Comic Books

Last Call Comics: Wednesday 01/03/24

Even more reviews of comics from Image Comics, BOOM! Studios, and Dark Horse Comics!

January 3, 2024

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.

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Nights #4

Courtesy of Image Comics.

We’re in uncharted waters, folks:

This is the first Nights issue I’ve read in real time.

And that’s no weird #HumbleBrag, either: I’ve been thinking lately about how much of my experience with this book has been informed by having sat with it for actual months. That perhaps I’ve only truly adored it sp because it’s been marinating in my brain this whole time, and I might feel differently as I consume and absorb an issue in a different timeframe (and frame of mind).

As it turns out, Nights remains as powerful as ever as things explode ever upward and onward.

I’ll admit there’s at least some shellshock involved with this go-around, mostly because this is a really ginormous issue in terms of the sheer number of developments (of the emotional and story variety) that play out across a robust but streamlined issue. Without revealing too much, there’s plenty of fallout from issue #3’s death of Tsukumari, and how that event sets off a massive surge in the Nights-verse.

For one, it complicates the still-burgeoning Vince-Gray relationship; they mostly continue to intertwine in some rather compelling ways, but it’s clear that their relationship is aligning in such a way that our protagonist is clearly getting in way over his head. That pairing has only begun to illicit proper gold, and the more they delve into Gray’s history and background (which takes on a decidedly horrifying bent in this issue), the more we’re delving into the big, meaty issues of this book (i.e., the sacrifices we make for love, the way we forge our own communities, etc.)

But most of the focus is away from Vinray and instead placed on Ivory, Vince’s cousin and Gray’s roomie. He hasn’t been seen much since #1, and his return is a big gust of dramatic wind for our little collective. Ivory’s got a sordid, supernatural-leaning background that rivals Gray for sheer bloodiness and overt mystery. I love Vince as the center of this book for his energy and his child-like innocence — Ivory brings a lot of the same oomph, except his clear experience/expertise with these otherworldly matters adds more layers and paints him in a far more unnerving light. And that’s a nice perspective to have as it counters Vince even as it informs so much of that young man’s development and our keen interest in his growth.

Ivory isn’t just a cautionary tale as it were — even as he totally functions that way — but a way to explore these issues from another perspective while creating a source of added tension, mystery, and downright uncertainty. Ivory’s “ascension” marks a time when this book grows ever more robust storyline-wise while the focus remains on the nuances of this weird-o found family.

And if one player stepping up wasn’t enough, we get some really great bits from Matt, the group’s “house mother” ghost who struggles with moving on. (The dead in this world stick around until they’re basically ready for the next phase.) Matt’s presence is both a counter to the slippery tenuousness of Ivory as well as a way to ground this group in a very specific framework. But Matt also becomes a kind of unsung heart of this book, and I’m deeply curious to see what happens and the decision he makes. Matt’s role is a little smaller, but it’s just another way that writer Wyatt Kennedy has built such a profoundly human story that’s interested in making us care deeply as things spiral in ever more bizarre and dramatic directions.

And speaking of the bizarre and dramatic, you couldn’t have the sheer levels of those across this issue without artist Luigi Formisano (and colorist Francesco Segala). I think other issues have had the opportunity to play with bigger set pieces (a la giant monster fights), but issue #4 was a different kind of accomplishment.

If anything, this issue felt like a kind of showcase or sampler platter for what the art team really does best. That includes a whimsical world (including a crocodile-themed drive-in called Hitch-Croc); great emotionality across characters (Vince here, especially, is so raw and real across every page); and the way that supernatural elements (like another giant monster) interact with the world and the kind of whiplash effect that has on the proceedings.

But I think the real power of the team, especially in this issue, comes in other, more subtle touches and decisions. Like, the way that the supernatural bits feel more vivid and engaging — it’s as if they’re meant to pull us even closer and prove especially effective in scaring/thrilling/shaking readers to their core. The same goes with decisions made around the “Matt parts” — be it the black dialogue bubbles, or the way the colors feel a touch different, the end result is more solemn and somber, and that’s a powerful feature. There’s also a great ending bit with a rather specific, totally great song that feels like a musical/music video moment, and it’s just yet another example of how the art team approaches key moments, lays them out with lethal efficiency, and gives us so many powerful story bits in a perfect little package.

That last bit is a pretty apt descriptor for this issue given that it truly is the complete little bundle of great comics storytelling. After having a specific relationship with this book for months, issue #4 pushed that bond into strange and wondrous new territories/directions. Nights is a book that both comforts even as it forces its readers into important but uncomfortable positions in dutifully exploring family, romance, and what we do to get by. I for one can’t wait to see how it further rocks my world from here on out.

Final Thought: This book continues to scare, dazzle, and engage in decidedly massive ways.

Score: 9/10

Pine and Merrimac #1

Courtesy of BOOM! Studios.

There’s been a lot of talk in recent months about how to fix comics. (That is, of course, if you operate under the assumption that comics need fixing in the first place.) And while I have a few boring, mostly long-term suggestions, I have one immediate fix:

Let Kyle Starks write more comics.

Because after just one issue of Pine and Merrimac, I think Starks (alongside co-creator/artist Fran Galan) has hit on a book-as-salve that can fully remind everyone of the true power of great comics.

Which is to say, damn fine character work. At the heart of this book is Linnea and Parker Kent. The former’s an ex-homicide detective with ample trauma and some intriguing family history. The latter is a former MMA fighter trying to prove that he’s more than just some brute. Together, the two open up a P.I. business to try and make the world a little safer.

And, sure, the whole P.I. shtick has been done to death, and there’s nothing particularly novel in that regard. Add on that the pair — who named their shop after the cross-streets of their office — are working in a small town with a “horrifying secret,” and there’s lots of familiar tropes and ideas at work. That’s not a bad thing per se — a little familiarity goes a long way in building a relatable and approachable story — but the whole premise is mostly to get you in the door.

The real magic, then, is the oh-so delicious dynamic between Linnea and Parker. It’s similar to the success of Starks’ other recent book, I Hate This Place, in that it’s less about the world (even as that world is super rich and full of life) and more how this couple engage and reflect the story’s surrounding universe and various thematic interests. In the case of Linnea and Parker, they’re just different enough already to stand out; Linnea is trying to let go of parts of herself, while Parker is trying to take on more to change his perceptions by others.

Luckily, they have each other to lean on and tackle these parallel goals/objectives, and in that process we get a really well-rounded and compelling couple. There’s strengths and weaknesses galore, and we see who they are and how they relate play out in some really great moments that come with taking on a new case (and some flashbacks to boot). Their dialogue together is funny and warm, and it perfectly builds these two as unique souls who happen to share this deeply engaging connection that you can’t help but root on (and explore to its utter core).

There is an earnestness to this coupling, and it’s really powerful to see something so novel and organic exist so quickly. You feel as if you know them by the third or fourth page, and it’s their back-and-forth that informs and colors the case, its background and importance, and what this relationship ultimately has to say about carving out a place in the world.

While so much of the Linnea-Parker relationship exists via extra hilarious quips, it’s also quite physical thanks to Galan’s own work. His overall style is this proper balance between cartoonish approachability and being just stylized enough to feel inventive and refreshing. And from that, he makes some really important decisions to enhance the Linnea-Parker relationship.

That includes the way the pair exist on the page — their looks and overall size, for instance, gives them a kind of balance (Linnea is darker and more mysterious in her appearance, while Parker is both physically intimidating and also more joyous and nearly child-like). Linnea moves through the world more deliberately, and her leaning against walls or general posture speaks volumes about her history and her approach to policing. Parker, meanwhile, tends to talk as much with his fists, and even these fight scenes manage the kind of aw-shucks-ian charm that already makes him such a deeply endearing character.

Besides our beaming couple, the rest of the world hums pretty effectively — there’s some noir-ish undertones of darkness and intensity to this small town, and yet it’s still just as warm and inviting as ever. That dichotomy, I think, is both a nice reflection of the couple as much as it is a way to tease this larger mystery and play with our own levels of relatability and our personal connections with these kinds of places. Galan supports his collaborator’s sharp character work with ease, and he helps build a world around the couple that makes our continued immersion and exploration a deeply exciting prospect.

I don’t want it to seem like I’m not intrigued by the Kents’ latest case; I certainly think there’s some edge to it that’ll make for a real interesting nut to crack. But more than that, it’s going to be something deeply personal for the couple, and that is going to be the most intriguing part about it all. Because this is a character study and drama with real heft and force, and the sort of book that exemplifies why comics are the medium for great stories about interesting people. Give yourself the opportunity to really read this, and you won’t be concerned about much else beyond whatever’s next.

Final Thought: This debut is a testament to the power of effective character work.

Score: 8.5/10

Mortal Terror #2

Courtesy of Dark Horse Comics.

Mortal Terror #1 wasn’t exactly as harrowing as its title suggested. Sure, I give credit to writers Christopher Golden and Tim Lebbon for this “vampire-flipped Dracula” and the way it played with certain vampire tropes and our connection to this bloody, sexy canon. At the same time, though, the idea felt a tad hokey — vampires are an obsession for a reason, and saying “But what if humans are the new vamps!” doesn’t ring as profound as perhaps you’d expect.

And issue #2 was both a doubling down on the good and bad of this book’s core as well as proof positive of why this book might still be both important and also doomed for the True Death.

I think the biggest issue of #1 was trying to set up the world and to introduce us to vampirized versions of characters like Mina Harker, Lucy Westenra, and Jonathan Harker. It was a process that felt a little tenuous, as if we’re being asked to drastically re-evaluate our relationships and perceptions of these storied literary figures. Issue #2, then, tries to address this by moving merrily right along and focusing firmly on the mortals’ terrorist plot to bring down the vampire society.

I for one love any kind of procedural, and this issue focused on the nuts and bolts of the investigation in the way a proper episode of Law and Order: SVU might (circa season seven). And from that framework, we get not only ample drama and intrigue, but heightened emotions, and that’s where I think this book really connects back to its source material. Because the OG Dracula was (ultimately) a big, messy slice of Victorian soap opera, and this issue tries to capture some of that with some enthusiastic work by dissecting and exploring the trinity of Jonathan-Mina-Lucy.

I’m not entirely sure how their vampiric nature really extends or re-colors this triad (aside from shifting their existing relationship structures, which could’ve happened sans vamps). Still, I have to admit that the big stakes (pun!) of a terrorist plot really heightened the lush drama of their dynamic. It’s obviously different from the book, but that tiered relationship still works as a massive source of intrigue, which we needed more of as this book tried to reconfigure everything else we know about this story.

At the same time, though, there’s only so much drama that can distract you from some genuine issues across this book. Vampire stories are cool because they represent this kind of fear outside of our known world — this unflinching, all-consuming terror that will eat our lives whole. Flipping the script, as it were, is a tad hokey — humans as the threat only really works with a rather specific decision (that’s awkwardly and bluntly stated in the early pages of this issue), and even that feels like an overt gimmick meant to make us regard humanity as some terror.

I thought momentarily that having humans as the “big bad” does play with ideas of our own morality being a kind of essential countermeasure for our worst tendencies, or that humanity’s true terror is that we are small enough to remember every nasty detail. But there’s not enough of that in this book yet to make me really feel like the “flipped thing” is anything other than a mere crutch. That if you took it away somehow, you might still have an entertaining enough story of war and a chaotic love triangle. Vampirism here is meant to be a stand-in for something darker and more complicated about humanity, but the truth is we don’t need to be blood-suckers to be this alluring and complicated.

That’s important to remember, especially as we delve into the visuals. Because it’s when we talk about the work of artist Peter Bergting and colorist Chris O’Halloran that I think we get even more insight into what this book does well (and what it may struggle with) — and what that all ultimately means.

In the category of good things, there’s a few key moments across #2. The world above, for instance, is treated with a proper heft and gravitas, and it’s one of the few elements where we get something that the vampires fear (and thus the whole flipped gimmick comes properly to life). The same goes for the depiction of this “underground London”: it feels very small and artificial, and that’s another powerful way to delve deeper into the hearts and minds of this vampiric society. And, again, I think Bergting and O’Halloran depict emotion and general intent on characters’ faces with grace and force alike.

However, I think there’s a few small missteps here. The look of vampires, for one, doesn’t feel all the horrific or even over-the-top — and without that bit of sharpness, I think we’re ignoring what element vampirism plays in this story and what it’s meant to do to in playing with the relationship between fear-sex-humanity. Similarly, I think that while the city design does work, it’s indicative of not enough being done across this book. Sure, not enough blood as a means of shocking the reader — but I can see why any possible reservations there — but also just not enough novelty on the Victorian vibes or efforts to make the humans feel special and/or distinct from vamps. This book only really works with that over-the-top commitment, and while we’re getting some of that from the story, the visuals just don’t have the extra heft we need to really lean into what’s otherwise a paper-thin gimmick.

Reading this second issue got me thinking about another vampire book that I’ve been reviewing lately, Universal Monsters: Dracula. That other story (from James Tynion IV and Martin Simmonds) works exceptionally well because it understands Dracula, distills its essence, and does something really inventive with that process. Mortal Terror, meanwhile, clearly knows the story but it doesn’t do enough to earnestly engage with the material in a way that it’s script-flipping gimmick feels truly effective.

What we get, though, is just a fairly good story, and one that both tries to make its whole gimmick shine even as it’s not entirely sure how exactly to do that. If it can’t fully and earnestly commit, and it continues to mostly meander, my disappointment will sting worse than Dracula’s bite.

Final Thought: The real terror is this book’s continued inability to fully commit.

Score: 6.5/10