Tag Archives: Fred the Clown

Back & Forth: Hail the Future Heroes of Yesteryear!

26 Tuesday Mar 2013

Posted by in Back and Forth

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Derek Mainhart: Friends, mutants and aliens, lend me your ears! Join us as we travel back to the future, to a time when heroes roamed the sky and science paved the way for a better tomorrow! A time of ancient robots and futuristic gladiators! Atomic monkeys and electric guitars! Beckoned by the spark of a holographic welder’s torch, we hurtle forward into history to meet our retro-destiny! Like sands through the hourglass, so are the Days of Our Future Past…

A 1930s pulp hero created in the 1980s and revived in the 2000s? Who better to exemplify nostalgia for an innocent era that never was than The Rocketeer? Like his contemporary Depression-era adventurer, Indiana Jones, Dave Stevens’ legendary creation peddled in, and paid homage to, the wanton exuberance of classic B-movie serials. Stevens’ buoyant, uncynical cliffhangers (hell, the lead character’s name is Cliff) combined with his lush illustration (its classic draftsmenship itself like a relic from a bygone era) to inspire a devoted cult following. And let’s not forget his masterstroke; making pin-up queen, Betty Page, Cliff’s girlfriend. Stevens’ work was so accomplished, it seemed superfluous for anyone else to try their hand at the character, even after his untimely death in 2008.

Some characters however, are simply too good to fade away. Happily IDW has relaunched The Rocketeer, giving the hero his due: first in an anthology series featuring top-flight creators, then in a four-issue mini by creative team par excellence, Mark Waid and Chris Samnee. Now we have Roger Langridge and J Bone on The Rocketeer: Hollywood Horror. Folks, this may be the best new Rocketeer yarn yet. The previous stories tried (and succeeded to various degrees) to recapture the inherent nostalgia of the character via an innocent, never-say-die tone indicative of 1930s and ’40s Americana, perhaps casting it against a major historical backdrop like, say, WWII. Well Langridge goes five steps further and fully immerses him in the era. This should perhaps come as no surprise from a writer whose past work has encompassed everything from the slapstick of early cinema (Fred the Clown, hysterical) to Carrollian nonsense (Snarked!, inspired) to his current work, the vaudevillian, high-seas adventures of Popeye (a gift to anyone with an appreciation for the history of the medium). For The Rocketeer, he’s not satisfied to present his tale in a typical one-size-fits-all B-movie slang; rather he seems conversant in a variety of era-specific patois and idiom. Further, he entangles our hero with fictional characters specific to that time: first, the minions of Doc Savage (that greatest of pulp heroes), and then, seemingly apropos of nothing, Nick and Nora (and Asta!) from the venerated Thin Man film series. Between this and the multitude of references to old movies and forgotten actors (the narrator himself seems to be one), this book is a dream for lovers of pulp and classic Hollywood. It would be right at home being introduced by Robert Osborne on TCM. And let’s not forget J Bone’s pitch-perfect art. His bold, cartoony rendering immediately cues dirigibles, De Soto’s and dames. His work stands well with Darwyn Cooke and Jeff Smith (one wishes he was handling the covers as well; nothing against the legendary Walt Simonson, but his style, all harsh angles and frenetic line, is simply a poor fit – my one quibble). All in all Langridge and Bone are crafting a Rocketeer comic that is not only worthy of its legacy, but builds on it. Somewhere, I daresay, Dave Stevens is smiling.

Scott Carney: Geez, yeah, all that and–  OK, who am I kidding?  I’m not as tuned  into the history of The Rocketeer as you are.  (Is anyone?)  In fact, my first experience with the character was The Cargo of Doom.

DM: Oh, trust me; there are people who know way more about The Rocketeer than I do. What about the movie? Ring a bell?

SC: There was a movie?

DM: I can’t even.

SC: No, really, I liked what Waid and Samnee did in their mini.  If I’m being honest, I bought the series for them; and for the most part, I wasn’t disappointed; but I wasn’t all of a sudden a Rocketeer fan.  As far as I was concerned, it was an act of loyalty–to the creators; and if they were to take on the character again, I’d be there.  Wasn’t planning on ever following the further adventures of Cliff Secord.  In fact, I passed on this one–initially, anyway.  You recommended it–emphatically, if I’m remembering correctly–so I picked it up.  Dude, you were so right.  What a good time!  Through two, I’m thinking, like you, that Hollywood Horror is at a whole other level, thanks to Langridge’s vision and Bone’s fleshing it all out.

DM: Next up in our Canyon of Heroes is Archer and Armstrong #8 (Valiant). Their centuries-spanning pseudo-epic is rich in taste but refreshingly light in calories. Part buddy-story, part sibling-rivalry, part worldwide-conspiracy, this frothy fable features improbable adventure and high satire. It’s like The Da Vicni Code as written by Terry Pratchett. Writer Fred Van Lente (with solid art by Emanuela Lupacchino and Guillermo Ortego) garnishes the high-octane action with Big Ideas and comedic flourish, never failing to entertain. His one misstep here though; in an attempt to counter the usual lighthearted tone with some emotional heft, he has the villain speak of his role in an event that is very like a recent national tragedy. My immediate reaction, for what it’s worth, was a discomfiting “too soon.”  Again, this is a quibble, lasting as it does for all of one panel. Month in, month out, we write about the pleasures delivered by Van Lente & Co.’s work on this book. So pick the damn thing up, if you haven’t already.

Scott Carney: I know you’re glad I picked up Buddy Cops (Dark Horse) for you after your initial pass.

Buddy Cops #1

Buddy Cops #1

DM: Yeah it was all right I guess…

SC: “All right”?  That’s quite an understatement, my friend!  Sure, Buddy Cops–an hilarious one-shot from a publisher that has been making its name seem more and more ironic with each passing week–seemed to come out of nowhere.  In fact, it was an “Oh, and by the way” recommendation from one of my shop guys.  (That’s right: I have more than one.)  There was room enough in my bag and a few bucks still smoldering in my pocket, so I went for it; and I was not disappointed.  As promised, Nate Crosby and Evan Shaner deliver “da muthaf***in’ ruckus” in this crack-a-panel homage-slash-send up of the buddy cop genre.  The ready-to-rumble, Wu-Tang spoutin’ Uranus and the electrode-in-the-mud T.A.Z.E.R. are on the case–three of ’em, in fact–and take on outrageous creatures (including, a ninety-foot-tall orangutan in a monk’s robe, who professes precariously, “da lord iss my sligshot,” while sitting atop a church) and social issues (Gay marriage!  Arbortion!) in one giant “monsterswat!”  They are Riggs and Murtaugh from Lethal Weapon; they are Carter and Lee from Rush Hour; they are Hammond and Cates from 48 Hours; they are Starsky and Hutch from, well, Starsky & Hutch–the T.V. show, dammit!  But despite their being so obviously and so proudly derivative, they’re the freshest pair to hit the funny pages in recent memory.  I laughed out loud and profess my love for this book even louder!  And, borrowing from George Costanza, I say this with an unblemished record of staunch heterosexuality: I hope this isn’t the last I’ll get to see of Uranus.

DM: Ok, ok, it was funny. Yeesh!  Even so, it wasn’t even the funniest book this week, at least for my money.

SC: Keep your dirty money!

DM: Would that I could. But the biggest barrel o’ laffs this week was Bravest Warriors #6 (kaboom!). This time out, our future science heroes are knee-deep in bazookas, beauty pageants and brain transplants; and that doesn’t even scratch the surface. Joey Comeau’s story takes beloved sci-fi tropes and makes mincemeat out of them. And having his hysterically depraved scenarios drawn by Mike Holmes in the faux-naive, child-friendly style of Adventure Time (saturated in pretty, pretty colors by Lisa Moore)  just makes the whole thing seem so, so wrong. (Ditto Ryan Pequin’s giggle-inducing back-up story). The absurdity in this book is so ridiculous, it’s almost profound.

Of course the book that did more than any to bring science adventurers to the modern era was Jack Kirby and Stan Lee’s Fantastic Four. Emphasis on mod. After fifty-plus years of history, it’s easy to forget that these staples of the spinner rack were once downright cutting edge. As Pop Art was breaking the boundaries between ‘fine’ and ‘low’ art, Kirby was exploding the restrictive design of the comics page. In the midst of the Space Race, the costumed quartet were frequent fliers. And at the height of the British Invasion, Lee and Kirby gave comics its own Fab Four. Those early issues still crackle with energy and freshness. As the years wore on however, FF inevitably transitioned from zeitgeist to nostalgia, revolutionary to venerable.

Now Eric Stephenson and Nate Bellegarde have dusted off the elements that made FF great and reconfigured them (along with a whole bunch of other stuff) to create Nowhere Men (Image), a decidedly 21st century comic. The story (with the tagline ‘Science is the New Rock-N-Roll’) concerns four celebrity scientists (bearing more than a passing resemblance to The Beatles) who banded together in the ’60s, forming a mega-conglomerate called World Corp dedicated to the betterment of mankind. In the present however, they’ve long since gone their separate ways, due to ego clashes, differing visions, (sound familiar?) as well as mysterious circumstances that haven’t been fully revealed yet. One or all of them are also somehow involved in the fate of a space crew whose mission has somehow gone seriously awry.

Here the comparison to FF is particularly instructive: where Kirby and Lee, reflective of their age, presented a utopian faith in scientific progress, Stephenson and Bellegarde present a view that is, not cynical exactly, but knowing, tempered by an awareness of human weakness and fallibility. The innocence of scientific discovery for its own sake has been replaced by the reality of serving corporate profit. Technological advancement is understood as at least as destructive as it is creative. For example, in FF the group is testing an experimental rocket when they are struck by ‘cosmic rays’ endowing them with superpowers, which they promptly use to protect humanity (with the monstrous Thing serving as tragic, though still noble, counterpoint). In Nowhere Men, we have a group of scientists quarantined in a space station due to a ‘sickness’ they’ve contracted under mysterious circumstances. The effects of the sickness affect each individual randomly, even capriciously, as some are granted ‘abilities’ (as opposed to ‘superpowers’) while others undergo grotesque transformations that make the Thing look like Michael Caine in comparison. And some are in between (one of the more appealing characters seems to combine the brute strength and appearance of the Thing with the intellectual remove of Mr. Fantastic). Where one offered limitless promise, the other deals in disillusionment; even the title seems to suggest it.

This is far from a hopeless affair however. For one, the sheer inventiveness of the storytelling will not allow it. In addition to alternating between the past and present, Stephenson’s elliptical narrative is fragmented amongst various viewpoints. Only now, in this fourth issue, are its non-linear elements beginning to coalesce (I didn’t even feel comfortable reviewing the thing ’til now). But that’s not all. The very presentation of information is unorthodox. In the current issue for example, Stephenson thinks nothing of inserting three pages of prose – an excerpted ‘chapter’ from a tell-all history of World Corp – right in the middle of the action. This not only serves as a clever transition, but adds visual depth to the story, as the chapter is presented in a specific graphic style that convincingly suggests the late ’70s / early ’80s. Where FF‘s brash, boundary-breaking style was in keeping with the modern sensibilities of its era, Nowhere Men‘s approach is distinctly postmodern, befitting our own fractured time.

Which brings us to perhaps the most notable aspect of the book: its design. FF had the kinetic genius of Kirby’s art. Nowhere Men instead employs the principles of sophisticated modern graphic presentation. The clean, cold concision of Bellegarde’s art is impressive enough. But it is packaged, along with the aforementioned textual pieces, faux ads and information graphics, in a carefully considered manner that takes into account the comic book as an object. The refined aesthetic has been compared, aptly, to Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odessey.  Fonografiks, the company responsible for the look of the book, is really to be commended; I only wish the name of the specific designer was credited. The inside covers, the selection of fonts, the credits; all act in concert to create a visually immersive experience that reinforces the incidents of the story. When was the last time the design of a comic played such a concerted, integral role in the narrative?

FF has had any number of interesting runs over the years (Jonathan Hickman just finished up a pretty good one at that). But the true successor to Kirby and Lee’s vision, innovation and cultural relevance is Nowhere Men.  Book of the Week.

 Turning pages,

Derek & Scott

Back and Forth: The Long Goodbye

26 Wednesday Sep 2012

Posted by in Back and Forth, Microviews

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Derek Mainhart: So this week was marked by the end of three series I enjoyed (in addition to The Shade from last week – sniff!) Let’s start with the one I liked in spite of myself:

Spider-Men #5: I was all set to not like this series. It seemed pointless – why kill Peter Parker if you’re going to introduce Miles Morales to…Peter Parker? (The fact that he’s from an alternate reality just seemed like splitting hairs.) The only reason I picked it up was that Brian Michael Bendis has created a compelling character in young Miles. And then, about midway through, I found myself getting caught up in it. One of the things that make for a good story are memorable moments. And this series, especially in the last two issues, was full of them. The scenes with Peter “reuniting” (for the first time?) with Aunt May and Gwen Stacy were touching and understated, the reactions of all involved perfectly calibrated. Mysterio almost willing himself to be defeated was wry and knowing. (By pointing out the cliche, Bendis milks it for humor turning a potential weakness into a strength.) And it ended on a wonderful note: a cliffhanger that was organic, inevitable and completely earned. The art by Sara Pichelli was knockout; a touch of Kevin Maguire in the facial expressions, some Brian Bolland in the refined linework. (Yes, she’s keeping that kind of company.) I was still left with a slight, nagging feeling of “having your cake and eating it too” by the whole concept. But when that concept gives rise to a series this good, my reservations (unlike this book, as it turned out) were pointless.

Spider-Men #5 Cover

Scott Carney: Yeah: I agree.  I, too, was lulled into a sense of “Who shoots a web?” about this series.  I jumped into it for a pair of reasons: the creative team–as you’ve said–is top-notch; and wouldn’t you know, I’m kind of caught up in Miles, clearly the most compelling character kicking around any of the Marvel universes.  After the first couple of issues, I wasn’t very impressed.  To be honest, I stuck with it only because it was a five-issue run.  And I’m glad I did: as I’ve described at length in a “Scottlight on” post, I absolutely loved #4.  Oh, I could’ve called it quits there, at the highest of highs, but there was only one chapter left; so I picked up #5 with amazingly low expectations.  And, as one might–and as I did–imagine, those expectations were met–until the end, of course.  What a final page!  Peter’s searching for Miles on the–ahem–World Wide Web–is pitch perfect and honest.  Plus, I think Bendis is making the ultimate statement here: that even Peter Parker–the Marvel hero–is interested, just as much as we are, in Miles Morales, the spiderling who would replace him, more or less.

DM: Which brings us to Miles’ regular book Ultimate Spider-Man #15. As mentioned above, Bendis has more than justified the decision to kill off Ultimate Peter by crafting such a refreshing character in Miles. This book shines when it concentrates on its young protagonist’s private life; his interactions with his best friend (the irrepressible Ganke), his chilling interactions with his murderous uncle (quite a change from Ben!) and especially the ever-growing complexity of his relationship with his father. In Miles’ Dad, Bendis has created a character that is completely decent, full of integrity, and utterly fallible. (It’s a shame that Mom is still a bit of a cipher). The interactions between father and son have been the highlights of the series. Methinks tragedy lies ahead, and not the simple kind caused by burglar’s bullet. Paradoxically, the least compelling scenes are the ones with Spider-Man. The wisecracks seem to have come too easily to Miles and make it difficult to discern any difference between him and Peter Parker, at least when he’s in costume. So if I have on a quibble here, it’s that developments from the “UNITED WE STAND” crossover (there it is, stamped right on the cover, see?!) seem to be pushing the book in a direction of less Miles, more Spider-Man. Hopefully I’m wrong. (Crossovers. Ugh.)

SC: I feel your pain when it comes to crossovers.  I think it’s time to look at any “stamp” or banner or threat of a crossover or tie-in as a sign–a desperate warning sign, like, I don’t know, Bridge Out.

In terms of USM #15, I couldn’t have said it any better.  The book itself is better when Miles is just plain Miles–and when he bands together with his super-free coterie–Ganke and the family–to take on the wicked, and infinitely patient, antagonist Adolescence.  I mean, come on: Ganke’s premature discharge (art by the solid David Marquez)–with Peter’s web shooters in hand–is a all-too-relatable teenage tragedy that calls down the comedy with every web cast toward the ceiling.  With a chunk of ceiling dangling from a strand in his hand, Miles admits, “I gotta have my webs”; but he’s had plenty from the get-go, including the stickiest one–how his dad feels about Spider-Man–which plays out here some, but to no great effect.  Speaking of no great effect: if Spider-Men #5 has a perfect ending, this one has, well, not that.

DM: As good as USM has been, Marvel’s best book (with the Eisners to prove it!) has been Daredevil. Mark Waid has infused, not only the character, but the entire series with personality and style to spare. In this he’s been abetted by some stellar artists including Chris Samnee this issue (Waid and Samnee are quickly becoming the new team supreme – check out Rocketeer: Cargo of Doom). Issue 18 though, is a bit of a letdown. What bothers me, I think, is the shift in tone. Waid’s run has distinguished itself (mostly) from DD’s usual morose proceedings by injecting a good dose of healthy, swashbuckling fun. The somewhat forced conflict between Matt and Foggy in this issue, and now the re-introduction of a tragic character from the ol’ gloom-and-doom, pre-Waid days, is threatening to let the air out, sending DD back into the deep, dank basement from which he so recently escaped. Ah well, Samnee’s art, as I said, is fantastic, with the best bits having to do with DD riding up and down an elevator.

SC: OK, so, I think I know what you’re saying without your saying it outright.  Hidden there in your pristine prose is exactly how I felt about this issue, too: it’s boring.  Like you, I didn’t buy the B.S. rift between Matt and Foggy as it was “developed” in #17, and I certainly am not reaching into my pocket this time around–except, obviously, to pay for the book.  I will say that my spirit was lifted as I turned to page 8, which is where I found Matt and Kirsten, thank God, outside of Matt’s apartment.  Their conversation–two panels’ worth, anyway—whisked me back to the wonderful DD #12; unfortunately, I wasn’t left there very long.  I’m blindly banking on the fact that this issue is a transition into something decidedly more daring and devilish.  If it’s not, I’m going to be darned disappointed.  Despite my display of displeasure, I assure you that I’m not down on the artwork.  Samnee is one of my favorites right now, and I’m happy to see him back here, no matter how dank this month’s delivery may be.

DM: Speaking of dank places: Batwoman #0. The story by J.H. Williams III and W. Haden Blackman is wildly uneven. It further explores our hero’s origin and begins with some quite insightful, sensitive reminiscences of her sister and especially her father. This section fleshes out her character’s past motivations while exploring her bond with her father (lots of Daddy issues – get it? issues? – this week!) We then get an extended Kate-in-training montage. Here the writing goes from heartfelt and specific to numbing and cliche’.  This is followed by an elaborate exercise in cruelty that, it turns out, was a final test of her readiness set up by – SPOILER ALERT! – her father. First problem – this reads like a second-rate version of Evey Hammond’s transformation in V for Vendetta (right down to Guy Fawkes-like devil mask that dad is sporting). If this reference is intentional, it’s a mistake. You shouldn’t highlight a work that is superior to yours; it can only suffer by comparison. (Do you hear me Jeff Lemire on Animal Man? Leave Grant Morrison’s run alone! – ahem.) The second, and larger problem, as far as this book goes – the premeditated masochism of the plan not only runs counter to what we’ve seen earlier in this very issue, it defies everything we know about her father’s character dating back to Greg Rucka’s original, excellent conception. To say his actions are out of character is an understatement. It reads like a friggin’ supervillain origin. The ending however, is a partial return to sanity, and William’s art, it must always be said, is just gorgeous. He employs the same David Mazzucchelli-inspired style he used for the flashbacks during Rucka’s run, and he nails it. He can pretty much just do anything, art-wise. Take page 13 – he utilizes both the simpler flashback style and his more lush, rendered technique in the same splash page. The visual tension between the two is a show-stopper.

SC: Without question: Williams III’s art is the thing here.  But even though his shift in style provides an unexpected and equally as stunning anchor for the pieces of the past, I found myself still somewhat lost in the origin story–and not in a good way.  I may as well have been blindfolded like Kate when she first became involved with the “Murder of Crows.”  What I was reading, for the most part, meant nothing to me.  Could’ve been the Perez-esque (circa New 52 Superman) wordiness of the captions, or the layout of the captions, which was unnecessarily awkward at times; in fact, the gorgeous splash to which you referred is marred only by an almost unreadable caption–red writing on a gray background–to the left of the beautifully rendered Batman.  I had to tilt and turn the book; I had to move into the light and out of it again in order to follow the damn narration!  That’s unacceptable!  It’s something I’d expect from a Marvel book, for goodness sake!  I don’t know.  It could’ve been–as you stated–that the story of how she came to be a hero is an all too familiar one.  Hey, it happens–unless, of course, you’re Azzarello on Wonder Woman #0.

DM: You hit the nail on the head.  With Wonder Woman #0, we have a writer in full command of his craft; not surprising when that writer is Brian Azzarello. Check out how he effortlessly establishes theme and tone on just the first page: We see a pubescent Diana climbing to reach a giant egg while the accompanying caption box announces: “The monthly monster strikes again!” This ostensibly refers to comic book deadlines (wink, wink) but offers, of course delicious counterpoint to the image. We are then informed of the conceit that this is a reprint of that classic (apocryphal) series, “All-Girl Adventure Tales for Men”! So there you have it: a tongue-in-cheek, coming of age tale tackling gender issues through the retro paternalistic tone of a comic of yesteryear. Again, that’s just the first page! This is simply writing on another level. (Cliff Chiang’s art complements the tone with bombastic panel compositions, though perhaps not the retro style that the story seems to call for. Oh well, we can’t all be J.H. Williams.) So, young Diana manages to steal the egg from a shrieking harpy (‘natch!) in order bake a cake (‘natch!) for her birthday. After an altercation with one of her Amazon sisters, she runs off feeling misunderstood and isolated (that common teenage malady) She even asks, weeping, (in a panel worthy of Lichtenstein) “Why must I be different?” A god suddenly appears proclaiming in most manly fashion “I be blood! I be iron! I be guts! I be WAR!” (That he does so while wearing what appears to be an outfit from an S&M flick just adds to the fun.) He offers to train her to be the world’s greatest warrior, once a month, under the full moon (‘NATCH!) By now you may be thinking, “Gender issues? Old-fashioned dialogue? S&M outfits?! Maybe I’ll steer clear of this one…” But NO! Here there be battle! Here there be the Minotaur! And despite the inherent irony in the writing, here there be…pathos. As Diana, in the end, must defy her bloodthirsty trainer, Azzarello defines, with utmost sincerity, the essence of his rendition of Wonder Woman: not her strength, not her prowess in battle, but her compassion, her mercy, her love. That he ties this in implicitly with her womanhood might seem, itself, paternalistic, even condescending. I call it revelatory.

SC: I found Wonder Woman #0 to be a clever combination of a writing style that is clearly aware of itself and a retro art style that proudly profits from its roots.  Overall, I liked it a lot, perhaps more than USM.  I particularly liked the relationship between Diana and Ares, despite its being one we’ve seen a thousand times.  Every panel in which we find them together reflects their powerful connection–until, of course, on page 27, when Ares lets Diana have it after she defies him.  That connection, however, is never actually severed: the Minotaur is obviously a doppelganger for Ares.  (Check out the final panel of page 21 and the first panel of page 26.  How about the last two panels of page 27?  Accidents?  I think not.)  And, in that, it’s clear that Diana, in being merciful, has passed Ares’ test after all.  Ah, the “Merry Men” have done it again–even if it is for the first time.

DM: Another book conjuring impressive literary tricks is Courtney Crumrin #5. This issue takes some time to explore the Crumrin ancestral tree. It does this by employing a story-within-a-story-within-a-story; no mean feat and Ted Naifeh pulls it off with aplomb. With its mixture of folklore and personal history, it put me in the mind of some of Neil Gaiman’s  work, especially the great Sandman (though less subtle, and perhaps not quite as precious). The atmospheric artwork; some Kevin Nowlan influence I think, with just a dash of P. Craig Russell (though I hate the way Naifeh draws hands). If the writing lacks some of its usual irreverent buoyancy, it’s only because the title character takes a necessary back seat this issue. So all in all, another impressive effort in a title that is YA in name only.

Moving further down the age bracket, we have Peanuts #2 from kaboom!, BOOM’s excellent all-kids imprint. I have mixed feelings about the existence of this series. Should the exploits of Charlie Brown et al., be understood as highly individual vehicles of personal expression for their creator, the master, Charles Schulz? Or do they, like Disney characters, now belong to the world, necessitating new stories for a new generation of readers? It’s a matter for legitimate debate. But it makes it harder to complain when the stories (by Alexis E. Farjado, Shane Houghton, Vicki Scott, Bob Scott, Mike DeCarlo and Paige Braddock) are as charming as they are in this issue.

And now, returning to the aforementioned goodbyes, Merciless: The Rise of Ming #4 (by Scott Beatty and Ron Adrian) brings the Flash Gordon spinoff to a close (sidebar – I get annoyed when limited series like this aren’t explicitly advertised as such. I had no idea this was the last issue. Maybe it was mentioned in Previews or elsewhere, but it should be right on the front cover. Perhaps not listing it allows for some editorial wiggle room if something is a hit, or not, but as a customer I like to know what I’m getting into (grumbled the old man)). While I do think more of his depraved rise to the top could have been explored, it was still great fun watching Ming go from backstabbing prince to Despot of the Universe through sheer ambition, callousness and relentless force of will. A true Randian hero.

And finally Snarked! #12 (another unexpected last issue, grumble grumble!). This well-deserved Eisner-Award winning series represents comics at their most exciting; idiosyncratic work by a cartoonist (the inimitable Roger Langridge) at the height of his powers, putting them in the service of a singular, fantastic vision. In this case that vision is a heady brew of Lewis Carroll, W.C Fields, Laurel and Hardy, the Fleischer Bros., Segar’s Popeye, and…and I don’t know what else. This book had it all: high adventure, slapstick comedy, classic art and undeniable heart. If, over the course of twelve issues, some of the comedic bits fell a little flat, it’s only because Langridge’s previous work set the bar so high (What? You haven’t read Fred the Clown, equal parts Charlie Chaplin and Monty Python? One of the funniest comics ever. Get it. Get it now. And while you’re at it, pick up his current Popeye series by IDW. And, oh, just get anything with his name on it!) The final issue of this crown jewel of the aforementioned kaboom! imprint provides a fitting close to the yarn, full of suspense, laughs and a lump in the throat (who knew the sentence “I like bananas.” could be so touching?) In a comic strip afterword, the lead character Wilburforce J. Walrus states that you should always leave them wanting more. Mission accomplished. Book of the Week. Well done sir, and good night.