advocating for an 'extraordinary crimes' task force, Matt Severin.  Part of what Bedlam has negotiated so well is its contrapuntal perspective on superheroics, and as such casting the First as a Bruce Wayne/Tony Stark/Oliver Queen golden child turned public service advocate fits the mold very well.  As Press's foil, Severin is more complete.

While new series artist Ryan Browne continues to underperform next to his predecessor Riley Rossmo, "I'm a Victim Here" shows considerable improvement over "Our Little Conversations".  Partly, no doubt, the longer turnover period allowed him more time to polish his style, but partly because it shows more of his own flavor than Rossmo's, Browne's artwork shines in this issue, particularly the opening flashback sequence between Madder Red and the First.  He still hasn't mastered the chaotic line movements of Rossmo and sometimes his faces get washed out or distorted by heavy shadows, but he seems to be finding his footing in the series.