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Saturday, May 01, 2004 ( 5/01/2004 08:23:00 PM ) Bill S. FRANKENSTEIN MUST BE COLLECTED! – Even if Stephen Sommer's upcoming Van Helsing proves to be an overly jokey thrill-free piece o' crap, it's already justified its multi-million dollar existence by prompting Universal Pictures to release three monster DVD Legacy Collections. Bought a copy of the Frankenstein set this weekend for $19.95 (the other two are devoted to Dracula and the Wolf Man). Five flicks on two discs: James Whale's 1931 original and its even more baroque sequel, Bride of Frankenstein, plus B-pic follow-ups Son of, Ghost of and House of Frankenstein alongside a passel of supporting features – a great buy, think I. Believe it or not, I'm most looking forward to watching some of the lesser series movies (Ghost, for instance) since it's been ages since I've viewed 'em. # | Friday, April 30, 2004 ( 4/30/2004 02:00:00 PM ) Bill S. WORDS O' WISDOM – From good ol' Charlie Brown (The Complete Peanuts, Vol. One, Sunday, June 22, 1952 strip): "I'm discouraged today and when I get discouraged, a comic magazine is the only thing that will revive me."Chuck was wise beyond his years. . . # | ( 4/30/2004 09:55:00 AM ) Bill S.  "THIS COULDA TURNED OUT BETTER!" – Reading the set of intros to Matt Fraction & Andy Kuhn's The Annotated Mantooth (yup, it's another AIT/Planet Lar title!) – where a trio of mainstreamers (Warren Ellis, Joe Casey and Greg Rucka) struggles mightily to out-gonzo each other – did not exactly suffuse me with a surfeit of optimism about the comic material being reprinted. (Even if Ellis does manage to squeeze refs to both the Cramps and the Ramones in his offering.) Okay, we get the point, guys: this stuff is gonna be Really Outrageous! Now get back to work writing your own damn comix. . .Title hero Rex Mantooth is a talking gorilla secret agent for a double secret agency entitled I.C.I.T. (the acronym is never explained in the story). Annotated Mantooth reprints three of his adventures from an anthology entitled Double Take: mock pulp comedies featuring Oriental villains, brainwashed lesbian babe commandos and zombie Nobel Prize winners. This is by no means subtle stuff – if anything, it makes yer average men's mag comic strip read like Moliere – which in turn makes the idea of repackaging the material in an annotated trade featuring both script and writer notes alongside the comics pages brazenly perverse. "They don't lavish that kind of attention on just anything, you know," the trade's back cover blurb trumpets: a joke that's probably funnier to the book's publisher than it ultimately proves to the reader. Scripter Fraction, who proved an effectively Spartan writer in Last of the Independents, is like a kid reading swear words in the dictionary with this earlier outing: you can see him getting tons of boyish joy every time he finds a new obscenity, but the pleasure is primarily his. This is the kind of book where Mantooth, seeking to infiltrate a fortress of man-hating lesbian commandos while in drag, chooses the name Becky Labia as his false identity ("I'm totally a woman," he tells the camp leader, zaftig talk show hostess Ophaph Manfrey) or when seeking the owner of the world's largest plutonium battery notes that it's for his sidekick girlfriend: "She uses a big vibrator. . .Crazy big!” If Fraction had included some crotch shots and some full-panel visuals of an erect dick, Mantooth probably could've been an Eros title. Kuhn's art, which is nicely gray-scaled by Tim Fisher, reminds me of Frank Springer circa Phoebe Zeitgeist (a 60's era serial scripted by Michael O'Donohue that ran in one of the hipster mags of the period and was reprinted as a Grove Press trade – in a time when that kind of attention wasn't truly lavished on just anything). Kuhn has a cleanly poppy style that suits a series that gleefully swipes from On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (best of the Bondflix, thankyewverymuch) and includes such nonsensical gadgetry as an exploding tuxedo and a brassiere with buzzsaw blades on it (shades of Ursula Andress in 10th Victim!) It looks like Kuhn is having uncomplicated fun with the material, which is as it should be. As for the "Annotated" part of Mantooth, it's as self-indulgently hit-and-miss as the actual stories, though I'll own to snickering when Fraction lambastes Al Qaeda for taking the fun out of blown-up buildings or when he fanboyishly notes at the end of one episode: "How many people can say that the villain in their first comic book was Adolph Hitler? Two: Me, and Trina Robbins." Compared to Larry Young's Making of Astronauts in Trouble scriptbook, this offers little in the way of insight into the scripting process; perhaps the closest to an artistic statement in Fraction's assertion in the middle of the first story that "Dumb stuff makes me laugh." I can believe that, guy. . . # | Thursday, April 29, 2004 ( 4/29/2004 12:06:00 PM ) Bill S. "A CONTAGIOUS INFORMATION PATTERN THAT REPLICATES BY PARASITICALLY INFECTING HUMAN MINDS AND ALTERING THEIR BEHAVIOR, CAUSING THEM TO PROPOGATE THE PATTERN." – From Johnny B. comes this currently circulating "music meme":
I remember you when you were clear;Not an easy 'un, but then that's the way this random chance biz works, folks. . . # | ( 4/29/2004 09:33:00 AM ) Bill S. A DIET JOKE THAT WORKS . . . – . . . from today's "Doonesbury" continuity. # | Wednesday, April 28, 2004 ( 4/28/2004 03:34:00 PM ) Bill S. "I SAID, 'BABY, BABY, BABY, WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME?'" – From the Department of Rock 'N' Roll synchronicity: last week, yours truly briefly discussed The Clash's London Calling and at one point singled out the band's cover of "Brand New Cadillac" as an example of a fine/fine/superfine roots rock cover. As a fiend for rowdy, greasy early rock 'n' roll, I've had occasion in the past to unconditionally recommend Rhino’s ace oldies boxed set, Loud, Fast & Out of Control. Last summer, I discovered to my dismay that I'd somehow mislaid one of the discs in that stellar collection: Disc Four (the trashy paperback image on the side is from the disc inlay). So I emailed Rhino and asked if I could purchase a replacement, was told I could for a small fee that I was willing to pay – and I mailed off payment in August. Today, after several increasingly more querulous emails, I finally received a replacement copy. (Much as I love Rhino's product, I've clearly got mixed feelings about their Customer Service.) Included on that disc is Vince Taylor's original version of "Cadillac." I've been playing it this afternoon, and, y'know, as much as I like the original, I prefer the Clash's updating. Joe Strummer may not have been as proficient a rockabilly vocalist as Taylor (who reportedly died of venereal disease in Switzerland in the early 90's – now that's a rock 'n' roll demise!) but you can hear a desperation in the Clashman's voice that adds a whole new dimension to the song. The results are even louder, faster and much more out of control. . . # | ( 4/28/2004 11:30:00 AM ) Bill S. "THAT'S WHY WE ONLY WORK WHEN WE NEED THE MONEY!" – Took me a couple of weeks to cozy up to Franz Ferdinand's eponymous debut (Domino Recording Co. Ltd.), but it's presently stuck on my daily rotation. I initially resisted the Scottish guitar band's sound largely because of the Strokesy way Alex Kapranos' lead vocals were mixed. But there was plenty in the rough-and-tumble instrumentation to keep leading me back: a virtual catalog of 80's Britpop sounds (That Petrol Emotion guitar here; a Siouxsie and Banshies chorus there; some bits of Gang of Four and – Lord help us – the Stranglers, too) that the band still manages to make its own. A testament to the insidious power of great hooks. The disc opens engagingly: just Kapranos and guitar crooning the first lines before Band-on-the-Run rollick breaks loose. Franz Ferdinand the Group (beats the hell out of me why they decided to name themselves after Archduke Ferdinand – but, then, I never understood the story behind Jethro Tull either) favors bellowing choruses (Kapranos taking lead while the rest of the group hollers in near harmony), busy drumwork and surging guitar lines over spare lyrics that primarily hint at romantic yearning and frustration. When it all comes together – which happens more often than not – it makes for damn fine pop-rock: as infectious an appropriation of boho popmoves as anything concocted by the Dandy Warhols, say. Listening to the boys channel Lust for Life Iggy Pop on the homoerotic "Michael" (right down to that all-important late-nite tinny drum sound), and you're reminded of the joys and benefits of an A+ record collection. Kapranos and guitar/keyboard switch-hitter Nick McCarthy provide plenty of great Open Yer Window And Let It Blast moments: the stomping guitar riffs on "The Dark of the Matinee" (which also includes some tidy slivers of calliope keyboards in the choorus); the Cure-inflected picking on "Auf Asche;" the galvanizing tempo shifts in "Jacqueline" and "Take Me Out," the neatly piercing punk reggae slashes on "This Fire." With its recurrent references to boozing and unattainable girls/guys, this is pure boys-will-be-boys music: the sound of twenty-something Peter Pans still so focused on the things they don't want to be that they don't know what or who they actually are. It's an eternal teen-rock contradiction, and if Franz Ferdinand doesn't offer any ways out of it, they do a loverly job holding it all up for the rest of us to see. . . # | Monday, April 26, 2004 ( 4/26/2004 12:03:00 PM ) Bill S. "HOW I HATE HIM!" – Received my copy of volume one of The Complete Peanuts in the mail this afternoon: a very attractive package, think I, that looks even better as a solid thick book than it did in the catalog ads. The 7" x 8 ½" hardback reprints three strips to a page, which with 287 pages of strip reprints means a lot of "Peanuts" for your buck. Looking at the tiny strips on the page, I'm reminded of the fact that there was a time when Schulz's strip actually was observably smaller than the rest of the offerings on the funny pages – in keeping with its title. These days, the "Peanuts" reprints being distributed by its syndicate are just as likely to be one of the larger strip on the page. I'm really looking forward to immersing myself in this collection. # | ( 4/26/2004 09:12:00 AM ) Bill S. SIZING THINGS UP – Been a while since I've snuck a fat acceptance related post into this blog, so I thought I'd direct readers to the first of three excerpts from Paul Campos' The Obesity Myth that's posted on the UK Guardian homepage. Campos does a strong job deconstructing the most recent scare reports that've been decrying the putative effects of obesity, pointing out how other elements (dietary habits, exercise habits, history of weight loss and gain) are insufficiently considered – and some cases, actively ignored – within these studies. In Campos' view, the emphasis on combatting obesity misdirects attention from the genuine real negative health factors like a sedentary lifestyle. ("A moderately active fat person," Campos wrrites, "is likely to be far healthier than someone who is svelte but sedentary.") I'd love to read the perspective of some of the fitness bloggers on this. # | Sunday, April 25, 2004 ( 4/25/2004 12:10:00 PM ) Bill S. "HOW MANY TIMES DO I GOTTA GO OVER THIS?" – Reading Max Allan Collins & Terry Beatty's Johnny Dynamite: Underworld (AIT/Planet Lar), I found myself pondering one of those questions you periodically run up against in mainstream comics criticism. To wit: what do you do when a creator you enjoy is so enamored of another writer that they actively work to emulate that voice – and the writer they're replicating is a purveyor of total crap? As the creator of crime comics (Ms. Tree, a decent run on "Dick Tracy") and paperback pulp (I'm particularly fond of his Nate Heller books), Collins is a solid pro. But his love for that pinnacle of hackdom, Mickey Spillane, is downright confounding. A best-selling writer of hardboiled fiction in the 50's, Spillane's known for bringing a believable brutishness to the world of tough-guy p.i.s. As a writer, though, he was thoroughly tin-eared and as a plotter, he was slapdash to the extreme. Pulling from the world that Spillane created – where a hero is just as likely to gut-shoot a nemesis as the villain – requires a certain level of off-kilter inventiveness that a straight-laced writer like Collins can't muster, no matter how many "psychotronic" ingredients he may toss into the stew. This brings us to Underworld, which stars an obscure Spillane-indebted comic book hero, Pete Morisi's eye patched private dick Johnny Dynamite, in a period tale of Chi-town gangsters, voodoo and deals with the devil. Rendered by longtime collaborator Beatty in his usual stiff blend of Johnny Craig & Steve Ditko (appropriate for the material, though Beatty can't create a distinctly sexy dame to save his soul), the four-part story originated appeared as a mini-series for Dark Horse, who for some reason apparently passed on the trade. (Poor initial sales, perhaps?) The front cover makes a point of telling prospective readers that this is "From the author of Road to Perdition," Collins' gangster era tribute to Lone Wolf and Cub (now there's a series to emulate!) though the two works are very different kinds of genre exercises. The story, in the best hard-boiled tradition, is narrated by an aged Dynamite, speaking to an unseen interrogator. The Windy City p.i. is enlisted by the first of two blond actresses, former girlfriend Vicki Vickers who is attempting to escape the clutches of gangster movie producer Tony Mal. After the "V-Neck Venus" is murdered in Dynamite's bed, our hero enacts I, The Jury vengeance on the mobster and hitman responsible. Only thing is: the latter, an aptly named Freddy Faust, is brought back to life by Satan Himself – and now Freddy wants to get back at Dynamite. Collins strains his construction by having the narrating Dynamite, who should have no real knowledge of the specifics behind Faust's resurrection, describe an elaborate dessert scene with the gut-shot gunsel sealing the deal with the Lord of Darkness. (Know who would've been an ideal artist for this wackiness? Coop.) Once revived, Faust takes over his late boss' mob & movie bizness, hooking with a second big blond actress in the process. Thanks to Satan's connections, Freddy (now going by the name "Felix Sartana") also gains an army of zombie gunmen to aid him in his dark handiwork. In the hands of a writer/artist team less staid, this could make for good gonzo fun – but Beatty manages to make even the art of blowing zombies' brains out look dull, while Collins' largely unsurprising story is as lackadaisically constructed as Spillane at his most indifferent. (Our detective hero spends most of the book reacting to the actions of others – and doing zip in the way of real detecting.) May work as a tribute to the Mickster and his Charlton Comic imitators, but, for me, all it leads to is a loudly indifferent So What? ADDENDUM: For a real point/counterpoint take on this title, check out Simon's rhapsodic Ringwood review. # | ( 4/25/2004 05:43:00 AM ) Bill S. LIVE AGAIN – Further proof (if any was still needed) that Larry Young is a Swell Guy: returned home yesterday to find a padded envelope in the mail from AIT/PlanetLar. In it, was a single trade, a copy of Astronauts in Trouble: Live from the Moon. Now, last Tuesday I'd reviewed the hardbound AiT edition, which included the "Live" story in a smaller format. I'd ended that review stating I was strongly considering picking up a copy of the trade just so I could take a fuller look at the art. Here Larry was sending me a copy of that very volume, a book that to all extents and purposes I'd reviewed already. I'd love to know if Young's dissemination of review copies and, well, good will among the comics blogosphere pays off in greater visibility and sales. I know I've grown much more aware of the AIT/PlanetLar line, but has the recent proliferation of blogger reviews driven others to sample this stuff? It may be too soon to tell. Of course, Young’s seemingly tireless promoting of his books on the Internet could have pay-offs beyond sales: building creator loyalty, for instance, by ensuring that folks are talking about your work. That's even more difficult to measure, though. As for the trade, I sampled it last night. Of course, my geezer peepers preferred the larger sized visuals, and in its original comics-sized format, I found Adlard's art stood out more strongly than Smith's. At times, in particular, Smith's faces looked more like a collection of separate parts than full faces – something I hadn't noticed in the Master Flight Plan edition – while his use of shadow seemed more mechanical than natural in places. It gets the story work done, but I find it intriguing to note how many flaws were magnified by my coming to the book after already reading it in smaller size. Makes me wonder if I'd have a similar experience with some of the digest-sized manga series I've been reading in the past six months. . . # | |
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