Last Call Comics: Wednesday 11/15/23

Welcome to another edition of Last Call Comics. Here, as we continually bolster AIPT’s weekly comics coverage, we catch any titles that might’ve fallen through the cracks. Or those books that we might not cover but still deserve a little spotlight. Either way, it’s a chance to explore more comics, generate some novel insights, and maybe add to everyone’s to-be-read pile.

Once more, happy New Comic Book Day to everyone.

(Editor’s Note 11/16/23: Two spelling mistakes were corrected per a commenter’s note)

The Vigil #6

I hate endings (and, sometimes, even beginnings). But the road to The Vigil #6 has been a truly tremendous journey, and this twisting, winding tale of Indian superheroes has been packed with hefty intrigue, brain-shattering reveals, and some solid world-building.

So, how did their swansong rate? Let’s just say I still hate endings — only ’cause this one was just so dang effective and memorable.

In case you missed #5, it was a tiny little issue where the team was revealed to be ::checks notes:: the psychic creation of Dr. Sankaran. And as far as twists go, writer Ram V really caught us off-guard even as he was clearly laying the foundation for the decidedly meta reveal. But big tricks are one thing, and that left #6 with the nearly impossible task of following up. What the issue does, then, is give readers their cake and let them eat it, too. It’s both a slow and inventive episode for the team to react (and foster the sheer emotionality and drama) as much as it this bonkers extended action sequence that enhances their individual reactions while hinting at what makes this team so intriguing and effective. (Which is to say, the themes and motifs being fleshed out in character interactions and conflict.)

We get to see the anguish and uncertainty of it play out with depth but also magic, but it’s ultimately in service of coalescing around the team and pushing that as this larger representation for what makes this book both inventive and just an all-around great story.

Again, like the other issues thus far, it’s really hard to go much deeper with #6 without spoiling yet another A+ performance, but it’s structurally a lot like #5, but with heaps more stakes and impact. And it accomplishes a few really big things (beyond the finale, which I’ll totally get to). Namely, it builds up a future even without the ending; it once more proves how masterful Castle is in this whole series as this meta device and general robust point of interest; and it fleshes out this corner of the DCU with even more lore and events that reflect both this era’s attitudes and general world-building efforts. Oh, and did I mention there’s an utterly perfect Hitchhiker’s Guide reference that feels thematically poignant? ‘Cause there is.

And from a purely visual standpoint, this is one of the most inventive issues of the whole run. (Even if #5 takes the cake for the sheer psychedelic madness of it all.) But #6 flourishes because the art team — Devmalya Pramanik, Norm Rapmund, Rain Beredo, and Dave Sharpe — create some unique and novel spaces for all that narrative and thematic magic. There’s a proper flow facilitated by the movement of these images and pages, and that creates something you can follow as Castle starts to unfurl his master plan. The action scenes — especially with a newer member doing battle with the flunkies of Feistus Hep — feels really striking, with lots of intense loss and viscerality baked right into these otherwise bright and over-the-top set pieces. Even the shot where it seems like Castle is wearing a domino mask feels like a brilliant instance of what the art can do to raise the tension and play around with some of the grander ideas here.

And there’s so much more else — the cool human-dissolving weapons, a badass display of power from Arclight (that also feels like a thematically-appropriate deus ex machina moment), the representation of a long-standing “alternate dimension,” etc. — that further prove just what great feats the art accomplishes here and in the story at-large. Ram V clearly needed capable partners in his effort to rethink superhero stories, and he’s had them in a team that’s given us action, heart, and proper emphasis into nearly every panel. This issue, especially, encapsulates the unassuming feats of inventiveness that’s defined this book, and made it so the story lives and breathes in rich and nuanced ways.

I want spoil the end of the book here. (But if you’ve already read my Tuesday interview with Ram V, you may already know it.) What I can say is that it gives the team a perfect next chapter, and something Ram V or another creator could easily build from in no time. And that’s what I really need to happen, as this book has been among my faves of the whole year — a bright spot in occasionally predictable superhero comics that breaks new ground as it honors something essential about these kinds of characters. If there is no next chapter, we’ll all miss out. But for now, The Vigil was more than enough to captivate and entertain.

— Chris Coplan

Final Thought: Whether a beginning or an ending, this issue delivers.

Score: 9/10

Black Panther #6

Black Panther #5 was a rough go for this faithful reader/critic. After four solid issues, it seemed as if writer Eve L. Ewing and company had lost their way in an issue that half-heartedly set up the gang war between the Ilongas and the Nkisus. So, how did issue #6 seek the correct its path? By taking us back a century and delving into the history of the big bad, Kivu’Ma.

Was that a decidedly risky little move? Totes, but it ended up paying more than its fair share of dividends.

I won’t reveal too much about the origins of Kivu’Ma, but it does tie directly into the Black Panther lineage of the 1920s and King M’Teli (who would seemingly be T’Challa’s great, great grandfather — comics genealogists, please correct me). That whole turn works nicely for a few different reasons.

For one, it adds a sheen of the highly personal to the T’Challa/Kivu’Ma battle — rather than being just a disconnected aspect of the already semi-disjointed gang war, it draws out the lineage of the Black Panther into an even more nuanced and detailed dynasty. And if this whole book so far has tried to do nothing else, it’s explored and extended the Black Panther line and how it operates in different ways and iterations. Sure, there’s been other Black Panthers, but I feel like this turn also connects back to the issues T’Challa is facing right now, and there’s a certain symmetry shared with M’Teli.

But beyond the Panther stuff specifically, it’s nice to see some kind of backstory and depth to Kivu’Ma. He originally felt like just another half-cocked monster creation, and now he not only has a deeper connection but we understand him in some novel ways. Again, I don’t want to spoil that part of the story, but the demon was once a man, and seeing why he became this thing speaks to the book’s own themes of duty and commitment to one’s station. Plus, given that the book’s only proper villain so far has been Deathlok, it’s nice to see a foe we can really sink our teeth into.

The story’s “wins” across this issue were similarly matched by the art team (inkers Matt Horak and Mack Chater and colorist Jesus Aburtov). Still, even when things were iffy across #5, the art team still managed to deliver (albeit with some missed opportunities).

But in #6, I loved the little aesthetical differences employed to make this issue standout. There’s the general, vaguely old-school tone/hue to the art, which made sense given we spent the bulk of the issue circa 1920. And in that time there were really cool design choices further made: the badass, brooding armor of M’Teti, or the way any technological advancements were underplayed just enough to show the transformative energy of this era. They’re little instances, yeah, but they felt important in fostering our immersion and drawing out how certain ideas and values and tendencies exist along the Panther lineage.

But perhaps the biggest accomplishment was the depiction of Kivu’Ma — his role as “giant purple smoke monster” makes more sense now and is rooted in a tradition of exploration and mysticism. I love the way his whole design and look feels rooted in both the natural and supernatural worlds (he’s almost a force of nature), and that adds a little more heft and authority to our big bad. His design here also cleverly highlights some potential weaknesses/flaws, and I love when that kind of vital information is explored in design and not just through the story. He’s got the looks and the history, and I’m excited for what Kivu’Ma might bring.

To some extent, I think the “let’s pause the story and travel back in time” gimmick can be clunky if executed poorly. At the same time, it was a chance for the creative team to jumpstart their efforts and find new ways to break the story down and explore its vital parts before whatever happens next. Can they maintain that recharge in the “present,” and will the promise of this issue (a proper villain, a grander lineage) be seized in fully? Or will it all remain the stuff of dreams? Let’s hope this treat of a title can get back to being just that.

— Chris Coplan

Final Thought: Sometimes you’ve got to go backwards to move forward.

Score: 7.5/10

Blade #5

As I mentioned in my last review, Blade has basically been a heist film. The Daywalker and his companions — Tulip, Rotha, and, quite begrudgingly, Doctor Strange — have been working to prepare for a battle against the evil Adana (kind of a mother of evil). But eventually, even the most deliberate and authentic heists have to pull the trigger.

And when this one did, it made Ocean’s Eleven look like Ocean’s Thirteen.

Which is to say, writer Bryan Hill gave us what we all wanted: that big, bloody clash between Blade and Adana. Sorta — he did it in a way that suited a more robust story, and what we mostly see is the fallout from that confrontation. And oh is that fallout ever so white hot, as it accomplishes more than even the bloodiest sword fight ever could.

Mostly, it makes Blade go on the defensive, and that sets him on an emotional trajectory that feels important in his continued development from stoic badass to fully fleshed out hero. And facilitating that part en masse is some really tense interactions with Strange — his whole presence has been such a perfect foil and counter for Blade, and in this issue especially, he makes Blade experience a real “coming to God” moment. Plus, there’s so much more still — like complications with Tulip, which further complicates that quagmire of a friendship — that really focus on weakening Blade for the journey of redemption to come. And, based on the cliffhanger at the issue’s end, it’s sending Blade to a very dark place, and a position where we’re going to see him squirm and struggle in some really compelling ways.

Like I’d said, it’s an interesting direction for the world’s most badass vampire killer. Hill and the rest of the team (Elena Casagrande and K.J. Diaz) pulled the trigger in such a way that it feels like we’re meeting/seeing Blade for the first time; he’s experiencing a thing he can’t fight his way out of, and yet he tries anyway (and even throws a temper tantrum in Strange’s lair). That low, as it were, is the way we delve into Blade in a way to not only flesh him out, but do so in a way that feels daring in the character’s long history. He’s not what he thinks he is, and the changes he faces are thrilling in their scope and potential for character development.

From an artistic standpoint, there’s enough here to support a similar kind of development for the world around Blade. (And that feels like another big effort to further bolster the character.) Casagrande and Diaz are the reason why another turn for this book — an introduction of some new monsters in the Marvel Universe — works so effectively.

It’s not just great body horor (seriously, A++ skin peeling depicted here), but something that seems to corrupt humanity in really unsettling ways. That actually nicely mirrors the journey Blade is on, as he struggles with humanity amid an increasingly heinous, monstrous world. The power of these monsters doesn’t just come from how they look creepy, but also their connection to some humanity or being grounded in the “ordinary” of the MU — and that expertly encapsulates this book’s core motifs of how humanity can be our greatest weapon and our most profound weakness. It’s this same idea that Adana reflects in her own little mid-issue monologue: we’re all struggling to find some light, and what happens when we embrace that thing that we truly fear?

If that weren’t enough, there’s other little moments here of profound comparison and mirroring — between Strange and Blade, or Adana and Tulip. These comparison shots that feel devastating in their effectiveness because they blast that bigger idea (the parallels between light and dark, hope and fear, etc. that define everyone) with breath-taking efficiency. Even other shots in this issue — like that gory intro — find ways to balance humanity and horror, and it feels like such a powerful backdrop for the more subsequent interactions to take root.

Blade #5 really was a proper achievement in a book that’s already gotten so much right. (Even if it hasn’t been entirely perfect.) It opened up the door to so many possibilities (from a narrative, visual, and emotional perspective) and yet felt definitive in what it was trying to do to “rebuild” our brooding protagonist. We all sort of figured the Adana-Blade battle might go a few rounds, but after this one, you may feel more spent (and overjoyed) than you ever have before.

— Chris Coplan

Final Thought: This brawl is only getting started, folks.

Score: 8/10

Lotus Land #1

Everything about Lotus Land #1 is crime noir – seeping with mystery. In this first issue, writer Darcy van Poelgeest and illustrator Caio Filipe open up a puzzle-box, showing us many – seemingly unrelated – pieces without putting any of them together. In fact, I kind of wish the synopsis didn’t reveal as much as it does about the strange medical company, Evermore, and their important Keeper Program. Still, the mysteries kept me interested.

I’m particularly impressed with how many of the revelations are shown to us in the art rather than told to us through dialogue or narration. And the art is also pure comic noir. We get the typical noir settings – either spacious and echoing or crowded and bustling with plenty of shadows – leading to an sense of isolation. The colors from Patricio Delpeche are purposefully muted.

The characters are also all typical noir. The protagonist, Bennie Strikman, is a weary, retired detective and single dad, who’s moved out to a cabin in the woods with his son to escape the futurist metropolis of Vancouver. Of course, he gets roped back into taking on one more case. Of course, he’s more than just a good detective. We also meet the strange CEO of the mysterious medical company, Evermore, as well as Bennie’s estranged ex-lover.

Unfortunately, the biggest flaw in the comic is just how cliched the noir tropes are. Other than Bennie, all the cops are selfish jerks, almost caricatures. The narration is heavy-handed. It rains a lot. You can check off items from a “noir tropes” list as you read.

But other than the cliques, I really rather enjoyed Lotus Land #1, especially the typical noir pacing – a slow burn rather than an action spectacle. Both the art and the writing contribute to this pacing – creating room and time for long breaths. Despite the underlying suspicion that not all is as it seems, the slower pace made me relax. After the typical stress of my very full day, it was nice to breathe deep and take in the story while searching for clues in the art and the dialogue.

And even though he’s also basically a noir trope, I could find myself in the protagonist, Bennie, and his love for his son. We learn that this fatherly devotion motivates him to take on the case.

So, despite being basically a collection of crime noir tropes set in a sci-fi future, Lotus Land #1 works really well. The pieces of the mystery revealed – without any kind of definite answers – provide the necessary intrigue. And the motivations of the main character bring the personal touch. With quality art and pacing, Lotus Land #1 is a solid start to this series.

— David Canham

Final Thought: Enough mystery and heart to make up for cliched noir tropes.

Score: 8.5/10

Scrapper #5

With issue #4 of Scrapper, the cats got their time to play. And it wasn’t about one animal being superior (dogs still rule!), but rather what this “device” did to help the book address its biggest issues. Namely, tighten up the narrative and pacing a bit while lending a more solid focus to the story’s ideas and concepts.

And even if the cats don’t play a bigger role in #5, lessons have been learned as our best boy made his way through a mostly effective penultimate issue.

A lot happened in this issue in terms of moving Scrapper closer toward his final confrontation with the nasty folks of SMITE. And yet, whereas that might be seen as an over-correction of the book’s first three issues, writers Cliff Bleszinski and Alex de Campi managed to make it all work. There’s character reunions (including one that’ll jumpstart your heart); lots of working in building and exploring the story’s key concepts (it felt a little heavy-handed, but friendship and family are great interests and subject matter for this specific story); and generally a great story that doesn’t waste much time in moments before it builds to the next beat.

And, really, that’s an accomplishment right there — it makes some of this book’s extra cheesy undertones more digestible, and captures more of that rush and joy of the ’90s kids films this book has been honoring/celebrating since its debut. Maybe there wasn’t any groundbreakingly massive events — if anything, the path felt a tad predictable — but that’s not a big deal when everything works in the name of breezy but impactful storytelling. The story maybe thought it had grander aspirations, but in these last two issues, it felt more comfortable with embracing big, bold displays of heart instead.

And so much of that is the art itself (again from the team of Ryan Kelly and Jordie Bellaire). Above almost anything else, it was the general pacing and momentum here that made the biggest impact. That meant we got lots of cool action shots — including Scrapper taking down bad guys with a sonic bark and, I kid you not, chainsaw dogs (!) — but more so done with a sense of deliberateness that matched the story’s “let’s keep it moving” commitment. (Which, again, actually does a lot for fostering more interest in this story.) These moments weren’t just cool (and quite effective), but they also do heaps for grounding a lot of the inherent cheese of these issue, which included an extended gag about petting that worked when it didn’t have to.

But perhaps the most effective part of the art team’s collaboration is the style. I’ve said before how much it aligns with the earlier work of Sandy Jarrell, and why that’s been important in maintaining some essential consistency. But they’ve also managed to improve on the overall look and feel here — issue #5 had more deep emotion in the animal’s face, expert shading and shadows to play up intensity and other grander emotions, and just enough inventive shots and angles to enhance what’s already great about this momentum-heavy issue. That style and approach felt crisper than ever here, and it imbues this book with a feeling and commitment that is supported with the dialogue, the way scenes break down, etc.

We already know what Scrapper and company are facing with issue #6. And while it’s once again a touch predictable, this whole book is making other decisions that buck that tendency. It’s elevated its efforts to feel more joyful, silly, and heartfelt, and it’s done so with passion and efficiency to spare. No matter if we get a cliched finale or not, I know for dang sure it’s going to likely be even more life-affirming (and just a tad cheesy) than ever before.

— Chris Coplan

Final Thought: This pup knows what’s up.

Score: 7/10

Operation Sunshine #2

Operation Sunshine #1 was a really solid start. We met our two “heroes,” Hex (the long-time vampire who mostly wants her last bits of humanity to die already) and Steve (who is very much looking to reclaim his mortal life). And we set about launching a caper involving OVs (Original Vampires) and some magic artifact that could give our leads their lives back.

And then it all went and got complicated.

I think this second issue is where our writers (Henry Zebrowski and Marcus Parks, from The Last Podcast on the Left) really bust out their strongest storytelling tools. Because, on the one hand, the narrative is now decidedly more complex as they introduced an army unit that adds a specific wrinkle to the coming “heist.” And while it’s a unique turn, it does take away somewhat from the Hex-Steve dynamic that’s really compelling. At the same time, though, we still get plenty from the pair, as they share insight into their respective experiences and what that ultimately has to say about this book’s core themes (i.e., how to live and be alive in an increasingly disjointed and painful world). These pair remain the undead heart of this book, and while it’s not just their story any more, they keep us grounded with their burgeoning friendship and how that complicates their (after)lives.

The added narrative layers, as it were, also gives us more facetime with Anwar, another OV vampire who may be playing all the sides as he tries to “Tony Soprano” his way to a greater station in life. He really ties together a lot of the plots and events here, and having a solid tweener feels vital to this story.

But just as with the debut, the art of David Rubin and colorist K.J. Diaz once more feels like the most moderating force in the whole book. I say that even as this issue was somehow more gory and violent than #1, including exploding vampire heads, a proper ancient vampire making his presence known, and just little corners of ample horror and endless blood. To some extent, I think the sheer intensity and placement of all this visual horror does a lot to grab the eyes when the narrative finds itself busier and more intricate than in #1. I also think, however, that the violence is a way to really emphasize the emotionality here — Steve and Hex are grappling with very real ideas of pain and suffering, and living in such a massively horrific world only adds to their longing, heartache, etc.

It’s as if the two story elements aren’t just aligned but done so where we get to still have big sad instances and gory images galore and know that it’s all about creating moments as much as it is just celebrating the madness of it all. And that feels like a way to undercut some of the bigger ideas and the methods this story employs to grow toward its eventual conclusion. You can bank on a poignant conversation followed by more blood-letting, and these moments share a synergy that always helps the reader feel the events and keep their wits about an increasingly involved storyline. And if nothing else, Diaz and Rubin were clearly made to collaborate, as they both add to each other’s efforts with robust passion and a commitment to play with the joy and darkness in this story.

The thing about stories is that they tend to get more complicated the further they go on. (Unless it’s The Red Green Show — zing!) But Operation Sunshine did it with a careful and thoughtful approach, aligning all of its various elements and assuming a dedicated path to grow without forgetting what truly works at its core. And that’s not only really epic vampire mayhem, but a simple story of two people struggling with really being alive. I await the added layers so long as hearts keep breaking, the intrigue builds, and the blood keeps flowing.

— Chris Coplan

Final Thought: Life sucks and maybe that’s a good thing?

Score: 7.5/10

Fishflies #3

In the first two issues, it was easy to think of Fishflies as some small-town horror story. It’s certainly proved to be equally quaint and foreboding across its first two issues, but still very much in line with Jeff Lemire’s other projects.

Until we got to issue #3, and the world seemed brighter as it grew all the more intense and brooding.

The idea of “kid-friendly horror” isn’t exactly new to Lemire; just look at the excellent Sweet Tooth. Yet Fishflies #3 felt especially endearing, as Lemire channeled Harry and the Hendersons in exploring the dynamic between Fran and the Giant Bug. It’s more poignant and playful than some other efforts by Lemire — as if he’s more interested in exploring the sweetness of this bizarre pairing. And yet in the framework of this distinctly horror story, there relationship comes off as tinged with more darkness without totally overwhelming the “cutesy” energies of it all. And so in that sense, we’re getting a more charged narrative, and one that pairs these dichotomous ideas and sensibilities in a new, more effective manner. It is, in essence, more Lemire-ian than ever as he juxtaposes all of this with bigger heart and more efficiency.

The issue further added to this dynamic by giving us a closer look at the local police/sheriff, Danny. Whether it’s a terse meeting with Fran’s father (who suffers some karmic justice in this issue), or yet another nearly as terse meeting with the mother of the boy who was shot, Danny is somebody who demands the added facetime. He’s someone who may not necessarily fit in this town (or, is acutely aware of that perception by some folks), and that makes him a solid lens for exploring this place and what this “development” might mean for the townsfolk and their whole lifestyle. While Danny’s not quite as cutesy as “girl and her giant insect amigo,” he’s got woes and connections that make him feel like a proper slice of Americana (Canadi-ana?), which extends that whole theme of building up the organic life and the darkness together to cultivate new truths. If nothing else, Danny’s presence really kickstarts more of the plot, and that added stakes to a story that needed a touch more of that danger.

I think the only thing I found a tad lacking in this issue was the art from Lemire. Maybe some of that’s just because issue #2 was really dazzling, with expert use of coloring and that “CRUNCH” device unleashed with expert efficiency. Issue #3 did have some solid moments visually. Like, the encounter between Danny and Fran’s dad was crackling with drama and energy in just those little glances. Or, the way Lemire showed intimacy and disconnect via close and wide open shots. (That’s especially true with the Giant Bug-Fran stuff, which really played up their dynamic in a way that felt just as vital as what was actually said, especially when the same close-wide idea was put on its head for the last page.)

But I just wasn’t nearly as wowed by it all, and a lot of my attention fell to the way the storyline was doing some inventive or novel things as the art just most felt satisfactory. That’s not to say that it was unappealing — Lemire has once again extended his bare-bones aesthetic to capture something quaint and unsettling. But rather, I think I just wanted even more to drive home the more “complicated” work of this issue and how it really found a way to enhance certain sentiments to bring us deeper into this world.

The end of this issue didn’t really come as much of a surprise. But even with that “predictability,” it leaves Fran and the Giant Bug in an interesting predicament, and one that should really explore their dynamic and what this new relationship represents (good, bad, and otherwise) for each of them individually. But it’s the issue that served as a really effective catalyst, and the start of a turn that could take this generally good book in some interesting new directions.

— Chris Coplan

Final Thought: Cute and creepy, this book is finding itself more and more.

Score: 7.5/10

Terrorwar #7

I’ve grappled with Terrorwar in the same way Muhammad  Cho has grappled with the Terrors of Blue City. Which is to say, it’s been sometimes revealing but often I’ve felt beaten down by the weight of it all. Now, add in a two-month break between issues #6 and #7, and I’m wondering if I should keep up the good fight or just tap out entirely.

And they’ve got me for at least another issue.

Which isn’t to say this is a particularly triumphant turn for the series. Rather, it felt like another instance where it succeeded by leaning its core themes and motifs (classism/class struggle) and then used that “connection” to push the story along in a compelling enough direction. Because the big reveal of this issue wasn’t exactly mind-smashing even as it was sort of nice that we finally arrived at something. If nothing else, though, said twist at least played really perfectly into that idea of us versus theme, and how collective action really is the way to defeat those that would seek to hold us all down.

That, and some other choice decisions — like the rest of the team going home versus opting to help bring down “the man” — were really important in pushing the story in new directions. It’s about extending and punctuating some of those key messages in a way where we get a more nuanced understanding of the politics at play here, and that makes this a more poignant thought exercise and experience than if the whole thing was “let’s go blow up the city with rich people.” (Even if that’s what we’re also getting in the very best way.) It made for a series of developments with more heft and texture, and this book needed more of that over these last seven issues given that it routinely felt both overburdened and decidedly flimsy.

The art, on the other hand, had a decidedly interesting “performance” across this issue. And it’s a solid outing from a book with a solid track record (even when the story maybe couldn’t get out of its own way at times). But there were some decidedly cool moments: more really great depictions of the Terrors (that also tied in nicely with this issue’s big revelation in a way that drove greater consistency); some settings that further fostered the core story motifs (the massive neighborhood/fortress for the rich and elite); and more great action scenes that really extend the underserved ’90s inspirations that was more prominent in earlier issues. From those moments, we got a bit more heft to the story but also just more personality and texture and playful bits of detail — all the drama and allure the story itself promises in a way that extends these socio-political musings in a digestible and alluring package.

There was a sense to this issue that things felt especially heightened — sharper lines and more majesty all around. That’s likely from the addition of Walter Pereyra to the usual work of Dave Acosta and Jay Leisten, and that little extra something-something helped in a way that also felt connected to the rest of the series, which seemed important as the art kept pace with a story that was making big enough moves. It’s mostly intangible how “different” it felt, but it furthered what this story’s done best — even if what that is doesn’t always prove the most groundbreaking or overly involved.

This book was supposed to end with issue #8 (though they’re soliciting a ninth issue). And while I’d already said I’m on board, I wonder just what the ending will feel like (even as I’m sure of what it will actually look like)? Will it be thoughtful and textured, or will it instead drop some of that recent grace and stumble in that execution? I certainly hope its the former over the latter, but my experiences with this book have left me flat on my back before.

— Chris Coplan

Final Thought: Class warfare with heart and insanity to boot.

Score: 7/10

Crusader #3

Can you explore ideas of religious devotion and identity while also offering readers ample blood and gore? You can if you’re Crusader, and thus far writer-artist Matt Emmons and letterer Andriy Lukin have done just that with an unflinching poise and sense of intent. The layers of this bloody fantasy onion have been spun in with care and deliberateness, and issue #3 emphasizes even more attention in building this dark and utterly beguiling world.

The crux of this story — again, beyond the dope sword fights — has been the Nameless Warrior. He’s a mystery in every sense, and the only thing clear has been his devotion as a Crusader. Only, what happens if he doesn’t have that base from which to operate — what’s that do to his worldview and his overall sense of humanity? It’s a series of questions and concepts poised — by none other than our pal Grimbel — to get us thinking about our hero and his motivations. Not only who is he really under that shiny helm, but what can he do if he’s more than just a killer? Or, is there even a man left standing if he’s not in service of the Lord? By exploring these queries — and linking the Warrior up with a roaming band of heroes called The Eighteen — Emmons and Lukin are delving into the heart of this religious fanaticism and exploring ideas about how we’re all on this journey for grander connections and a clearer purpose that serves our own humanity.

And from a narrative standpoint, it’s done without bashing us over the head — instead, it invites us to see how the Warrior reacts to questioning his life and seeing what things he may do to be of service beyond his endless crusading.. It’s about grounding this hero as he grapples with the very world around him being drastically different, and he’s seeking new understandings when his own personal gravity has clearly failed. He very much opens up in this issue, dropping some of his exterior and allowing is to understand what might be behind that helm: someone who is so committed to an idea reconsidering if that idea can continue to mean anything to him whatsoever. Especially when this place and these so-called “beasts” need him right now.

But, of course, there are some real obstacles and roadblocks for our hero. Namely in the form of Pilgrim, our hard-to-kill villain who keeps making his presence known as he stalks the warrior across the land. And in #3, Pilgrim has an especially star-making performance. Part of that is just how much he’s tied to a kind of “uptick” in the art — there seems to be a heightened sense of momentum and general bloodshed whenever he makes himself known. (Clearly.) That works really well to offset the book’s efforts to slow things down and let us see the world through the Warrior’s eyes. It makes sense that the big bad of this book would carry a big turn in terms of the way the book looks and feel — and Pilgrim emerges as all the more threatening and maddening when this shift occurs. It’s those moments — like an especially unsettling scene where Pilgrim dismantles some of The Eighteen — where Emmons’ line work reaches its most unbridled and chaotic, and where the darkness and energy crackles on the page.

But it’s more than just being visually appealing, or helping to facilitate the book’s objectives. The fact that everything feels more vivid and robust speaks to something about the dynamic between the Warrior and Pilgrim. This idea that, as the Warrior tries to see some new side of himself and how to live in a savage world, he is constantly confronted by this madman. He may try and see new perspectives, but it’s Pilgrim who acts as this living reminder that sometimes violence is inescapable. It’s hard to change when you have this fiend you can kill over and over again (and often have to) — it keeps the Warrior second-guessing his own progress and fighting all these temptations and urges. (A dynamic further complicated as the Warrior begins to understand Pilgrim’s own Masters in the book’s climax.) In that sense, Pilgrim feels like a proper villain, a source of endless anxiety that forces our hero into some big-time self-evaluation. The Warrior may think Pilgrim’s just another monster, but as he’s beginning to understand, the world’s more complicated than he’d ever known.

It’s hard to gauge what just might happen next when the Warrior and Pilgrim clash again in issue #4 — and that’s a bloody good thing. The Warrior has changed just enough that nobody can rightly tell who will do what and for what reasons, and that’s sort of what we want from a story that’s all about ripping apart social roles and cutting to the uncomfortable truth about identities. Throw in more epic sword fights that spill gallons of blood, and you have the makings of a fantasy tale with the best edge of them all.

— Chris Coplan

Final Thought: This issue cuts to the core of the book’s interest in identity and the self.

Score: 7.5/10

Hexagon Bridge #3

So far, Hexagon Bridge has dealt with a few different perspectives. Issue #1 showed us the sheer grandeur of this world, and the physics-defying majesty of The Bridge. From there, issue #2 narrowed things down as we explored the relationship between Adley and Staden before they pair worked together to save the former’s parents from within The Bridge.

The perspective of issue #3, then, is all the more complicated, and the story is that much better for those “decisions.”

Writer-artist Richard Blake manages to achieve both a intimate exploration and a dimension-spanning journey across the 25-ish pages of issue #3. That’s because he once again treats every moment with the same attention and general celebration of life. So while the bulk of the plot here actually involves Staden’s detailed emergence into The Bridge — which felt like watching a NASA mission as directed by Christopher Nolan — there were still plenty of moments both big and small. A tender, quiet moment between Adley and Staden shared the same sense of romance and gravitas as a piece of The Bridge vividly taking shape.

It was a dynamic that somewhat informed issue #2, but it felt more determined and understated here — as if we’re slowly moving across a kind of highlight reel of this important moment, pausing at the right intervals to explore something essential. It didn’t just make the very larger goals and sense of emotionality here feel equally important, but this interplay helped balance the big sci-fi moments (lots of weird hologram charts) with they joy they’re meant to exude (and while also coloring those quiet glances and the like with a more intentful undertone).

While there were some truly great moments across this issue, the pace of it all stuck with me throughout. I couldn’t fully shake this sense that we were stuck on what felt like could’ve been a moment or two in almost any other book. Yes, that pace does work for focusing on all the right humanity that abounds this story, but I wondered if there was something more. And by the time I got to the ending of #3, it dawned on me: Blake is masterfully constructing our immersion into this world for a specific reason. Other books may shock us by dropping the reader headlong into this strange dimension. But here, we’re dipping every individual toe into the pool, and from that speed we’re maintaining the connection between our own reality and whatever lies ahead.

It doesn’t just make us feel like there’s solid ground under out feet, but it furthers a dynamic emphasised by Adley and Staden. Only it’s us readers and Blake, and we’re all working in tandem to delve into this wild new plane and cultivate new ideas and understandings. And so that not only neatly mirrors the book itself but forges a connection — and one where I’m even more willing to follow Blake wherever he decides to lead us.

The rub of Hexagon Bridge is that it remains utterly alien even as it’s this deeply human place for sustained exploration. There’s no rush to make it through, and everything about it welcomes us in at our pace. Sure, there’s bound to be some obstacles and maybe even some proper scares along the way. But after this issue, I feel more connected to the process, its creator, and the pure potential that lies with every new step forward.

— Chris Coplan

Final Thought: In which the world opens in even more glorious light and detail.

Score: 8/10

Junior Baker The Righteous Faker #3

Here’s what I think is happening currently in Junior Baker The Righteous Faker. As Dizzy’s life is falling apart, he’s getting closer to the big reveal of what happened to all the superheroes (and how that all ties back into the 2011 Baker series). There’s certainly evidence of that — our first across three issues — as Mr. Baker interviews two old-timey bad guys, the Biohazard-us (they’re toxic twins!)

And beyond that, I really can’t make heads or tales of that much else.

I’d mentioned in my first two reviews that writer Joe Casey is a truly crazy cat. And in the first chapters, that sensibility worked — he was setting up a strange world for us to explore and dissect ideas about the nature of reality and our own own existence is this patchwork of truth and fiction. But this issue, the whole shtick starts to wear a little thin. It’s not that we can’t follow his philosophical musings; it’s that everything feels piled upon one another. There’s a bit with Baker’s pregnant partner, Jenna, meets retail robots in what’s basically a meditation on the rampant nature of capitalism. Or, when Dizzy’s boss gets fired and we get bits about the toxicity of new media institutes.

Sure, they’re generally clever ideas, but it’s just a smorgasbord of commentary that never gets to ring true and instead is lost under the sheer weight of everything else. There’s no time for messages to stick or land before we feel as if we’re inundated with the next, and it eventually becomes word soup. It’s a problem further heightened as Casey’s dialogue here leaned way to deep into the realm of philosophical slam poetry, and it made these concepts less flowery delights and more warm gum to chew on hours after it lost its flavor. See what I did there — that kind of overt, bluntly-wielded wordplay can feel overwhelmingly annoying, and that’s exactly what we get here.

The moments that worked best in this whole issue centered on the Biohazard-us/Dizzy interaction — it’s there where we got insights into the nature of heroes, the lore of superhero stories, the tenuous nature of reality, etc. all wrapped in a rather fun and compelling mold. And Baker comes off rather deliberate and purposeful in that convo, and it’s a marked change of pace from seeing him stumble through this metaphysical malarkey. (If he’s meant to be a proper journalist and a way into this secret world, then that such credibility is essential.) In comparison, the rest of it just feels a little irksome, as if we got the plot and Casey just kept explaining with more half-cocked ideas and mediocre dissections.

And speaking of mediocre, that’s the exact opposite of artist Ryan Quackenbush’s contributions across this entire issue. From page one of issue #1, he’s been killing it — creating the unnerving psychedelic magic that has sold this book as the otherworldly head trip that the narrative alone couldn’t always deliver. And this time around, Quackenbush doesn’t just further build up Baker’s weird, wild world but he adds new rooms and amenities to boot.

The Biohazard-us convo, for instance, sees him play with old-school pulp comics, which is a neat visual device for exploring traditional superheroics. The “Jenna at the store” bit, meanwhile, felt violent and visceral in its depiction of what felt like a delusion or a small reality burst — either way, it made for a proper and unsettling threat and a solid way to examine some ideas of consumerism. And there was also a bit with Dizzy quitting his job and exploring some old toys sent by his “Old Man.” (That’ll prove vital in issue #4, and while it was only mostly teased, it did serve as a nice way to build the plot similar to Biohazard-us.) The use of crayon drawings there, then, were a way to hint at/explore some elemental rage and grief that Dizzy’s clear working through.

Each of those moments felt different and distinct in their own right, and Quackenbush did wonders in an issue that felt like it failed to balance too many of its own plates. Maybe because Quackenbush approached his work with the reader in mind, trying to mess with our heads while still having a sense of overarching joy and playfulness to it all. Either way, the art felt deliberate and innovative in its efforts to explore many ideas, and united them in the name of some reality-bashing exploration.

Even with the messy nature of #3, and that my own guesses may likely be well off, I suppose I want to keep going. But not out of some desire to see what happens to Dizzy and company — no, it already feels like this rage-fueled desire to simply see this thing to the end. Is that a healthy connection to have with a book? Probably not. But is it at least indicative that this title is maybe having an effect? Sure. The only thing I do know for sure is I hope it all starts working pronto.

— Chris Coplan

Final Thought: This kinda felt like a remedial philosophy class while on shrooms.

Score: 6/10