Scarlet Traces

There’s something about nineteenth century literature that seems to inspire unofficial sequels and adaptions. It could simply be that everything from the period is in the public domain and free for people to do with as they please but I think it’s more than that. Works of literature from earlier periods are similarly available but don’t receive anywhere near as much attention.

Glancing at shelves in book shops reveal the likes of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Adam Roberts’ Swiftly, and Stephen Baxter’s The Time Ships, while TV gives us the BBC’s immensely popular Sherlock and a seemingly endless supply of Dickens, Bronte, and Stoker adaptions. If you’re into Doctor ho you’ll be aware that director Philip Hinchcliff took a lot of the period’s most famous novels as starting points for some of the show’s most famous stories.

Comic books are not immune to plundering this era for inspiration. Alan Moore’s Extraordinary League started off as a Justice League of Victorian literary creations and Warren Ellis has dipped in and out of the period for various things too. It’s also the period that provided the inspiration for Scarlet Traces.

One of the most obvious things to note about Scarlet Traces (subtitle: The Great Game) is that it is billed as a sequel to Wells’ The War of the Worlds. It’s one of the most heavily adapted and sequelised products of century nineteen, with everyone from Moore to Orson Welles getting involved. Clearly there’s something about Martians invading Earth in giant tripods that writerly types find irresistible.

The writerly type in this case is Ian Edginton. As already noted this is not an adaption of a work simply inspired by the novel, this is a sequel. Earth not only repelled the invasion but went on the offensive, using salvaged Martian technology to travel into outer space and improve living conditions on the planet. Specifically Britain. As it was Britain that as invaded by the Martians it’s Britain that had exclusive access to the alien gizmos, which has led to a world in which the Empire is still the leading, probably only superpower.

The plot focuses on an attack mounted on Mars. It’s fairly predictable and a little bloated around the edges at times, but it doesn’t drag and is written nicely enough to hold interest. Where the book really shines is in the world building. Gaps are filed in about the history of the world since the Martian’s made first contact. Edginton has a clear and strong vision for how he thinks this world works and it shows. It’s this, more than plot or characterisation (both overrated), that make me recommend this book.

Providing the art is Edginton’s frequent collaborator D’Israeli. He is, as always, a good choice for the sort of script Edginton produces. Rounded, expressive faces; towering rocket bases; square jawed, Dan Dare-alike space captains; and gleaming cityscapes are all handled with equal brilliance, showing the man’s versatility in the medium.

Edginton and D’Israeli are a formidable creative team. I’ve yet to read anything they’ve turned out together that’s less than enjoyable. This is one of the best examples of what the partnership can do. A clear vision for a fictional world, suitable artwork that’s pleasing on the eye, and a steady stream of revelations. I rarely ask for more form a comic.

Lucifer

If you’ve read The Sandman you’ll be familiar with Neil Gaiman’s fictional depiction of Lucifer Morningstar. Apparently somebody over at DC’s Vertigo offices read the series and was so impressed by this fairly minor character that they decided they wanted him to star in his own eponymous series.

And that’s how we got Lucifer.

Getting someone other than Gaiman to write the sequel series was a smart move. Gaiman clearly had little to see about or with the character of Lucifer otherwise he’d have featured far more prominently in Sandman. Giving the book to someone whom Gaiman approved of ensured that a similar authorial tone would be used but by somebody who actually had something of worth to say.

And this is the point at which I mention Mike Carey’s name.

It’s not that Carey’s a bad writer. I bought the first dozen or so issues of his Uwritten series before deciding that it was the sort of thing I’d rather own as trades (I’m shallow) and enjoyed the single Felix Castor novel I read well enough. No matter how friendly he is with Gaiman he wouldn’t be brought in to pen the follow up to such a massively successful series as Sandman if he was a bad writer. In fact his work here is of a higher standard than the Neverwhere adaption he did, because he’s allowed to use his own and build on Gaiman’s work rather than simply turn something that already exists into a comic script.

It’s just that… well, he’s not exactly a big name is he? And I think that’s part of the problem. Carey is viewed as a safe pair of hands brought in to do a competent job. He’s someone who’ll produce something that won’t get critics fired up into apoplectic rages, someone who’ll keep the money rolling in.

I’m sure that image is part of the reason more people haven’t read Lucifer and part of the reason it isn’t more regularly cited as a must-read. It’s not because of poor quality because actually Carey turned out a pretty good series.

Lucifer gets off to a shaky start, much like Sandman did before it, but once it’s underway it becomes something far more than just a hastily churned out cash-in. With Sandman Gaiman explored the nature of storytelling, dreams and reality. Carey picks his own themes, destiny and free will, and explores them in a similar fashion. With a central character who was created to be the antithesis of God, by God, this was a clever (or perhaps overly ambitious) decision. Surprisingly Carey pulls it off.

Lucifer also looks at religion more than Sandman did. Gaiman seemed to use iconography more than the actual religions themselves (look at the gods he chooses to use from the Egyptian pantheon and what he does with them) but Carey actually delves into the religions as systems of belief more. Carey makes great use of the Jewish and Christian religions and adopts Ragnarok as a running theme. He also dips into various other religions and mythologies in minor arcs too. It’s a far better researched approach than Gaiman used, and you get the feeling things aren’t just being used because they’ll be cool or impactful.

One thing that Lucifer lacks is a single standout artist. Sandman was lucky enough to cycle through a number of very impressive artists during its seven years on the shelves. Lucifer never gets an artist that provides any iconic images or does some career best work. Perhaps that’s another reason it’s not often cited as a must read.

Lucifer was never going to have the impact its parent comic did. Sandman, the book about dreams and reality, had a far cooler concept. It also had Neil Gaiman, a man who proved very talented at marketing himself. That wasn’t and isn’t a skill Mike Carey has. But with Unwritten shaping up to be the best Vertigo series in quite some time it’s possible people may be encouraged to delve into Carey’s proverbial back catalogues to see what else he’s produced over the years. If that happens then Lucifer may finally be viewed as the hit it deserves to be.

Just don’t expect it to get out of Sandman’s shadow anytime soon.

Why Are You Doing This?

It would be pretentious to say that Why Are You Doing This? by writer-artist Jason is about the meaning of life. It would be inaccurate too. It’s not about the meaning of life but it does look at deeper themes and the nature of humanity in the western world more than the average Mark Millar or Grant Morrison book ever would.

The story’s central character, Alex, finds himself framed for murder and on the run from the law after spending a week watering his pal’s plants. Having recently split from his girlfriend of four years he’s in a reflective mood throughout the story, which Jason uses to explore themes such as loneliness, love, and social justice. Some of these themes, such as love, are laid on a little too thick in places while others, such as social justice, could be considered underdeveloped. More could certainly have been made of the failings of the legal system that ultimately lead the book to happen.

A recurring idea of the book is the worth of anecdotes that can be told during an evening with friends. At several points Alex notes that he has very few to tell and reflects on their importance. Jason asks, through secondary character and murder victim Claude, if the idea is that the person with the most anecdotes when they die “wins”. He also notes that Ernest Hemingway led a life that took him all over the world but that his life ended in suicide. Anecdotes, interesting sequences from life, are clearly of great importance to the writer and he uses this book to get us thinking about them, but holds off from attempting to provide a definitive answer to the question. It’s a book that wants to make you think rather than impose beliefs and views on you.

It should be pointed out that Alex, and every other character in the book (including, presumably, the deceased Hemingway), is a dog. Or possibly a cat, it’s not overly clear. But that’s not as important to the story as it could be. It’s more because Jason likes drawing animals than for anything else. Or perhaps because he feels he’s better at drawing them. It’s certainly not designed to introduce a feeling of whimsy because this is a distinctly unwhimsical title in every other regard. If anything I’d say it’s to lighten the sense of despair and depression that the story induces.

Not that it’s a bad book. Reading a tale of despair and depression can make you more appreciative of what you’ve got. And as such stories go this one is well written. A lot happens during the slender page count, with every panel contributing something to the advancement of the plot or the fleshing out of a character. It’s a good story told confidently.

X-Men: Days of Future Past

I'd open this with a joke about time travel never going out of fashion but I don't know how to structure it. Just imagine I've done it and chuckle to yourself about how clever an observation it was.

Days of Future Past is not only one of the greatest, if grammatically puzzling, titles for a comic story ever it's also a highlight of X-Men canon. Considering the number of stories that are regarded as classics within said canon that's not something I say lightly. It was written by Chris Claremont during his immense decade-plus run on the X-books. During that time he wrote more stories now considered classics than anyone else no named Stan Lee or Jack Kirby has for any other group or character. Days of Future Past is amongst his best.

The basic premise is that the adult consciousness of Kitty Pryde gets sent back in time, from 2013 eerily enough, to inhabit her teenage body in order to avert impending doom at the hands of an army of Sentinels. After the standard exchanges where she convinces the younger earlier incarnations that she is who she says she is, naturally enough featuring Wolverine’s heightened senses, the gang set about stopping an assassination attempt by Mystique's Brotherhood that proved a pivotal moment in history. It may sound basic now but that's because time travel has become so commonplace in TV, movies, fiction and pop culture in general. This story was ahead of its time and, more importantly is better than the average "timey-wimey" fluff that gets churned out today.

The time shifting shenanigans allow for more impactful moments than the average Marvel book, then or now. Claremont is free to kill off as many future incarnations of characters as he pleases, something he embraces. The death toll ratchets up, demonstrating that the future is indeed incredibly bleak and something the X-Men are right to try and avoid. Claremont also employs one of his favourite tricks, featuring reformed Magneto.

It’s a great piece of world building, a demonstration of Claremont’s skill as a writer of comic books. Using established continuity he creates a bleak world with a compelling history that’s both fleshed out and intriguing enough to make you want to explore it more. Unfortunately some people did just that: in the years since Days of Future Past first appeared Marvel have milked the DOFP continuity dry, coming as close as they can to robbing the original of its appeal. Fox are getting in on the act too, with a film adaption due out next year. Thankfully no matter how much inferior nonsense they pump out the original’s standing can’t be diminished.

Squeezed into just two issues Days of Future Past was and is a triumph, one that changed what an X-Men comic could do. It is one of the highest peaks of Claremont's lengthy X-Men career.

Deadpool: Soul Hunter

The second trade paperback of the current Deadpool series brings a few new things with it. Chief among them is a new artist. The distinctive, emotive work of Tony Moore is out, replaced by the work of Mike Hawthorne and, for one issue only, Scott Koblish. The deliberately oddball plot of ghostly presidents invading America is also gone, replaced by something that allows for similar japes without feeling at all repetitive. There’s also a little exploration of the lead character’s origins, something Deadpool’s mostly avoided in his twenty years of Marvel appearances.

If you’re worried that giving ‘The Merc With a Mouth’ a definitive origin story will ruin him you don’t need to worry. Writers Gerry Duggan and Brian Posehn are as aware that humour is what makes the character work as they were in their first six issue arc. They don’t overload on revelations. It’s more just a few hints and teases as to Deadpool having a past beyond the Weapon X here. And that’s a good thing, because over the last few years Deadpool has become one of the publisher’s more popular characters. Giving him a more substantial past helps to make him less of a Wolverine knock-off.

Fun is still the order of the day with this book though. That’s clear from the first issue of the collection, which sees Koblish come on board to provide the art for an eighties-inspired flashback story which sets up the rest of the issue. This includes amusing cameos from Peter Parker and J Jonah Jameson and Deadpool invading the fabled Genie in a Bottle Iron Man story. It’s the sort of story that’s perfect for Deadpool.

The central plot sees Deadpool having to track down members of the public who have gained superpowers by making deals with a demon. One is invulnerable to harm. The second is a clear (but well-meaning) riff on DC’s Aquaman and how ultimately useless his basic power is. Another is a businessman who can see into the future and who is modelled on a certain New York billionaire.

Along the way the current day Spiderman appears (that’s Doctor Octopus’s psyche in Peter Parker’s body, fact fans), along with a bunch of C-list villains. Seeing Deadpool battle the likes of Lady Stilt Man, The Trapster and his long-time pal-slash-enemy The Taskmaster in a climactic fight scene is a highlight of the book.

What’s most noteworthy about this collection in comparison to the first is that it could be considered a team book. Deadpool is still joined by the ghost of Benjamin Franklin and throughout the book as the soul of SHIELD Agent Preston in his mind. When he hooks back up with Michael the SHIELD psychic from Dead Presidents the team is complete.

As with the first collection Soul Hunter is a fun and enjoyable read written by people who know how to make Deadpool funny as well as interesting. That’s a rare combo, as history has proven. If you’ve ever wanted to read a Deadpool comic this is the series to begin with.

Books of Doom

For me one of the greatest characters ever to appear in comics is Doctor Doom. I can't imagine there's anyone reading this who's unaware of him but just in case... Doom is the arch enemy of the Marvel supergroup the Fantastic Four (specifically he is the nemesis of Reed Richards) who has a deliberately obscured and contradictory backstory. He's the monarch of his own nation, Latveria, wears an imposing metal mask (which used to express emotions before Marvel, sadly, grew up), is a master scientists, practices magick, and used to love referring to himself in the third person.

I could write hundreds of words elaborating on all of these points but I won't. The point is that Victor Von Doom is one of the most intriguing, entertaining, and well-rounded characters in the Marvel Universe. As with many of his contemporaries (in fact all well-written bad guys everywhere) Doom has understandable and justifiable motives for his actions. He doesn't see himself as a villain. He sees himself as a genius and a hero.

All of this meant it was completely natural for Marvel to give him a starring role in his own comic. He's actually had several at this point, and Books of Doom is not the first. But it is (probably) the most prominent.

Books of Doom is a four issue mini-series that tells the (perhaps it's more accurate to say "an") origin story for the character. It presents various aspects that have been involved in stories of his early years before, but does contradict takes that have appeared in the pages of Fantastic Four comics. Magick, gypsies, humble beginnings and Tibetan monks are among the things that have played a part in shaping Doom's personality.

The fashioning of these disparate themes and ideas into coherency is left to Ed Brubaker. He does a fine job, getting Doom's focus, motives and speech patterns (yes a comic book character can have speech patterns) exactly right. The plot is less of a triumph, mostly because he's retreading old ground. He's very loyal to what's already been established and manages to put his own spin on things but when so much is already known it's tough to have much of an impact or surprise the audience. He sticks to the Jack Kirby approach of not showing Doom's face after a certain point, which is incredibly pleasing.

On art duty is Pablo Raimondi (which is a great name). He too does a fine job, capturing the sense of imperialistic righteousness that characterises Doctor Doom at his best and ensuring that the supporting cast don't fade into the background, which would have been all too easy with a bombastic creation like Doom in the starring role. A minor complaint regarding the artwork is that a lot of the book is set at night, leading to a lot of purples, browns, greys and blacks. It can make the book a little drab to look at in places.

Books of Doom is an essential read for any fans of Doctor Doom. It's not the greatest comic ever written, it's not even the greatest comic to make use of Doom, but Brubaker and Raimondi do a great job capturing the spirit of the character and do an put an entertaining, fresh spin on his origin tale. For anyone more concerned with plot than Doctor Doom there's a wonderful twist in the closing pages which is a real delight. All-in-all it’s something worth a look at, but not something that’s likely to make anyone’s top reads list.

Batman: The Killing Joke

As its title indicates Batman: The Killing Joke is as much a Joker book as a Batman book. This may not seem particularly noteworthy now, when an entire month’s worth of DC comics can be dedicated to pushing villains to the fore and there are almost as many anti-heroes as there are straight villains. But in the late eighties the approach was still new enough to be a novelty. Even with a big name baddie like Joker. Which was almost certainly a factor when Alan Moore decided he wanted to write it.

The plot is fairly basic. Joker targets Commissioner Gordon with a series of vicious pranks and attacks, his goal bring to prove that anyone can be taken down to their lowest, insane ebb with one bad day. Batman saves the day (natch) by tussling with Joker and saving Gordon from his seemingly overwhelming despair. Along the way we get a look at The Joker before he became The Joker and Barbara ‘Batgirl’ Gordon gets shot.

I'm paraphrasing but that's the basic gist.

The shooting was a rare example of a comic book occurrence that had a long term impact. Barbara remained paralysed until DC’s line-wide reboot in 2011. It wasn’t something cynically dreamt up to create a readership spike, it was something Moore devised to have dramatic impact. It did and does.

As a Batman comic it works. It does something new with established characters without betraying their roots or emotions and captures the gritty feel of Gotham City. As an Alan Moore comic it also works. A bad guy dragging a morally courageous man down to his level just because he can is exactly the sort of thing Alan Moore is known for writing.  

The book is well-written and nicely paced over its dozens of pages. It's entertaining and benefits from some lovely art provided by Brian Bolland (with the deluxe edition currently on bookshelves getting a great recolour job also provided by Bolland). Perhaps most importantly it followed on from the themes that began with Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns and played into the darkening of the Batman character. That's something we take for granted now as it's been the standard approach for twenty-five years, but it wasn't the guaranteed recipe for success when written that it is now. The approach has been a factor in the character's longevity, and we have Alan Moore (as well as Miller) to thank for that.

Umbrella Academy: Apocalypse Suite

Umbrella Academy: Apocalypse Suite is the first professional comic book work of musician Gerard Way. For a debut it is incredibly good. Way has a clear voice as a writer and shows a good understanding of how to put a comic together. Everything from the story’s pacing to cutting between scenes is written as competently as any experienced professional.

Umbrella Academy: Apocalypse Suite is also the first major comic book work of artist Gabriel Bá. His work is just as impressive. Clearly heavily inspired by Mike Mignola (Bá went on to work on a B.P.R.D. series in 2009) he enjoys heavy shadows and excels at drawing outlandish grotesques. He handles everything from quiet character moments to action sequences with equal aplomb.

Umbrella Academy: Apocalypse Suite opens with a half issue explanation of the general premise and setup. Forty-three babies were spontaneously birthed at the exact same moment, each with special powers. Seven of them were adopted by noted Renaissance man Reginald Hargreeves, known in some circles as The Monocle. His reason for raising them is to train them to save the world.

… And now for a new paragraph that doesn’t begin with the comic’s name.

The plot of the other five and a half issues focuses on an impending End Of The World event triggered by a reunion of the group. It’s here where Way’s ideas become rather heavy, the general premise of an impending apocalypse almost, but not quite, being outweighed by a plague of floating robotic heads, a throwaway villain who’s more plot device than anything else, and a load of unexplained animosity between the adopted siblings. Fair enough not giving us all the answers to that last one helps to build some mystery but to give us nothing at all is ridiculous.

This is far from a perfect comic though. Way has an impressive number of ideas on display, but I can’t help thinking that the book would have been better had it featured one or two less. Nothing is dreadfully underdeveloped but it would have been nice for some things to be fleshed out just a little. This is probably down to the old problem of a first time author wanting to get all their ideas into something in case they never get anything published again. It’s understandable but does detract from some of the book’s better concepts.

It’s no surprise that Grant Morrison wrote a foreword to the collected volume and was quoted as saying it’s “an ultraviolent psychedelic sherbet bomb.” The excess on display is right out of his playbook. But at least Way has the excuse of this being his first piece of work. And for that reason I feel that I may be being a little unfair. It’s rare for someone to write something this good, with such an understanding of the medium, on their first try. Way clearly isn’t just a minor celebrity (he’s the lead singer of My Chemical Romance… which will probably mean something to those of you who take an interest in music) who lucked into getting published. He’s a fan who wants to contribute something to the comic book industry.

The Ultimates 3

The first and second series of The Ultimates were both important titles. They helped establish Mark Millar as a major name at ‘The House of Ideas’, effectively setting him up to become one of the biggest writers in comicdom a few years later. They affirmed that Marvel’s Ultimate line was to be considered synonymous with the very best the company had to offer. And they were amongst the finest books turned out in the first decade of the century. A great deal of good was done by Hitch and Millar’s Ultimates books.

Naturally Marvel was keen to keep the title going. Unfortunately, for them and us, Millar was less keen to remain involved. Feeling he’d told all the stories he wanted to with the Ultimates team and wanting to work with different characters, both Marvel properties and his own, Millar declined an invitation to write The Ultimates 3.

The company was tasked with finding a new writer for the series. What they needed was someone familiar with the first two series, and the characters used in them, who was keen to do something new and exciting that followed on from Millar’s work. Ideally they would have given the book to a young writer who’d proven themselves on an expendable title or two who could have used The Ultimates 3 to establish themselves in the same fashion Millar had.

Instead it went to Jeph Loeb.

New ideas are not Loeb’s strong suit. Where Millar gave us a fresh and interesting take on well-worn characters, making them feel new again, Loeb did everything in his power to rework them to be more in line with their traditional portrayals. Which spectacularly missed the point of the Ultimate line, of course. Cap goes from being a man out of time to a generic square-jawed hero, Black Widow becomes a sex kitten double agent, and Thor inexplicably starts chatting like a Shakespeare character, ignoring the eco warrior theme he’d had under Millar. There are other examples. These are simply the worst.

Along with his complete non-understanding of the title’s original appeal Loeb also failed to provide an interesting storyline. Where Millar had provided fittingly large scale plots involving alien invasion and Nazi criminals (it’s more inventive than it sounds, I promise) Loeb tells the tale of a sex tape and a sentient robot butler. These are not subjects that should be off limits to comics, but they are subjects and storylines that should have been off limits to an incredibly successful action title being produced by Marvel.

He also went overboard with cameos and continuity. This is a trademark of his. We were “treated” to appearances by the likes of Spider-Man, Magneto and Sabretooth, the pointless debut of Hank Pym’s Yellowjacket garb, and the addition of Valkyrie, Wolverine, Black Panther and others to the team so that Loeb can play at writing mysteries (which he seems to think he’s rather good at, which would make him wrong as well as a poor writer). None of it adds anything to the story beyond a cheap thrill. The continuity was worse, mostly because Loeb didn’t have sufficient knowledge of what had gone before. At times it’s as though he thinks he’s writing for Marvel’s regular continuity, which, again, completely misses the point of the Ultimate line.

Adding to the woe was the exit of artist Bryan Hitch alongside Mark Millar. To my knowledge he’s never stated why he left The Ultimates but it would seem safe to assume he wanted fresh work. As good as Millar’s Ultimates scripts were it’s easy to imagine Hitch wanting to draw something else.

Replacing him was Joe Madureira. He’s not a bad artist but his work was so different from Hitch’s that it failed to feel like the same book. And as it was presented as a continuation of what had gone before that was a bit of a problem. His artwork just didn’t gel with the tone people were expecting.

At the time it was clear that The Ultimates 3 was a terrible comic series. Loeb and Madureira were entirely the wrong people for the task of continuing the sterling work of Millar and Hitch and they produced something bad. With hindsight it’s worse than simply being a bad comic. With hindsight The Ultimates 3 is where the entire Ultimate line took a dive in quality that it never recovered from.

Flex Mentallo

Flex Mentallo first appeared during Grant Morrison’s time writing Doom Patrol. He was a throwaway addition designed to act as a parody of a Charles Atlas advertising character as well as golden age comic tropes in general. His power of flexing muscles, which sorted out seemingly any problem, seemed designed to draw attention to how simple, which is to say wholesome and free of worry as opposed to foolish or stupid, comic books of the past were.

The character was well-suited to a minor appearance in a book like Doom Patrol. It was a title that thrived on being quirky and strange and Mentallo’s oddball power and eccentric look (he wears a pair of leopard print strongman trunks and a gabardine mac) were a natural fit. That was never going to be enough for Grant Morrison. He had to pluck this one dimensional character from relative obscurity and award him his own four issue series.

In principle that’s a decision that could have worked. Had Morrison used the title as a tool to frame his feelings and thoughts on the golden age of comics it could have been an interesting read. Mentallo would have been the perfect creation for such a comic, being a modern creation designed to ape the standards of a previous era he would have had a different relationship to the source material than other characters. What’s more this is a comic I can imagine Morrison having an interest in writing. He’s penned an entire book on the history of superheroes and comic books in general. Imaging that he’d like to write something in the golden age style is an easy leap to make.

But that’s not we’ve got. Part of the book’s trouble is that it’s very difficult to say what we have instead.

It starts out well enough. We’re introduced to Mentallo at an airport, where he stumbles across a case that needs to be solved and, well, sets about solving it. His investigations quickly reveal that the man he’s looking for is an old accomplice of his, The Fact, who Mentallo believes to be a fictional creation. It’s at this point that we learn Mentallo is aware that he used to be fictional too, but was drawn out of pages he was scribbled on by his creator, Wally Sage.

It’s an intriguing premise that Morrison mostly ignores, instead deciding that what his four issue miniseries needs is more ideas. He revisits the idea of comic book characters being real at the end of the book and we again get a glimpse of how good a concept it is. It’s revealed that the world the book’s set in used to have thousands of superheroes in it, loving and protecting the peoples of the world, but they ran into some bother and only managed to save themselves by turning themselves into pure ideas that survived in reality as comic book characters.

These revelations come out over just a few pages in the fourth issue, rendering an idea stuffed with potential for greatness wasted. It’s the standard problem with Morrison’s work: he tends to have pretty good ideas but crams too many into a title, leaving them all frustratingly underdeveloped.

Even by his kaleidoscope standards Morrison seems unfocused with Flex Mentallo. He makes a big deal about how much raw creativity goes into the comics kids draw for themselves but never really pays the thread off or fully explains what his point is. He mentions parallel universes and timelines continuously but they never feature in any meaningful sense. He creates an incredible number of superheroes and –villains, with many of them ironically seemingly inspired by the silver age of comics, that feel wasted.

Reading the series it feels as though Morrison is desperate for it to be about something. But he’s so desperate to achieve this that he tosses in too much and the half-formed and unfocused results end up nothing but a disappointment. It’s possible that someone could drag some sense out of Flex Mentallo with some rereading but that person’s not me.

It’s ironic that a book with a central character based on the most simplistic age of comic books is such a tangled, convoluted mess. It’s also a shame. Frank Quitely does his usual job of transforming Morrison’s script into something that is visually engaging, inventive and fun and the book always feels as though it’s on the cusp of becoming really good. But it never does. As nice as it looks, and perhaps sounds, this is not something I can recommend.

B.P.R.D.

The Bureau for Paranormal Research and a Development began life as the employer of and base of operations for Hellboy in the startlingly named Hellboy comic. After a few miniseries it became clear to writer-artist Mild Mignola that it was a strong enough concept to support a title of its own. Just as importantly Hellboy was deemed interesting enough to separate him from his supporting cast and move him off on his own, away from a supporting cast.

So Hellboy tendered his resignation and went off adventuring alone while the BPRD were siphoned off into their own new title. That the name of the comic was chosen as BPRD was a surprise to no one.

What's strange is that after the split both the original Hellboy book and the new BPRD feel slightly like spin offs while also feeling like the original thing. Hellboy obviously feels like the original because the title had existed for a while by the time the central character headed out on his own. But doing away with the BPRD staff changes the feel of the book. It's no longer about a team, it's about Hellboy and Hellboy alone.

BPRD begins life feeling familiar because readers are already aware of most of the cast. Where it begins to feel new is in its weird war on frogs storyline. Presumably in favour of keeping the folklore and fairy tales approach for Hellboy's title BPRD fights this war against frogs that live under the Earth for its first several volumes. They’d shown up in Hellboy before, but not to the extent they were used in early BPRD.

It's a bold and understandable change. The war on frogs idea is the sort of thing that could easily have been elaborated on in Hellboy. The trouble is that it goes on too long in BPRD. It's the central focus of too many early arcs and provides the series with a far less flexible style than it had enjoyed when a part of the original book. It becomes boring very quickly, largely because not enough effort is made to do new things with the idea. Basically each volume sees the man-sized frogs appear and the BPRD dispatched to best them. It's like a kids' TV show, the same bad guys turning up with a wacky new plan every week and being beaten handily by the end of the episode.

But to read all of this makes BPRD sound bad. And it's not. Nothing bad would have had the success and double figure volume count that BPRD had enjoyed. It’s an engaging book that keeps that, once it’s found its feet, presents new ideas without comprising the spirit of the title it originated from.

I think the reason the title’s enjoyed the success it had is its cast. A lot of time has clearly gone into fleshing out the characters we were familiar with and making the new ones layered and interesting. Amongst the BPRD’s numbers are a werecat, a ghost, a pyromancer, a mummy and a psychic. They all fit with the feel of the world they feature in but aren’t simple caricatures. They’re given distinct personalities, which makes reading all the more enjoyable.

Mignola stayed on writing duties for the first volume or two but has always left the art of the spin-off book to a trusted cabal of artists, originally led by Guy Davis. He seemed content to provide nothing more than a general overview of proposed storylines. Aside from bringing us the war on frogs the arrangement's worked well. BPRD is a consistently written book with engaging characters and a steady stream of nice ideas. You can’t go far wrong with it.

Hellboy

The first thing I'd like to say about the Hellboy comics is that I like the way they're published. Rather than keeping the title going as a monthly series with no end in sight, an approach that would inevitably bring about dips in quality, creator and lead writer Mike Mignola has instead taken the decision to publish each Hellboy arc as a series in its own right. While that can mean waiting a long time for a new issue to come out it generally ensures a pretty high level of quality.

Another chief reason for the approach is that Mignola started out to writing and drawing each issue himself. This is not a preference that lends itself to fast production, as Mignola would have to write five or six scripts before embarking on the artwork. Over time other artists and writers have contributed to the series, but Mignola has remained heavily involved.

Which is fine, because he's a very good artist with a very clear idea for how he wants to present his characters and world. By his own admission he has limitations (modern technology and cars for example) but what he does produce always has personality. Mignola is one of the best in the world when it comes to bringing a shadowy cavern or a mysterious forest or a dilapidated castle to life.

In the world that Hellboy inhabits these things are important. Hellboy (real name Anung un Rama, it’s decided early within the series that Hellboy is a more convenient name) is a demon summoned by Nazi occultists in 1944 is a part of a ritual designed to help turn the tide of the war. Everything goes a bit wrong (as such things tend to) and the Germans end up defeated.

Hellboy is taken in by the US military and Professor Bruttenholm. Quickly maturing to an adult size he's trained to be an agent for the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Development. The first few series focus on Hellboy's work for the BPRD with Mignola hunting out obscure old folk tales to rework into plots. There’s also a pretty Lovecraftian theme to much of his work with the character, not least his origin.

It's Mignola's talent at crafting a modern tale from something old that makes Hellboy books as enjoyable as they are. His love of the supernatural, occult and strange is clear in all of his scripts and artwork. He loves his source material and wants to do it proud in his adaptions. It helps that fairy tales, myths, legends, and fables are particularly well-suited to the visual short form of comics.

Eventually Hellboy leaves the BPRD and sets out on his own adventures. The title keeps the same themes and inspirations (in fact it becomes decidedly odder for a while) but loses its supporting cast. This is because the BPRD was deemed an interesting enough idea to support its own series (an idea that appears to have been correct considering the fact that the BPRD books are still on shelves). The in-universe reason is that Hellboy no longer wishes to work for the bureau. It’s basic but it suffices.

The Hellboy character is a likeable one. He's written to be kind and caring with a playfully gruff exterior. It's a cliche now but it probably wasn't so bad when the character first appeared in the mid-90s. He's basically very similar to Wolverine only more immediately likeable. And with a giant fist.

Locke & Key: Clockworks

If Keys to the Kingdom was where Joe Hill started playing around with the potential of the Locke & Key world then Clockworks is where he begins to look at what makes that world work. Clockworks is the most revealing volume of the series. It delves into the mythology of the title, the history of the Locke family and the nature and origins of the titular keys. These are the six issues where we start getting answers to the big questions.

The volume begins with a story set in 1775. This sets the revelatory tone. In just one issue we discover how the keys are made, gets hints as to why, teases of where the series could end up, and some interesting information about the Locke family of the time. It’s a wonderfully written opening instalment, all the more impressive for the fact that we’ve never come across any of the characters in it before.

Issue two is the only one of the six to have a primarily contemporary setting. It exists partly to introduce the key that is central to this volume, the timeshift key. As you can probably guess this key allows those using it to travel through time. There are some limitations placed on it, introduced in a nifty way, and the key instantly becomes one of the most intriguing of the series.

The rest of issue two has the tough job of cramming in the lion’s share of the character development for the volume. The cliffhanger volume four ended on is acknowledged and looked at but surprisingly not resolved, a clever decision that allows Hill to carry it over into the concluding sixth volume. That’s what the second issue is largely about, nudging things into place for the series’ final stretch and conclusion.

Which leaves issues three to six. Those four issues see the timeshift key put to use allowing Tyler and Kinsey to see the lives of their father and his childhood chums play out. The four issues are written just as impressively as anything else in the Locke & Key series, with Hill doing a wonderful job of making his almost entirely new cast likeable and interesting. The story of these issues plays out like a conclusion in its own right, just one we’ve not seen the build up to and don’t fully understand. It’s perfectly accessible and any questions we’re left asking are clearly ones that will be addressed when the series wraps up.

Clockworks is all about expanding the Locke & Key mythology at the same time as explaining certain aspects of it. It’s a peculiar volume in that respect as it doesn’t really have a story of its own to tell as previous volumes have. The things that hold it together are the timeshift key, the various revelations, and the sense that the story is heading towards a satisfying, mythic conclusion.

It should be noted that this volume ends on a powerful cliffhanger in its own right, involving the much sought after omega key and the character who was involved in the conclusion of volume four. Sounds vague and irritatingly non-informative? I apologise. Locke & Key is one of those rare comics that urge you not to spoil them. To get the most out of it you have to read it without knowing too many of the specifics in advance. I urge anyone reading this to read the entire series, in order. It’s one of the greatest books, comic or otherwise, of the century.

Deadpool: Dead Presidents

Deadpool is a character that has appealed to me since the moment I first heard about him. He's also a character that hasn't been written well in any of the comics I've read featuring him. That's a list that includes Suicide Kings and The Circle Chase trade paperbacks as well as various X-Men appearances. The Wolverine: Origins movie didn't do much for him either.

The idea of Deadpool is pretty simple. He's a mercenary with a Wolverine-style knack for healing any wound (and a similar Weapon X origin) but without the nice hair and normal skin. He quips and jokes like Spider-Man, but with far more pop culture references and nods toward the fact that he's a comic book character. He's also one of the few worthwhile Marvel or DC creations to come out of the mostly dreadful 90s.

It was hearing that he knew he’s a comic book character that originally made me think he'd be the greatest Marvel character I’d ever read. Panels I found on Google Image confirmed that the character could be genuinely amusing and had appeared in what looked like well written stories. Unfortunately the ones I picked up (mentioned above) were less than quality stuff. So I decided the character wasn't for me and went back to reading Vertigo books.

A few years later I heard about the character being rebooted through the Marvel NOW! line. The first collected volume shows that the creative team here knows how to make 'The Merc with a Mouth' work. There are two writers, Brian Posehn and Gerry Duggan. Posehn has a background as a writer and comedian while Duggan has a varied writing background that includes everything from Uncnanny Avengers to Simpsons comics.

They make a good team. There's a clear love of comics and pop culture, with everything from Mighty Mouse to Planet of the Apes to Arrested Development being referenced. At one point there's a multi-panel sequence about Deadpool's mental instability which begins when he conspiratorially addresses the readers. I think the book's funny in part because the two writers were able to bounce ideas off of one another and see what worked.

They're joined by artist Tony Moore. His visuals immediately click with the writing and the character and prove a large part of the title's success. He was the original artist on The Walking Dead (something everyone who reviews this Deadpool book points out) which makes him a natural at drawing the large cast of foes (see below for why) and Deadpool's emaciated husk of a body. He provides suitably gory scenes without ever becoming so graphic as to appear unsettling. Considering some of the things he's tasked with drawing that could easily have happened.

The volume collects the first six issues of the series. The title, Dead Presidents, gives you a pretty fair summation of the plot. All of America's deceased Presidents are brought back to life and DP is called upon to dispatch them. That's basically all you need to know. If it's a concept that doesn't appeal you likely won't enjoy the book.

For those that do read the collection there's plenty to like. The wayward SHIELD Necromancer who's misguided actions begin the chain of events is a nicely realised character, as is put upon agent Preston, the one tasked with ridding the US of its former leaders in a quiet fashion. Even the ghost of Ben Franklin pops up as a supporting character. It's introducing this slight cast that helps to make the book work. They're all able to play the straight man to Deadpool's wisecracks, which is the best way of making him work, and also get their own moments of comedy not reliant on the star.

The plot ticks along through a steady stream of set pieces and exposition scenes. It's not the fanciest approach but it works well enough. Nobody’s reading Deadpool (or pretty anything from Marvel or DC) for bold storytelling approaches. The approach actually adds to Deadpool’s character. Perhaps it's because it allows him to go from electrocuting an elephant in a zoo to impersonating Marilyn Monroe and then on to battling Abraham Lincoln in a UFC setting without becoming stupid or dull.

As a standalone volume this works. It also works as the beginning of an ongoing series. The writers seem keen to make the book funny and interesting, and they achieve their goal. The book revels on being just the right amount of silly. If humorous Marvel titles are your bag then this is definitely something for you.

League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Century

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen’s Century series was originally released in three volumes between 2010 and 2012 (wrapping up a year later than originally planned thanks to delays that now seem to be standard for any League title). They’re set, unsurprisingly, across a one hundred year span with each instalment offering something self-contained while at the same time contributing to a larger arc also detailed in the other two.

My feeling is that Century is where the League series began to show signs of flagging. I still feel that it’s the best thing Moore’s worked on, but this third volume does nothing to contribute to that. Rather it simply avoids being bad enough to ruin what I enjoyed about previous entries.

If you’re not familiar with the concept the idea is that Alan Moore (likely with some input from series artist Kevin O’Neill) has fashioned a universe that incorporates every fictional character ever created, in place of prominent real life figures. That idea is alive and well and is still at the centre of things as the series kicks off with Century: What Keeps Mankind Alive?, set in 1910. Sadly by the time the final part, Century: Let it Come Down, rolls around it feels as if things have gone off the rails a bit and the title has definitely lost a lot of its lustre.

The first chapter teases that it’s going to take the book back to its roots. It’s set just a decade after the climax of the second volume, which showed a failed Martian invasion of Earth. In the intervening years the surviving members of the original line-up have disbanded and a new gang, operating under the same name has formed.

Moore seems to go out of his way to emphasise that this group is not as effective, or indeed charming, as the original. Which is in one way fine and in another ay quite irritating. The author’s point seems to be that this is a second string group both within the confines of the fictional League universe as well as for him as a writer. He doesn’t seem to want them to be viewed as the equals of their predecessors because they’re not as well-known to readers and because within the narrative they are not as powerful. It’s a nice idea but he does such a hatchet job on the new League that the book becomes difficult to enjoy.

Paint it Black moves things forward to 1969. We get hints at unseen line-ups but they amount to nothing substantial (which is in character for Moore, but as a reader I’d like to know more about these groups). Instead Moore focuses his efforts even more on the plot that threads the three chapters together. It involves Oliver Haddo, an interpretation of Aleister Crowley so metafictional I’m surprised the world didn’t implode when Moore wrote it, jumping around some bodies and attempting to summon forth a Moonchild who will end the world. For all he rails against generic superhero book-style plots he seems to enjoy writing them.

The 1969 instalment comes complete with the obligatory drug-induced dream sequences which are frankly a little lazy. They’re impressively realised by O’Neill but you’d think that someone with Alan Moore’s reputation and alleged inventiveness would be keen to buck trends and stereotypes. To see him writing exactly the sort of thing everyone would expect him to write for scenes set in 1969, and worse, exactly the sort of thing everyone else writes, is disappointing.

The final chapter wraps everything up about as well as can be expected. The Moonchild finally gets summoned and is revealed, to the surprise of nobody familiar with the book’s internal logic, to be a Harry Potter character. Of far more interest in the final volume is seeing the bleed of television into the League world turn into an unstoppable flood. This includes Moore writing The Thick Of It’s Malcolm Tucker. If you’re into unexpected writer-character mash-ups you’ll probably find something to enjoy about that.

The Century trilogy is where Moore seemed to stop writing the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen to ensure there was a fun comic on shelves and instead turns it into one of the many books he writes to show us his theories and views on the world. It’s telling that the most enjoyable thing about the entire two hundred page plus story is a short sequence which sees Allan Quartermain spending some time as John Constatine at the end of the 1980s. That could have supported an entire issue in itself. That it was relegated to a throwaway scene tells you all you need to know about where Moore’s priorities lay when writing the series.

JLA Earth 2

The idea of showing evil versions of established superheroes is not a new one to comic books. Both Marvel and DC have been stories about bad reflections of their good guys, and each other’s, going back decades. It’s a well-worn trope of the medium.

It is, of course, something DC have recently returned to with their Forever Evil crossover. In many ways it’s comparable to JLA Earth 2, a Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely collaboration from 2000. For his part Quitely produced predictably excellent work. Everything about his art style was perfectly judged. The deliberately inflated physiques of the superpowered characters doesn’t feel silly, they feel a natural fit for the story being told. The alternate outfits are a blend of older costumes and stereotypically villainous designs.

Quitely’s work is far better than Morrison’s. Whether he’s drawing a decidedly square-jawed and masculine Superwoman (the evil version of Wonder Woman) or giving us a splash page where Green Lantern grabs hold of the moon with titanic hands he’s always creative and clear.

Morrison starts off with a nice idea. A bad version of the JLA ruling over a universe where they always win and the only man who stands up to them, Lex Luthor, is doomed to repetitive failings is a good concept. The teases of backstory we get for the Crime Syndicate are intriguing. Pleasingly they’re not elaborated on, leaving an air of mystery.

Where Morrison falls down is with his convoluted plot. Not happy to jut have bad versions of the JLA clash with good versions of the Crime Syndicate Morrison has to have the entire plot hinge on a minor character introduced early on. It’s a disappointment that he falls back on tying things into continuity references and gibberish about matter and anti-matter coexisting. It’s not what people read comics for. It would have been enough to just have the two teams face off in a climactic fight scene, especially when the book’s so slight.

That said Morrison does include nice throwaway details for the universe. Thomas Wayne being the chief of Gotham City’s police force, standing up to Boss Gordon and the tyrannical Owlman unfolds at a nice pace throughout the slender volume. It’s an idea that could have supported a story in its own right. Perhaps it should have.

The first page shot of the Crime Syndicate’s moonbase is beautifully drawn and a nice introduction. The first time we see the heroic, anti-matter Luthor after he’s crash-landed in a scene that deliberately reflects the Superman origin is nice, as is one of his earliest line “You are human. I am Luthor.” Morrison even captures the spirit of mainstream JLA tales by having the gang work on small scale problems such as saving a plane or rebuilding a city together, despite being an international supergroup.

It’s a mixture of a book. Ultimately it’s worth a look because of Quitely’s art and the general concept of the thing. It falls apart as soon as Morrison has to start paying things off, but that’s nothing new with him. His good ideas in this outweigh his bad, and his poor judgement of the resolution.

DC Crossover: Forever Evil

Anyone who’s followed the output of Marvel and DC for any significant amount of time will know that crossover stories are common. They usually fall under the heading of “event”, stories that focus on a development that affects the entire fictional universe and is told through all of the companies’ regular monthly titles. Theoretically they’re meant to present a larger than usual threat and story but in reality the concept has become so overused that it’s now impossible to see them as anything other than cynical cash-grabbing ploys and half-hearted attempts to provide memorable stories that will be critically acclaimed now and fondly remembered for years to come.

Which brings us to Forever Evil.

This is DC’s big 2013 “event”. The heroes of the world disappear, supposedly defeated by evil versions of the Justice League from an alternate Universe. Just to be as confusing as possible these alternate versions form a group called the Secret Society (shorthand for one of DC’s old bad guy gangs) but are actually, according to various writer interviews promoting the crossover, the Crime Syndicate. Things like this shouldn’t really matter but they do, a by-product of the cynicism with which these things are dreamt up. The continuity is considered more important than writing good stories.

Crossovers usually fall into one of only a few groups: generic stories of new all-powerful megalomaniacs destroying stuff until they’re beaten; two factions of good guys fighting one another (a theme Marvel particularly enjoys; and convoluted continuity rewrites designed to tidy up and simplify things that have only become needlessly complicated because there are so many crossovers going on to begin with. With the heroes gone their various rogue galleries inherit ongoing titles for a month (imaginatively dubbed “villains’ month”). In theory this is a nice idea. It gives writers the chance to present fresh perspectives on the villains and tell stories they wouldn’t be able to with the regular catalogue of lead characters.

Unfortunately that doesn’t happen. Few concessions are made for new readers and all but one gives us stories that are instantly forgettable and not at all enjoyable. There’s a ridiculous amount of philosophical pondering, done to illustrate that the villains aren’t just villainous for the sake of it but have internal conflicts and deeper motivations. These (poor) attempts are undercut by the fact that all of backstories we’re presented with (with the exception of the Joker) are flimsily presented. As readers we’re expected to take far too many leaps of logic to get these motivations to work. The writers seem to want to use famous quotes and Latin phrases as a substitute for logical, understandable writing.

The main story kicks off in the first issue of limited series Forever Evil. The opening pages ham-fistedly remind us that Lex Luthor is a thoroughly nasty individual by having him threatening to kill a man and ruin his family in order to get him to agree to sell his company. By the end of the issue, after Crime Syndicate leader Ultraman (a bad Superman who snorts Kryptonite like it’s coke, is harmed by sun rays, and has a U emblazoned on his chest) has made it clear that the Justice League is gone and supervillains rule the Earth, Lex has been recast as a good guy realising that Superman is needed to sort the situation out. We’ll see his quest to save Earth in the other six issues.

The various villain specific issues are even less noteworthy. The .1 that follows the various issue numbers is supposed to denote that a comic is both a good jumping on point for newcomers. While Forever Evil is fairly new reader friendly (ironic considering it’s not a .1 title) the same isn’t true for four of the other five titles I read. I’m fairly up to speed on a lot of Marvel and DC continuity and there were things here that baffled me. That shouldn’t be the case. If DC wants to continue existing it has to attract new readers, which means being as accessible as possible.

Grodd #1 (Flash 23.1) sees Gorilla Grodd return from being trapped in the speed force (whatever that means) to resume his place as king of Gorilla City. There’s no context in the entire story, which leaves it disinteresting for anyone who hasn’t been following the Flash title. I can’t imagine it was especially thrilling for people who knew what was going on.

Grodd quickly becomes a dictator, torturing and beheading his foes. That’s a pretty dark tone for a book starring a magical talking gorilla. Still, Chris Batista’s artwork is pleasant enough.

Two Face #1 (Batman and Robin 23.1) tells the convoluted tale of Two Face in a Gotham City with no Batman. He starts out trying to save the city by killing petty criminals. He’s also a member of the unseen Owlman’s Secret Society. Later on the Society turns on him so he shoots some grunts and, after a new coin toss, decides to let the city bleed. You gain no greater knowledge or insight into the crossover by reading the issue. It’s entirely pointless, a perfect example of why these things have a reputation as cynical cash-ins.

Completely detached from the regular DCU is Cyborg Superman #1 (Action Comics 23.1). Zor-El, a Kryptonian scientist, spends the days before his planet is destroyed trying to reverse engineer Brainiac technology. His intention is to create a capsule that will protect the city of Argo from imminent destruction. Naturally this doesn’t work out well for him.

The planet is destroyed and Argo is left hanging alone in space, its citizens dying or dead. Brainiac shows up, attracted by a beacon activated by Zor-El for unclear reasons. He turns the scientist into the “perfect” creation: a Cyborg Superman. We’re meant to empathise with Zor-El’s plight, driven to this low in his impossible quest for perfection as he simply tried to do right by his race and his family. But he’s written as such a bland, tedious character that I didn’t really care one way or the other about him. That it wasn’t made clear whether or not this story would impact on the DCU at large didn’t help matters there.

Relic (Green Lantern 23.1) is a confusing mess of continuity references. It exists more to set up the forthcoming Green Lantern crossover series (yep, another one) Lights Out rather than add to the concept of the cast of heroes being gone and the bad guys being in charge.

A scientist from the universe before ours (yeah, that old chestnut) realises that the emotional power source that seemingly every living creature relies on is finite. When his peers don’t believe him he sets off to get proof. He turns out to be right but it’s too late to save the universe and he ends up sucked into the next. The issue ends with him “awakening” looking decidedly evil. As a setup it may work but as part of Forever Evil, which is what it’s meant to be, it falls flat.

The final contribution I picked up was Joker #1 (Batman 23.1). It was easily the best of the six. Rather than dash off a generic story reliant on fanboy-pleasing continuity Andy Kubert instead writes a story that gives the Joker some emotional depth and both works alone and as part of the larger narrative.

Andy Clarke’s artwork helps a great deal too. It’s a pleasure to look at and he cleverly uses two very different styles to differentiate between the modern scenes and the handful of flashback’s to the Joker’s childhood. It’s the only one of the titles that I felt could have worked as an ongoing series. Perhaps creating that feeling wasn’t a concern for DC, but it should have been. It would have made many of these one shots mean more.

I’ve only read a handful of the books from the first week of what is set to be a month-long initiative and the first issue of a seven part series. As such it would be unfair of me to state definitively that Forever Evil hasn’t worked. There’s every chance that the books I chose not to look at this week and the ones that will be released in the future are and will be very enjoyable and create a coherent narrative that provides an entertaining story with a satisfying conclusion. Based on what I’ve seen I doubt that’s the case but it could happen.

Locke & Key: Keys to the Kingdom

After three six issue series readers were still keen for more Locke & Key. Joe Hill and Gabriel Rodriguez were happy to give it to them. But they altered their approach a little to keep it fresh.

Keys to the Kingdom is far more experimental with what Locke & Key can be than any of the first three volumes, both in terms of writing and artwork. The first issue sees Rodriguez channelling Calvin and Hobbes creator Bill Watterson for a story that plays with the idea of how we view things differently as we age. Youngest Locke child Bode gets the Watterson treatment as he feels left out by his siblings and unable to connect with children his own age. It’s a nice self-contained story that contributes to the whole as well as serving as a reminder for the main characters of the series. The different approach to the artwork is a welcome change and shows how talented an artist Rodriguez is.

The third issue also presents a non-traditional script. We follow the Locke kids’ adventures throughout a calendar month, each day getting anywhere from a panel to a page dedicated to it. Hill uses this as a chance to show the passage of time in a way that only comics can, and subtly moves his story and characters along too. It’s not a mind-blowing approach, but it’s something different and something that Hill utilises to full effect.

Hill is also far more willing to play around with the concept of the keys than he has been before. Previously he introduced keys almost reluctantly, always making sure they weren’t used frivolously and ensuring he looked at the full scope of all the powers a new key introduced. With Keys to the Kingdom he introduces half a dozen new keys, many of which have powers that could support a mini-series in their own right. A mirror key allows people to change their ethnicity while a Mr T style medallion (naturally featuring a tell-tale keyhole) imbues wearers with incredible strength and we get a tantalising glimpse of Kinsey gliding around with wings sprouted from her back.

In addition to those Hill also throws in some throwaway keys clearly intended to be humorous. We see a monster made from thorns and another made from chains, the latter being battled by a muscular Bode, an acorn key that has a strange effect on squirrels, and a teddy bear with an intriguing lock in the back of its neck. There’s a sense of fun to it all and you get the feeling that Hill finally feels comfortable to play around with his creation after getting his characters and the rest of the book’s mythology established. It was worth waiting for.

Previous volumes are not ignored and there’s no sense of this being the volume where Hill and Rodriguez slow down and decide to milk their creation. Along with the fun and interesting keys we also get more developments and revelations regarding the main story than we have in any previous volume. Dodge reveals his true nature in the closing moments of the sixth issue and the volume ends on a cliffhanger that plays on everything that’s gone before it beautifully. I shan’t spoil what it is here.

With its fourth volume Locke & Key continues to prove why it is one of the greatest comic books of the century. It’s a ceaseless parade of captivating ideas blended with a gripping story and really natural dialogue. It’s so well written that it almost makes you hope Hill and Rodriguez will renege on their promise to wrap the main story up after the sixth volume.

Utopia

What's a conspiracy thriller from Channel 4 doing with an entry on a comic book blog? It's not adapted from a comic, it doesn't focus on themes that are particularly synonymous with comic books, and it's not written by someone who even appears to have an interest in comics, let alone someone who's actually written one. It is, at first glance, a strange thing to include here.

Utopia is a part of the subgenre of shows that has become popular in recent years. It takes bits of alternate history and conspiracy thriller and whirls them together in a near future setting to produce something compelling. In Utopia’s case the near future sees a world plagued by food shortages and a skyrocketing global population. Setting it apart from its peers is the fact that the answers to everything regarding this conspiracy have been hidden in the original manuscripts of a comic book series called (cue metafictional gasp) Utopia.

The general idea is that the comic was written by one of the conspiracy’s architects after he went mad. Somehow this madman managed to script and draw a comic book and get a first issue published. The second, unreleased, issue is what the various factions in the show are after, as it reveals the truth of the conspiratorial plans.

Truth be told what we see of the comic doesn’t make it seem particularly interesting. It’s basically something to keep the narrative moving. Channel 4 missed a trick there. Had they brought in someone ambitious and or clever enough I’m sure a standalone issue two could have been produced that fitted in with the show and could have been sold to make the channel a little extra bunce.

There’s more to Utopia’s mention here than it featuring a comic book though. The show feels like it could have been written and worked as a comic. We frequently get stylish shots that wouldn’t look out of place in a comic. Even something as simple as a trip to a petrol station looks like it would be at home in the four colour world thanks to the way it’s shot here: the screen filled with primary colours and every movement happening for a reason. It’s a very well-produced programme.

It’s that use of colour that’s particularly comic book. I’m not in any way knowledgeable about technology but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the show had been treated visually to emphasise certain colours more. Skies are a brilliant blue, leafy fields are an intense green, lilac fields are an intense shade of… erm… liliac. The opening scene alone is enough to tell you that the show is going to be like a comic book in motion, featuring as they do a memorable set (a comic book store, no less), actors who wouldn’t look out of place in a comic wearing clothes that are incredibly distinct, and a visual homage to the red blood smear that Watchmen made famous. Even the show’s logo is striking: Utopia written in all caps on a bright yellow background (look up at the top if you don't believe me). You can envisage it on the shelf in a bookstore.  

If it were a comic book Utopia would be a grisly one. Violence comes often and is almost always gory. Across the six episodes an astonishingly high body count wracks up and there are some particularly gruesome scenes. The first episode features an unnerving torture scene involving a spoon and a man’s eyes while episode three boasts a high school shooting. These are not things that should be glorified or included in works of fiction lightly. Thankfully they make it into Utopia for a reason, but it still marks this as a show that’s very much for a mature audience. Channel 4, quite possibly the Vertigo of British television.

Being that it’s in the subgenre that it is Utopia is obliged to use certain standard character tropes. There’s the social misfit unstoppable thug, the computer expert who can hack anything, the girl who’s not all she appears, the nutter child, the secret agent who’s not all they appear, and the outcast who operates on the fringes of existence, well versed in the ways of surviving the rigours of their near future hellworld. Such familiar characters can make for predictability in places but as the cast is uniformly excellent (with the sole exception of Emilia Jones’s dreadful portrayal of schoolgirl Alice) the show gets away with it.

Also, by using such well-worn character tropes Utopia is able to get on with characterisation quicker: we know what computer hacker Wilson Wilson is all about within about three lines because he is so clearly being written as a standard issue computer hacker. That frees writer-creator Dennis Kelly and his team up to drop in information specific to Wilson. It also allows him to more easily wrong-foot us later on.

This approach is suitably comic book. There are dozens of comics scattered on the shelves these days that fit the near future conspiracy thriller tag, and Utopia further ties itself to the printed world by giving us characters that don’t tend to appear on television outside of comic adaptions. Mr Rabbit, one of the men who masterminded the conspiracy, the aforementioned Wilson Wilson, and Jessica Hyde, the character who operates outside of society’s conventions to get the job done, all spring immediately to mind there. They all seem far more comic book than TV.

Events in the sixth episode were deliberately written so as to leave things open for a second series should Channel 4 wish to commission one (which they’ve since done). That meant tying up certain plot elements while leaving others dangling. One of the threads that seemed to be neatly dealt with was the importance of the comic book manuscript. That means I’m unlikely to cover Utopia’s second series on this blog, but I’ll still be watching it. And I strongly recommend the first to anyone who likes good TV. Being a comic book reader is just a bonus.