Category: Reviews

Building and sustaining a career as a graphic novelist is even harder than the equivalent for a prose writer: comics require at least twice as much work per page (writing and drawing — sometimes inking and coloring and lettering, too) for something that’s read in a fifth of the time. And that turns making comics, especially mid-list comics, into a time-sink which has serious trouble delivering monetarily on a level with the effort required. And yet people keep trying, like any artform: there are always people with stories to tell and images to share, and some of them manage to turn that into a career along the way. (Others fail entirely, or do a couple of stories and then move on to something else.)

Brian Fies is an interesting case along that continuum. His first major graphic story, Mom’s Cancer, was a memoir comic that originally appeared in installments online, about ten years ago. That attracted attention, and got reprinted as a book, and the book apparently did well. His follow-up, Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow?, came four years later — quite fast for a two-hundred page book written and drawn all by one person — and was more thematically and conceptually inventive, a switch to mostly fiction, but eventually, it seems, was not quite as successful as his first book.

(This is really common: the disappointing second book/record/gallery show is a cliche across many media. Sometimes the disappointment is commercial, sometimes critical — and sometimes it doesn’t exist at all, which then is the surprising story in that case.)

Fies hasn’t yet put out a third book in the six years since Tomorrow. (Though, again, remember that comics take time to make — time to work up the idea, time to write, time to draw, and then all of the usual publishing stuff. And that often has to happen in between or on top of having a regular job.) And so outside observers like me wonder if Tomorrow was a disappointment to its publisher — though an outside observer can never figure that out, since it depends entirely on costs and payments and expectations.

I’m not the best reader for Tomorrow, temperamentally: it’s a thoughtful, careful fictionalization of the “why don’t we have jetpacks?” line of complaint, and I’ve long since gotten sick of that from hearing it in SF circles for around thirty years. [1] This particular incarnation of that argument starts with the New York World’s Fair of 1939, possibly the very height of technological optimism, and mildly asks why the dreams embodied in that fair never came true.

(How many dreams ever come true? But we’re not supposed to ask such questions.)

Tomorrow focuses on a father and his son — Pop and Buddy, as Everyman and Everyboy as Fies can make them — on a visit to the fair, where they’re thrilled and inspired by the wonders they see there. Fies clearly means these two to be iconic rather than real people, but, to my mind, that’s ignoring the more important questions: I found myself wondering about the rest of their family, about what Mom or Big Sis would make of these particular technological wonders, and if they would be as impressive to them. (Or what Grandpa, who already went from horse-and-buggy to airplanes and ocean liners, would say. Pop does have a speech along those lines, but it’s all in the service of Progress Always Thrusting Forward.)

After the Fair, Tomorrow presents a series of snapshot chapters in the middle of each of the next four decades — 1945 through 1975 — in which Pop and Buddy appear at the same ages as they were in 1939. (And there are still no other members of their family: no mother or hunt of what happened to her, no other siblings, no extended family — just two men, older and younger, and their technologically-mediated father-son bond.) So they witness V-E day, build a fallout shelter in the basement, watch a Gemini lift off from Cape Canaveral, and finally the Apollo-Soyuz separation — almost all specifically space-exploration moments, like yet another sour Stephen Baxter story about how the author didn’t get to visit Moon Base Alpha like he was supposed to.

And there’s a lot of narration along the way, as “Buddy” tells the reader all of the space-related history in each ten-year span — all still very much like those whiny “I was promised a house on Mars!” stories from SF magazines of 10-15 years ago. Again, I have never little patience for that viewpoint: I’ve heard it too many times, and I never bought into it myself. The Space Race is a thing that happened for geopolitical reasons, not scientific or exploration reasons, and it ended when those real reasons were no longer as powerful. There was no aim of history, no majestic purpose to spread monkeys in tin cans throughout the universe. And Tomorrow has a coda at the end — with Pop and Buddy finally broken free from their static ages — that somewhat addresses that, talking about the actual technological changes in the years since 1975. But it’s also unabashedly still in the tank for the “man must conquer the universe with big phallic rockets!” idea, as if the last forty years was just a pause in the Inevitable Thrust of Man.

Tomorrow is an attractive, very well-presented version of an argument and a viewpoint that I rejected long ago. Other readers may be less negative towards the agitprop and thus be able to enjoy the book itself more than I did — I’ve just seen this very same kind of story too many times before, by too many writers around Fies’s age (fifty-ish, just old enough to be kids during the Apollo years and thus indoctrinated to expect they would go to space some day) to believe in it. And I’m young enough — I don’t get to say that very often, these days, so I’ll take any chance I can get — not to be part of that cohort; Apollo was dead by the time I was old enough to care.

If you love space, and the promise of ever-better transportation, and the dreams of the Space Age, you really will enjoy Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow? In fact, if you’re just not nearly as negative about those things as I am, you’ll probably like it quite a lot.

[1] Short version of my comeback: geometric growth, in anything humans do, always flattens out. It never hits the asymptote, or comes close. We know this in general, but we keep forgetting it for specific cases. So the Transportation Singularity didn’t happen: we didn’t get ubiquitous flying cars or jet-packs, we can’t go to Mars for a vacation, and FTL is still a pipe dream. Similarly, the Information Singularity won’t happen either, for similar reasons. Any prediction that contains “and then it goes on just like this for a long time” is bullshit.

Monsieur Jean is the semi-autobiographical — a novelist rather than a cartoonist, and somewhat Everyman-ized — central character in a series of slice-of-life comics stories by the French creators Philippe Dupuy and Charles Berberian. Much of that series has been collected in English as From Bachelor to Father, after about half of it originally appeared over here as Get a Life. [1] (French albums are short, we must remember: to them, a full-length book-format comic is often just 48 pages. So American reprint projects typically stick at least two books together, and sometimes much more than that.)

The Singles Theory, as far as I can tell, came out of sequence and out of size: it’s a 120-plus-page epic of mundanity, set between two of the earlier books, in a popular period of Jean’s life. It’s the story of how he got inspired to write his second novel — which anyone involved with the literary world know is the really tough one. (Anyone can write one novel, but for it to be a career and a life, a novelist has to be able to write number two — three and the rest will then follow.) I suspect this is a popular book in the series, since the US edition is a translation of a special duotone edition that came out in France in 2011.

All of the Monsieur Jean stories have love affairs — dating, meeting new people, sex, relationship troubles, and break-ups — as central to their plots, but Singles Theory uses that as the central conceit: Jean’s friend Felix, in the middle of a divorce, has moved in with him and has understandably soured on the entire idea of romance and love. At the same time, Jean is having recurring nightmares of armed men who claim they are about to kill him, but always get distracted long enough for Jean to wake up. His friends insist this is all about sex…probably because, in a book like this, everything is all about sex.

Those are some of the loose threads that wind through a series of discrete, individual stories about Jean and his friends — they go to a birthday party for a friend far our in the countryside, Jean is interviewed badly about his work, Felix gets trapped in an elevator, and so forth. It’s not for readers who want gigantic moments and lots of punching in their comics, but they’re very unlikely to pick up something called Monsieur Jean in the first place. For people who like movies and books that are about characters and dialogue rather than plot — who appreciate that things don’t always have to move at a breakneck pace — this is a wonderful story about real people in a real world.

[1] I’ve read Get a Life twice — most recently just a couple of months ago — and reviewed it in a quick, desultory fashion here each time. I won’t bother to link; you’re not missing anything. Slice-of-life stories are difficult to criticize/analyze.

Young Adult novels tend to work best when they are metaphors for their readers’ lives. James Dashner’s Maze Runner trilogy certainly applied the zigs and zags of an adolescent’s development to that of a maze where the wrong turn can have devastating consequences. The books sold well and in the wake of The Hunger Games’ success, they were naturals for screen adaptation.

The first, 2014’s Maze Runner, was nowhere near as engaging with flat characters and a dumb, unsustainable society of teens. We were left with the gaggle of teens getting out from the maze and into its inner workings.

The Scorch Trials, out now oi Combo Pack from 20^th Century Home Entertainment, immediately picks up from that moment as we trace the Gladers: Thomas (Dylan O’Brien), Newt (Thomas Brodie-Sangster), Minho (Ki Hong Lee), Teresa Agnes (Kaya Scodelario), Frypan (Dexter Darden) and Winston (Alexander Flores) as they go exploring unchartered territory.

Once they find Mr. Janson (Aidan Gillen), they are told their safe so we know long before they do that the gang is anything but safe. Right there is the film’s problem as the worldbuilding is flabby, the character development is nil but the action quotient is high, trying to mask weak storytelling. It’s a shame screenwriter T.S. Nowlin and director Wes Ball, returning for a second trip to dystopia, didn’t take the time to deepen the players and make the audience care. Instead, they do a fine job with the running, jumping, and exploding but that reduces the cast and Dashner’s story to the plot of a video game.

We learn the Flare virus remains a threat as does Ava Paige (Patricia Clarkson), representing the evil WCKD (get it?) but we are also introduced to The Right Arm, the resistance movement led by Vince (Barry Pepper) and a gaggle of others who will work with Thomas and Teresa to overthrow the bad guys in the third installment, The Death Cure, due in 2017.

At 131 minutes, the film could have used some tightening that would have allowed the characters to feel like people like chess pieces. The bloated production needed some nipping and tucking to help with a slow first half and better second.

Still, the high definition transfer at AVC encoded 1080p in 2.40:1 looks just swell so you can watch things blow up just fine, paired well with the DTS-HD Master Audio 7.1 mix.

The combo comes with Blu-ray, DVD, and Digital HD so they have you covered. The Blu-ray comes with a nice assortment of extras starting with Audio Commentary from Ball, Nowlin, producer Joe Hartwick, Jr. and editor Dan Zimmerman; Janson’s Report (Classified) (4:57) , an assortment of “confessionals”; Deleted and Extended Scenes (17:58) with optional commentary by Ball, Nowlin, Hartwick, Jr. and Zimmerman; Secrets of The Scorch (52:15) , a compilation of featurettes with the standard behind the scenes footage and cast and crew interviews; Gag Reel (15:02); and Visual Effects Breakdown (1:06) with commentary by Ball; Visual Effects Reel (29:55).

One unique touch is a Maze Runner comic book being included.

In the late ’80s, Elektra: Assassin was possibly the very favorite comic of my brother and myself — he even bought an extra copy of the splash-page-filled climactic issue and covered a large portion of his ceiling with it. (I can still quote the important bit from memory: “And flesh/all flesh/will scream/and burn/and die” with the next page being the utterly perfect “and die/and die/and die/and die/and die.”

Does it hold up? Surprisingly well, actually. It uses some Marvel Universe furniture — SHIELD is important, with Nick Fury wandering through once or twice, and Daredevil shows up equally briefly in a flashback — but it’s really its own thing, a fever dream of politics and megadeath and violence and paranoia that’s set sometime that could be 1972 or 1986 or no year in particular. And for a book so over the top and full of grotesques, it’s got some of Miller’s most subtle writing — particularly impressive for those of us depressed at how Miller abandoned subtlety forever almost immediately afterward.

It’s set before Elektra’s death in Daredevil — probably. A presidential campaign is heating up, and a young, personable candidate (Ken Wind), who is a Democrat but never named as such, is winning over America with his sunny vision. Meanwhile, The President, who looks mostly like Nixon but could be Reagan if you squint hard enough, is paranoid and obsessed with nuclear war and his own machismo. And if you think you know which of those is a bigger threat to the world, you’re wrong. (This may be a hint of Miller’s later right-wing stridency, but it works perfectly in context.)

And in a small Latin American tin-pot dictatorship — propped up by SHIELD and the US more generally — a deeply mediocre and not overly intelligent SHIELD agent named Garrett is about to get in way over his head. The Beast — the supernatural being behind the secretive Hand organization of ninja — is trying to possess a human being, to further that plot I hinted at in the first paragraph. And Elektra is there to stop him, mostly by killing people in inventive and spectacular ways.

But Elektra is in over her head, too. She’s been captured and indoctrinated by the Hand at least twice, not to mention the time she just spent in a snake pit of a local insane asylum, and her fuzzy and confused mind is running almost entirely on instinct and pure willpower.

Unfortunately, Elektra and Garrett are the only ones who can save the world. From the Beast, and his dreams of megadeath. From Ken Wind. From the technological wizards of SHIELD’s ExTechOps division, and the cyborgs they create to chase the AWOL Garrett — including his ex-partner, Perry, who would have been a serial killer if he hadn’t found an easier, more legal way to kill lots of people.

Miller tells this story in the best example of ’80s style I know of, all stream-of-consciousness narrative captions from multiple points of view and overlapping screamed dialogue. He throws hints into the air to have them hit targets perfectly sixty pages later, and weaves it all together seamlessly. And this is Sienkiewicz at the height of his visual ambition, right before Stray Toasters, painting like a demon and shifting from photorealist to a child’s scrawl to slashes of color instantly to support Miller’s equally quick changes of mood. (I’ll also note that Archie Goodwin, one of the unsung heroes of comics, was the original editor, and I expect that he had a lot to do with making Elektra: Assassin as coherent and crisp and powerful as it is.)

Elektra: Assassin is a smart, fast-moving, overwhelming, psychological, all-encompassing thriller comic, set in the Marvel Universe but not of it, and a superhero story only by courtesy. It does things effortlessly on the page that are thrilling and amazing, and has amazing depths of subtlety for a book about a ninja-girl stopping a demon from blowing up the world. This is one major ’80s comic that completely holds up, and one of the real highlights of the careers of two hugely talented creators.

You have to begin by asking yourself, do we really want an origin story for Peter Pan? J.M. Barrie certainly didn’t seem to think we needed it when he first wrote the play Peter Pan, or The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up in December 1904. The book we’re more familiar with, Peter and Wendy, didn’t arrive until 1911.

However, we have been conditioned to expect to understand everything there is about a character and too often we’re given origin stories that dilute the action. So, one has to wonder why Warner Bros and director Joe Wright felt we needed Pan.

The overwrought, over-produced production got bumped from summer to fall only to flop big time and is out now on Combo Pack from Warner Home Entertainment.

The idea of the boy who never grew up, who had wild escapades in Neverland should be sufficient lure for audiences. It certainly worked for Disney and Mary Martin but today, that’s not good enough.  Rather than a story to enchant children, this is aimed squarely at those of us to achieve adulthood and long for simpler days of youth.

The action is, we’re told, tamped down for younger audiences but it’s still in your face with a riot of colors, sounds, and frenetic energy that diminishes a script by Jason Fuchs (Ice Age: Continental Drift) once considered so strong it made the infamous Black List of great, yet-unproduced screenplays.

Working from the familiar set pieces we’ve come to love, Fuchs takes the youngster Peter and sets him on the classic hero’s journey taking way too many liberties from the source material to satisfy.  Young Peter was abandoned by his mother, Mary (Amanda Seyfried), leaving him to be raised by the cruel Mother Barnabas (Kathy Burke).  Even though Barrie’s story was set at the turn of the century, we’re somehow told its World War II and the London Blitz is on. Peter (Levi Miller), now 12, and his friend Nibs (Lewis MacDougall) find out Barnabas has been hoarding food and there’s a letter from Mary foreshadowing how “special” Peter was meant to be.

Peter escapes the Nazis, snatched up Bishop (Nonso Anozie), aboard his flying pirate ship. The man is collecting orphans to work as slave labor. Upon arrival, Peter meets the infamous Blackbeard (Hugh Jackman), the mine’s overseer. Now Fuchs wrote the part for Jackman and used the pirate because Barrie established it was he who trained Hook – so what’s a sea-faring man doing in a mine? Jackman’s plays the part as if it were a Broadway production, chewing his beard or the scenery.

What are they mining? Pixum, or crystalized fairy dust. Uh huh.

We quickly meet the other denizens including Princess Tiger Lily (Mara) and her father (Jack Charles). Then there’s James Hook (Garrett Hedlund), cast in the swashbuckling role one expects from true pirates of yore. Hook is not Peter’s arch enemy yet but all the warnings are in place.

You get the idea. The movie is overstuffed with sets, characters, and anachronisms galore which spoils the sense of wonder the movie should have created. Wright’s a capable director but not here. Instead of something special, like Peter was meant to be, this movie can’t make up its mind what it really wants to be and who its audience should be. As a result, it leaves children overstimulated and parents shaking their heads in disappointment.

The Blu-ray transfer is just lovely, which is needs considering the visuals.  The 1080p, AVC-encoded result maintains the rich colors just fine. There’s a 3D version but this was not screened for review. The Dolby Atmos soundtrack is strong.

For a film boasting so much effort, the special features prove disappointing. You start with Wright’s commentary which shows his head and heart were in the right place, although his defense of using “Smells Like Teen Spirit” fails to convince. There’s also Never Grow Up: The Legend of Pan (10:50), which does a nice job showing us how Barrie’s story grew from stage to book; The Boy Who Would Be Pan (6:07) introduces us to Miller, who at least looked age appropriate for Pan; The Scoundrels of Neverland (5:49), explores the pirates and Blackbeard’s origins; and, Wondrous Realms (5:01), a promotional tour of Neverland.