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.
From the World of Minor Threats: The Alternates #3
Courtesy of Dark Horse Comics.
In the most important ways, The Alternates has been an allegory for addiction. But rather than booze or heroin, it’s a trans-dimensional realm that gave our B-list heroes everything they ever wanted. In the first two issues, we got some really important world-building and initial character development — so effective, in fact, that Crab Louie felt significant. But issue #3 is where things feel more personable and human than ever even as the plot itself achieves new and fantastical directions.
This issue focuses mostly on the perspective of Tripper, our aging hippie guide to all dimensions strange and otherworldly. And he’s a really great vehicle for this issue for a few different reasons. (I love that writers Patton Oswalt, Jordan Blum, and Tim Seeley have given us a kind of “hero of the week” approach while building that greater narrative.) For one, he’s got the most interesting and slightly depressing storylines —as the one who guides people to things, he both feels responsible for both taking the team into The Ledge and, upon their eventual return, their continued, mostly challenging support even as he further felt disconnected from it all. (Guess all that sweet metaphysical wandering does have its cost.)
And that dynamic really comes to surface as the team struggle between trying to “stay straight” and taking advantage of a return to The Ledge that’s presented in this search for some drug called Prestige. We see a quiet desperation take over the team as they struggle with trying to further rebuild their lives and to just give it all up for the joy and warmth of The Ledge. Tripper, especially, struggles with that, and his strength in the face of denying something so magnificent contrasts and colors the team’s own responses/reactions. Mary, especially, is a great force of emotionality here, and those interactions and conversations really get at the heart of the team’s struggles and anxieties as well as this larger premise of how we fight our own impulses to carve out an authentic life (even as authenticity feels blaise compared to true transcendence).
When the storyline moves forward — it basically involves some A-list heroes and their connections/relations to The Ledge — it’s done in a way to make The Alternates feel even more potent and important. Their whole gimmick — we’re not the heroes, just the alternates — doesn’t just further crystallize but it’s given a spin where their whole dynamic and experiences inform something much larger about this universe — and that really drives home this exploration in a big way. More than making the team an even bigger deal, it creates greater stakes that feel continually aligned with this book’s big questions and insights about addiction, choosing a life and purpose, forging family where you can, etc. It also adds a darker tinge to the proceedings, and I love that more serious oomph to balance out the psychedelic weirdness.
And speaking of psychedelic weirdness, we sure got way more of that in terms of the art. Once again, we get a kind of split experience: Christopher Mitten and Ian Herring handle the bulk of the issue, and Tess Fowler handles some “flashbacks” with Tripper and the team. I love this approach — Fowler has such a playful and joyous approach to these Tripper-centric memories, and she helps reflect some of the big ideas around the hero (even as it still feels connected to the work of Mitten and Herring). Fowler’s work never feels like a temporary device or “break,” and instead any such gimmickry is grounded in the story to draw out the best parts of these brief moments.
Still, our super talented duo have just as much of an opportunity to get weird in this issue, including a metatextual airship filled with animals and a really intense superhero fight. Both of those instances are different enough — there’s more direct whimsy to the the airship even as this hanging sense of dread remains persistent, and the fight feels as joyous as an action film but also with a sheen of violence that cuts to the heart of how important and robust this scene is to the larger story. But more than all of that weird goodness, the pair get a lot of time to focus on the sheer humanity of it all. At times, the juxtaposition feels interesting — as if the surreal moments may swallow up the humanity (or vice versa). Plus, there’s a lot of weight to interactions between Mary and the hero The Searcher, for instance, that feels important for grounding a lot of hypothetical ideas in the realm of reality. It’s not about removing the power of these quirky instances, but ultimately funneling everything toward a gritty and engaging story about people grappling for purpose amid a dark and unnerving universe.
This great book is about so much more than one idea (even as that idea is a really multifaceted and nuanced idea that speaks to central tenets of the human experience). But whatever it’s about for you as an individual reader, it will grab you by the heart and shake and toss you about so that you explore your own experiences and those times you’ve been unable to make heads or tails of life itself. The Alternates remains an experience like few others, and it comes to change our hearts and brains with its big ideas and lethal efficiency.
Final Thought: Another issue that you’ll be hooked on.
Score: 9/10
Green Lantern: War Journal #3
Courtesy of DC Comics.
A hero is only as good as their supporting cast. So after some really solid development regarding John Stewart, issue #3 of Green Lantern: War Journal focuses on growing the world around the former Lantern — and that includes growing the madness surrounding him and the Corps.
One of the biggest such developments is our first extended bit of insight/development for Stewart’s mentee-to-be, Lantern Shepherd. After John’s run-in with the Revenant Dead, it’s Shepherd that plays a big role — and, more importantly, his connection/intro to this version of Stewart. It’s a really novel turn for their relationship, and sets up an interesting dynamic (with the mentee sort of over the mentor already). I think it also fits this version of Stewart nicely, and lets us build toward his ongoing status change in a novel way.
Another focus of this issue is John Stewart’s mom, Shirley. She’s already been a really effective source of humanity for Stewart, and the anchor for his path away from the Corps. But after a tearful interaction in this issue, we get an even better grasp of her. Namely, how John is so wowed by her strength and spirit that he almost wishes she earned the ring instead. It all makes for great context as to their larger relationship and what value it holds for Stewart right now while furthering his own personality and values regarding how he sees himself and the changes he wants for the future.
But the development train wasn’t just for Stewart’s allies. The Revenant Dead also got a chance to both shine and develop a bit. I don’t want to spoil too much in that regard, but it’s definitely tied directly to John and the Lanterns at large. And that deeply personal angle doesn’t just hit home in a big way but it’ll give John more opportunities to reconsider his relationship with the Lanterns and how that history informs what he might do next. It’s not quite as robust a level of development — though there is a great ending that works really well to build how truly terrifying the Dead are — but you clearly can’t have a solid hero without a more meaningful villain.
Ultimately, a lot of this works to support and bolster John, who extends here in some key ways here. There’s the aforementioned convo with his mother, which really lets us see John be vulnerable in a big way while having to grapple with making especially tough and “unpopular” decisions. There’s also the stuff with the Revenant Dead, of course, and I think the connection there remains slightly underdeveloped so far — but only because John will build to that in due time. Arguably, then, the best stuff for John may have been with Shepherd. The mom stuff and the Lanterns stuff stings, but the mentor thing is new and terrifying space for John, and he seems to be grappling with who he is, his alternate self’s prowess, and what that all might really mean for his future. It’s an area of great confusion, doubt, and general anxiety, and I think this relationship could be where we see the most impact in John’s development.
Across this issue, the art team also delivered some great action and other tidbits that played up that theme of development. For one, the John-Shirley convo is a proper example of how a few visual devices and general layout do wonders for enhancing the actual content of their interaction. And, of course, there’s lots of big set pieces that work really well: a dope fight featuring Shepherd as the offensive lead; some more cool designs and giant creatures associated with the Dead; and even a character appearance/design that’s both cool and a nice balance to the other Lanterns (even if I don’t dare spoil who that person actually is). Yes, those grander instances work because they also offer a nice counter of eyeball-grabbing force amid an issue that did a lot to show some nuanced character interactions.
But even the smaller moments have a lot of the same oomph — John’s infection from the Dead, for instance, felt like a powerful way to track his changes across the issue (and, of course, beyond) — and in a way that John may not be entirely aware of all the time. It’s just more proof that artistically, this book fires on all cylinders to support, enhance, and extend the robust emotional groundwork laid here.
Our hero clearly has a complicated path ahead of him — not only in terms of the obstacles to face but his own development and relationships to boot. Whatever happens with that, one thing is clear: this is a truly complex and utterly compelling hero’s tale, and we’re only still getting started in this multilayered adventure.
Final Thought: The journey of John Stewart grows ever more robust and compelling.
Score: 8/10
Black Hammer: The End #4
Courtesy of Dark Horse Comics.
The problem of issue #3 of Black Hammer: The End was too much (and maybe too soon?!) Which is sort of a tricky little pickle given that Jeff Lemire and Malachi Ward are trying to write a multiversal saga after all. Luckily, issue #4 shows us how to have your cake and eat it, too — it just involves a lot of wanton destruction.
I don’t want to spoil too much of the story for this chapter, but I can say it certainly felt more strategic in its scope and objectives than #3. Mainly, it was about demonstrating the sheer odds of a multiverse in peril while focusing on a few key characters. Namely, Doctor Andromeda got something of a starring role, and seeing the confrontation with Anti-God through his eyes heightened and focused the conflict, giving us all of the drama and stakes without the empty calories of balancing 40 different teams/universes. Through that act of deliberate streamlining, we get a kind of highlight reel of the multiverse, with focus on not only Andromeda but versions of Gail and Barbalien — the folks who really seem to have stood out across the first three issues and merited our sustained attention. Maybe there’s less overt craziness than you’d expect from this multiversal saga, but a leaner approach only made things resonate more deeply as we actively invested ourselves in the fate of these heroes.
Plus, a similar thing happened with the version of the team (our version, basically) that’s hanging out in Rockwood. For the bulk of those three issues, it felt like that place (which represents the “real world”) felt a little disconnected from the rest of the events. But with a little movement in the story — thanks to Rosie and Inspector Insector — this was really the first time where Rockwood felt like it was moving alongside the rest of the action. In a way, the end of the issue, which may or may not be a surprise but works effectively nonetheless, helped solidify the relationships between these “realms.” It felt like a mirroring effect of the overt tension, and aligned the story around the Black Hammers in a way to bring the narrative to a fever pitch across the board. In short, we didn’t just feel the stakes in one place but across this entire book and in a decidedly clever and impactful manner.
To some extent, I think this almost makes up for some concerns in #3, as that issue was mostly this essential bridge for #4. But that also ignores some big accomplishments in this latest issue, and that especially includes yet another star-studded performance from Ward.
He’s already spent the first three issues filling these characters and universes with big-time prestige and drama, and this issue is somehow a marked step up. Rockwood, for instance, felt more bright, bold, and pulp-y than ever before, and while that nougat of drama around Rosie/Insector felt small compared to a dying multiverse, it retained just as much power thanks to Ward (and big-time support from colorist Bryce Davidson). And in terms of the actual multiversal fighting/stuff with Anti-God, the same dynamic line work inspired heaps more depth and intent to these characters — it’s work that captured something essential about Black Hammer as a whole while pushing it toward new heights of emotionality and overall significance. Andromeda and Anti-God, too, have huge moments visually/artisitcally, and their mere presence isn’t just affecting but it draws certain lines to help further streamline and enhance the narrative’s efforts in giving readers more direction and momentum in managing the sheer scale of it all.
I could compliment Ward’s work till I’m blue in the face — from the humanity across even the most alien of faces to the execution of novel designs, this book is a proper achievement. More than that, it’s a deep and loving celebration of this whole title, giant-sized comics universes, and the way this all draws us together in a web of fandom. There’s so much joy, sorrow, shock, and heart baked into this issue, and Ward connects it all in profoundly important ways.
Moving into the penultimate issue (#5), the direction seems pretty clear. And even as it feels really “simple” — boiled down to a few key characters and narrative pillars — I think that’s for the best. Because I know all this multiversal magic is great, but it’s ultimately a proper smorgasbord that can be distracting. We’ve had the razzle dazzle, and #4 seems like the point where it all narrows down and becomes clear as to what it all means and who plays the biggest role. In doing so, it’s honored that insanity and excitement before by giving us what this book does best: inventive tales of unlikely heroes trying to save the day.
Final Thought: Fewer multiverses means bigger action and intrigue.
Score: 7.5/10
Mortal Terror #1
Courtesy of Dark Horse Comics.
My tenuous relationship with vampires stories is fairly well established by now. But what exactly do I have against a pretty tried and true formula of the blood-sucking undead and all the subtextual wonders and endless gore those stories promise? I think there’s a tendency for these stories to feel too similar, as if most of the good ideas have already been done.
And that’s certainly true of Mortal Terror — even if I think there’s also a drop or two of the genre’s larger promise still to be found.
Described as a “vampire-flipped Dracula,” the book basically reads like if 2010’s Daybreakers took place in the Victorian era. And, yeah, that’s a wee bit of an oversimplification, but it basically just means the vamps operating as the human element vs. the mortals-as-monsters gimmick ain’t exactly new by now. To some extent, I do think that this whole approach as the story’s beating heart does mean it’s a little limited or stymied even before the issue really gets a chance to unfold.
At the same time, though, writers Christopher Golden and Tim Lebbon have set this book up for some success with a few solid decisions. Namely, we stick pretty close to the core of the Dracula cast, and that lets us explore people like Dr. Seward, Lucy, and Jonathan Harker in new and intriguing perspectives and a larger context. It’s still early, but already Harker, for instance, comes off more layered and textured than in some other adaptations, and his blend of intensity and that more familiar air of exaggerated pomp and circumstance feels compelling as we delve into a Harker as a “hero” and not a secondary protagonist. And, as an extension of this, the focus on vamps really plays with what I call The True Blood Effect, where we get a lot of exaggerated passion and theatricality from seeing events through the vampire’s perspective. I’m not sure why that is, but their “struggles” with humanity somehow make for a more impassioned drama, and that feels true here as the story sets up the many threads (including some extra heavy stuff with Mina and Jonathan that adds a lot of sexually-charged interest early on).
Still, there’s some small downsides early on. I think the idea of mortals doesn’t feel fully fleshed out so far — they’re made to be monsters and yet they’re just as easily being locked up and tortured, and that disconnect feels really odd at this point. (Renfield shows up, and while I think I know the arc of his character, I also don’t know exactly if he’s to be feared or dismissed, and that doesn’t bode well so early on.) And I think, perhaps as an extension of that, it’s hard to see how we can either 1) balance these many characters as we get to know them in new ways and 2) sustain interest in Harker as a proper lead given his past portrayals and the possibility of more compelling character interactions. They’re not as significant yet, but these elements could become larger concerns.
The advantage of this series from an artistic standpoint is that Golden is joined by artist Peter Bergting, who previously worked together (in varying degrees) across Festival and the excellent Baltimore. And that Baltimore connection really shines here — it feels wholly similar in a lot of great ways (the sense of dread, the playful approach to the vintage style and energies, etc.) even as it maintains its own structure and outlook. (I think a big part of that is the colors by Chris O’Halloran, who works nicely with Bergting’s art by adding the right pops of color to extend the dreariness and draw out the terrifying shreds of humanity.) If you’re not as big a fan of Baltimore as this writer, maybe the art won’t resonate as much — which is totally fair, as there’s not a lot of massive set pieces to really draw the eye this early on. That said, though, it’s often about getting lost in the world — the tiny details and overall aesthetic foster a lot of the initial charm, and from that there’s some shocks and slight gore to extend this world and its terrifying grasp. For now, it’s a mostly serviceable addition/companion to this story, but I’m hoping we get more moments of endless horror to balance out the rich thread of humanity built across #1.
No, I don’t think all vampire stories are the same —even if I do think there’s a shared consistency that both helps and hurts books. (And that’s extra true when you’re messing with the OG of vampire stories in Dracula.) That said, this title engages with and fights back against those connections, and what we seem to have so far is a book that lures us in with certain tropes as it tries to push new understandings of this specific kind of story. It remains to be seen if they’ll drain us dry, or if we’ll be begging to meet the sun, but I’ll take another bite all the same.
Final Thought: A flipped vampire story may still be just another vampire story.
Score: 6/10
Lunar Lodge #1
Courtesy of Dark Horse Comics.
The thing about marriage is that it’s often horrifying. Yeah, it gives you a partner for life (-ish), and it connects you to the world in a significant way, but it’s scary giving yourself that deeply to another soul. Because what happens when it goes wrong, and you’re forced to confront what you’re willing to do to keep it all together?
That’s the wonderful struggle at the heart of Lunar Lodge.
Here, writer Tyler Marceca crafts a story about a husband, Rob, who follows his wife, Fiona, after she books a secretive stay at the titular hotel. And I get that it’s not exactly a novel gimmick but then that’s not really the point. It’s about reusing a familiar story, one that maybe we’ve all fallen prey to in our own lives to a certain less exaggerated sense, and fostering the tension and complex emotionality in a big way. So then the story becomes a way to draw people into the action and let them experience their own myriad of anger, jealousy, and anxiety in a way that forces us to connect (or perhaps not?) with these characters. I can clearly see where Rob is coming from, and even if I don’t think he’s right for basically stalking his wife, I nonetheless am already on board from page one. And it stirs emotions of relationships past in a way that feels perfectly suited for readily exploring all that texture.
And, to some extent, some of this same dynamic informs how this series plays with and engages horror tropes. To some extent, the actions of Fiona seem obvious enough, as it leans toward “secret monster double life” that informs a lot of werewolf and other creature-centric stories. (This may be a werewolf tale but the fact that it’s just nebulous enough feels important.) At the same time, there’s enough little twists and spins — something novel about the Lodge, for instance — that draws this out of a really stereotypical horror experience into something more layered. The monster variety doesn’t matter so much when there’s bigger threats; it’s about exploring or referencing horror to further stoke fears and anxiety and create all these new dimensions to the scariest thing of all, a modern marriage.
As much as the humanity of this book shines through via the narrative proper, I’m not quite as sold regarding the art from Mirko Colak and colorist Bryan Valenza. I love the sheer sense of grit perpetuated by the overall style; there’s a fog of darkness and a prevailing air of mystery that helps extend the story. And the body horror demonstrated so far — including that really great, super tense intro — is fully bloody without forgetting to show us something more about why this gore is truly horrifying.
But I still just think that there’s something about the art that feels half-cocked. I want more of that humanity to really resonate in the scenes here, and there’s not enough of that to really prove impactful. Sure, some of the faces have solid emotional output, and the scars and damage and basic grit do help us connect with characters. But the book is just as likely to skirt the uncanny valley in a subtle way, and that pulls me out to a noticeable extent. The same goes with the use of horror: sure, I love the subtle approach so far (it makes all that blood mean something), but the careful approach often feels like it’s just too muted. More of that exaggerated gore might actually create more tension and unease while giving us a shorthand for horror as a tool for exploring our deeper humanity (and the way light and love complicates those same ideas/sentiments). And that’s not even mentioning that Rob doesn’t really stand out visually, and I think that struggle hurts our sustained connection in a really vital moment as the story sets about its path.
Ok, maybe marriage isn’t a total horror show all the time. (There’s so much strength and energy generated when you find that kind of connection.) But like a good horror movie, it’s about pacing and the way things often feel cyclical between the super great easy bits and the parts that challenge you fundamentally. And while this book hasn’t exactly terrified me yet in any meaningful way, it’s made some moves to set up that kind of story as it’s begun tickling us with early onset anxiety. I hope it can extend those feelings, and turn up the heat in a methodical way. Otherwise, I’ll need to divorce myself from this modern story of a deeply harrowing marriage.
Final Thought: Love can be a bloody, mostly wonderful slice of madness.
Score: 6.5/10
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