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.
The Enfield Gang Massacre #6
Courtesy of Image Comics.
I never really got into westerns as a kid. There was something about their stoicism and restraint that never really spoke to me personally. Or, if they did have their gritty heroes somehow open up, it always felt a little too forced to feel meaningful.
It’s part of the reason I fell for The Enfield Gang Massacre, and why it’s this week’s finale (issue #6) that really sealed the deal for this utterly effective slice of western noir.
Because, on the surface, writer Chris Condon and artist Jacob Phillips did everything they could to give us a properly bloody and gritty tale, as they recounted the last stand of the mighty outlaw Montgomery Enfield.
For his part, Condon expertly laid out this world and story, breaking down the titular massacre in such a way that to maximize the over-the-top gun battles and action (the dynamite in the bar scene from earlier in the series remains a proper fave); the sheer stoicism of our heroes and the purely yellow-bellied tendencies of the “good townsfolk”; and that sense we were staring directly firmly at a long-dead moment in amber. Phillips accomplished much of the same, and I’d argue that he was made to tell these kinds of stories given the poetry he imbues into everything from the aforementioned gun fights to the lonely mountains creeping in the background — this world hums because of his deliberateness and vision. (Not to mention, his ability to capture people amid these settings shines with endless layers of emotion and intent.)
But with issue #6, I think the creators tried to show us even more that this isn’t your daddy’s western (even as it very much is), as a couple of really effective decisions show us the real focus of this whole book: the story of Amy and Enfield.
On one hand, that’s been evident across this entire book; that rich, multifaceted dynamic has been the heart of this series and the inspiration for Enfield’s drastic race for survival despite the obviously overwhelming odds. But to consider this as yet another love story (again, even if that’s very much what it is) ignores something far deeper and more important about his book. It uses our lovebirds, rather, to delve into some really important issues about our experiences and what love truly means.
There’s a huge moment in this last issue that, without spoiling, that directly references my favorite short story (and a really good episode of The Twilight Zone in its fifth season.) While I can’t tell you what happened per say, I can say that it’s one of those instances that paints this book as a kind of love letter to not only what the world lost (the kind of simplicity of a long-departed era), but how we did that to ourselves. How we have almost rendered ourselves entirely from a life where simple connections can save the day and keep us whole, and how we have lost our way through scheming and short-sighted machinations.
Prepare for Personal Essay mode:
It is almost a fantasy, then, that decency can win out in the end, and all we have to give ourselves is stifled hope and heartache. And, sure, that seems like an obvious enough thread in the realm of modern westerns, but I think this book executed on that idea in a way that really delves into the heart of this genre and why we still tell these stories. Namely, this idea that we can see when the world changed and that gravity shifted, and maybe we can get back there even if we know it’s all sort of a fantasy.
But it’s not just about showing us some terrible side of ourselves and how we’ve lost our way. This device/twist/whatever you want to call it focuses a ton of its impact and energy on Amy, and she has a massively essential moment of utter agony that should smash your heart. (Again, Phillips’ work here clearly made this utterly book-defining explosion of emotion.) But it’s not about grieving for what’s gone; Amy’s subsequent “path” for the issue’s remainder ends in a way that left me thinking. Mostly about, it would seem, that we as humans will go on. Things are clearly different (and altogether likely more terrifying and dark) but there is always another day. And through that we might have a shot at something resembling redemption (even if something small and decent survives), but at least we know that it’s not possible to damn ourselves entirely.
In that way, I think we get even more layers to the Amy-Enfield love story, but also something even bigger still: a powerful commentary on both the stubbornness of humanity as well as how the thing that defines us is our struggle. Not that we have to live these lives of pain and desperation, but that if that’s how everything plays out, our humanity somehow remains. And not only that, but that spark, as it were, is more than enough: maybe not to redeem our worst tendencies and actions, but to prove that all of this doesn’t have to be the end. That this cycle can play out forever and ever, and no matter how dire things become, we remain these essentially hopeful, thick-skulled apes seeking the next horizon. I’d classify that as the best version of true optimism, and a lesson in why the western genre remains so vitally important in exploring the essence and evolution of modern man.
I actually got to interview Condon just days before issue #6 debuted. (It was about another book, so stay tuned.) But in that chat, he expressed some uncertainty about this issue and the left turn it inevitably took. I tell you now what I only hinted to him in a subsequent email: this ending isn’t what I wanted (even as it had to happen), but it’s still altogether more interesting and profound than I could have ever expected. It perpetuated westerns even as it expertly subverted the genre; told a powerful love story in a truly inventive manner; and reminded us about some nougat of truth regarding the human experience. (Oh, and there were super dope shoot-outs galore.) For this fella, it’s now the bar for all future westerns.
Final Thought: A gold standard for telling deep, affective westerns in comics.
Score: 8.5/10
Operation Sunshine #4
Courtesy of Dark Horse Comics.
It’s easy to fall for characters when they’re executed properly. That’s certainly been the case for Operation Sunshine, in which the “Bugs” Hex and Steve have already proven to be a compelling entry into this sordid world of ancient vampires. But the mark of a great story isn’t just the leads, but also the rest of the cast, and as the creative team demonstrates in issue #4, this book has a bloody robust one at that.
I speak, of course, of Anwar, the OV vampire who is helping our leads steal a magical artifact to help them regain their humanity. This issue primarily centered around our further immersion of Anwar — we see not only his slightly depressing background (which does wonders to link him with his more lowly cohorts) but some of the larger history and lore of this world. And through that, we move our understanding and appreciation of this unique spin on vampire legends into some compelling new directions.
Writers Henry Zebrowski and Marcus Parks clearly love the “genre,” and they’ve managed to remix and break new ground simultaneously, resulting in something that feels like everything we love about vampire stories but remains decidedly novel. (It’s sort of like the Blade films with just a dash of True Blood and a teensy bit of Prometheus — I’ll let you sort that out after your own read.) And that medley, as it were, isn’t just mostly inventive, but another way that the book tries to get us to reconsider the value of this story in its canon and how it’s playing around with what vampires mean as well as reconfiguring our relationship with these long-standing tropes. By the end of the issue, I really felt as if I had some fresh perspectives into why vamps remain compelling, and that kind of questioning feels essential to this story’s goal of celebrating humanity for all its asinine qualities and painfully temporary lifespans.
At the same time, though, I do think there’s a few minor concerns across this issue. For one, the focus on Anwar does cut a little of the life and momentum out of the still burgeoning Hex-Steve dynamic. They often felt like side characters across this issue, especially Hex. (Steve, however, got a chance to shine by sharing fancy computer knowledge, and it’s nice to see that very human thing be emphasized as an upside given this story’s scope.) I know that we had to move to Anwar as we get into the proper planning of this heist, and that sharing the spotlight is a vital part of any well-rounded group caper. Still, I wish I’d had a beat with our duo to really see how they’re doing as they get closer to this moment.
It’s a problem confounded by two other characters, Tick and Agent Leeds, who move closer to the core of the group across the issue. Only they felt especially tertiary, and more like gimmicks at this point. Tick’s fine that way (got to have the jokey mascot, I guess) but Leeds is that important human link here and it’s not clear that he’s getting the significance he needs to really play up that connection. If nothing else, everyone has a pretty entertaining dynamic, and we’re just waiting for greater substance to align with the quips and jokes.
If we’re talking about facilitating some of those essential connections, we have to continue to mention the work of artist David Rubin and colorist K.J. Diaz. Across the first three issues, the pair helped build the gore and heart of this world through big, rich details and lots of inventive spins on everything from the city designs to character designs and more. Rubin’s style, especially, has done wonders to foster our immersion into a book with a lot of grand, competing goals and thematic tent poles.
In issue #4, the pair really shine in building and showing off the lore of this world. Be it some great stuff with the history of the OVs (which feels as gory and silly as the rest of the book but with just a touch of added elegance), or adding some real heft and momentum to a series of planning conversations, a slower issue excelled because of that commitment to similarly forging something familiar and altogether delightfully inventive. There was heaps of “face work” across this issue, which makes sense as we’re trying to sort of outline and suss out the motivations of a whole cast and their respective machinations.
And I forget that as joyous and slightly cartoonish as Rubin’s work can be, he keeps up the sheer emotionality in a major way (supported, of course, by Diaz’s snappy colors). That remains an important but understated feature, especially given that this issue was about complicating the book’s emotional core, and even if the narrative wasn’t perfect (i.e., less Hex-Steve stuff), the visuals nonetheless helped us in considering Anwar and the complexities of his “ascension.”
This issue ends with a rather direct, slightly hokey moment from the team — and boy oh boy did it come off like gangbusters. That’s likely because this book is deeply interested in its own humanity, and exploring what it means to be a person in dark and insane time (and where even if you can’t be a vamp, you don’t exactly have to be a real person). Maybe it was slightly uneven this issue, but like a proper heist, we’re building to the moment where all of that rich emotionality will fall into place. The fact that even more hijinks and bloodletting will be featured is only the sweetest of sweet bonuses.
Final Thought: The heisting grows ever bigger and more rich.
Score: 7.5/10
Borealis #2
Courtesy of Dark Horse Comics.
It may have only been the first issue, but Borealis gave us a mighty lead in Silaluk “Sil” Osha. The Alaskan state trooper, forced to return to her small town of Qinu to solve some grisly murders, instantly proved to be this layered, wonderfully contradictory figure (even as the rest of the book was still mostly developing).
And issue #2 only doubles down on giving us a reason to really fall for a cop.
A huge part of our further immersion into Sil’s life/head-space is that writers Mark Verheiden and Aaron Douglas addressed a big issue in #1: the magic/supernatural elements. The first chunk of #2, then, was all about exploring Sil’s background with this tiny town that survives thanks to drunken oil rig workers. In that, we see the reasons why she’s so prickly and desperate to leave, and what this return does to really drum up old pains.
It doesn’t help, of course, that said pain is expanded with every interaction she has with local cops and gangsters alike — but it’s a powerful way to add to our connection with Sil as much as it building a proper cast to support and uplift her (or is that denigrate her?) Either way, we get a proper slice of noir, with all the sharp emotions and endless drama that makes these stories so compelling in the first place.
And in those moments, not only is this humanity the focus, but the supernatural stuff is given the kind of reverence it needs to feel really important without stepping on what I really wanted: a new and novel kind of cop story that’s dripping with humanity (and a pretty decent mystery to boot). Sure, Sil is a proper lead, but it felt like she could better engage and connect with the world, and through that she really brought to life heaps more nooks and crannies.
When the supernatural stuff does become more prevalent toward the end of this chapter, I think it felt decidedly more effective than in issue #1. Maybe some of that’s on the actual portrayal (more on that in a little bit), but it could have been that we had a more well-rounded meal (the nitty, gritty noir stuff) before we got a proper desert (demonic property destruction).
It wasn’t just about balancing these equations, as it were, but also trying to find out how these two elements can best connect. I don’t want to go too deep into why Sil’s got magic telekinesis all of a sudden, but it’s a simple but effective gesture that uses said magic to enhance Sil and the emotional ping-pong she’s experiencing while back home. And in that way, things feel more aligned and cohesive, as if we’re telling more of a single story (even as these approaches are still given their own space and aesthetics to then operate).
So much of that facilitation, of course, comes with the work of artist Cliff Richards and colorist Guy Major. On the surface, not too much has changed: the magic’s basically given a different color scheme and some pretty boiler-plate happenings (i.e., swirling winds, cars flying, etc.) The difference, then, I think is a touch more subtle.
It helps that, as mentioned, the magic bits were used more sparingly, but even then Richards and Major seemingly put more effort into keeping Sil seemingly at the center of all this. So even when weird demon sprites showed up, for instance, all of that vivid color and overall intensity was still in service of Sil (even more than in issue #1). That meant our eyes were surely delighted but only as a means to remind us of the core of this story and the ways in which Sil’s emotional status both informed and reacted to this sudden, bizarre uptick.
That process, then, helped ground a lot of this supernatural chicanery, and made it feel unsettling without being completely removed from the story or as if these characters needed this surge of weirdness to really move things forward. If anything, a properly balanced use of all this magical madness gave these character interactions more texture and a chance to feel all the more significant in comparison. I found myself liking the shift because I knew the characters were pushing it all into new heights and directions.
Perhaps the biggest accomplishment of issue #2 was the feeling that Sil is about to make a major breakthrough — and that could be truly scary. Because this well-formed, wholly intriguing character is on a major precipice both emotionally and in her overall place in the world. Whatever happens next, and wherever her path meanders, you damn well know I’m following along with a childlike wonder.
Final Thought: More strategic magic and grittier noir is the optimal formula.
Score: 7.5/10
Black Hammer: The End #5
Courtesy of Dark Horse Comics.
It ain’t easy writing about the multiverse. And Jeff Lemire, I’d say, has clearly found that out across Black Hammer: The End. Sure, there’s lots of whimsy and wonder that you can employ, but it doesn’t mean this balancing act is always so effortless/easy.
But since issue #4, Lemire (and co-creator/artist Malachi Ward) have found a way to focus and streamline their oversized tale, emphasizing some big bits to draw out why these kinds of stories matter in the first place. And with issue #5, that focus grows ever more sharp and massively effective.
That’s likely because this issue was able to give us the best of both worlds (or multiple worlds, I should say). Yes, we got a lot of the crazy doppelgangers and multiversal madness that we wanted, including a really sweet army of heroes/villains to battle the threat of the Anti-God. But as issue #4 left off, issue #5 really puts the onus on the whole Black Hammer family, including Rose, her dad (an evil Hammer variant working for Anti-God), her hubby (Lightning Rod), and their kids, Rose and Joe. It was sort of like eating a bag of candy, and in the middle was an artisan strawberry hand pie.
Does this focus somehow strip away the value and power of the countless other heroes involved? Not really — I think it’s about an alignment from a storyline perspective. The Black Hammer Family stuff isn’t just the most emotionally resonant (so many layers here), but also feels like it’s the most essential from a thematic standpoint. (Also, this series is called Black Hammer, after all.) It’s that multiverse-spanning family drama that really begins to speak to some of the most important ideas at this book: big ideas of fate and accepting one’s destiny; choosing family over merely accepting what you have; and even finding and maintaining faith through collaboration.
This family exists as the emotional and structural nougat for this whole dang experiment, and through them things become both more clear and filled with a kind of sharp purpose. The other story elements then — including a nice little bit with an alternate Skulldigger — feel all the more emotionally potent considering their relationship to this “central” drama. It’s really in #5 where all of this becomes utterly clear, and it’s less like the book had to “get better” but instead move the pieces a bit for everything to click in glorious fashion.
And speaking of glorious, I’ve made it clear a few times that this book has been Ward’s shining moment from issue #1. It’s his art (with some assist from Bryce Davidson on color flats) that’s imbued this story with the grace, heft, and significance that’s made it such a powerful study in proper multiversal storytelling.
Issue #5, then, is both a continued reminder of this, and extra shimmery proof that Ward’s power only grows as we get closer to the finale. The opening with another Randall Weird, for instance, exudes the pure heart — and slightly in-depth nature — of stories like this. It’s also where I think we see some more meta-centric tendencies inform this issue, and that adds yet another really great quality overall.
The expressions and emoting of others, meanwhile, remains a massive part of this book — seriously, there’s a kind of overt sense of life across nearly every page that reminds you (often with maddening power) of the endless well of humanity that informs and extends this story. (I’d argue that even a car ride with the Black Hammer Family is among the most visually potent scenes in a book with giant space gods, and where the Lemire-Ward marriage of visuals and storyline give us some huge moments thematically.)
Even something as “simple” as this massive splash page of super-powered folks has the heat and strength of 1,000 Crisis on Infinite Earths. It just goes to show you that Ward was clearly the only choice to make this book sparkle in its very specific manner; his vivid approach and unwavering romanticism are a central battery to this whole project. Lemire may have laid the foundation, but it’s Ward who gives everything the overwhelming levels of grace and strength needed to really flourish. Issue #5, especially, all that just becomes undeniably real in some extra vital ways.
Issue #6 is meant to be the end, and based on the arc of the last couple issues, we can expect some great Hammer vs. Hammer action. Still, what will inevitably happen to the multiverse and whatnot remains to be seen. But whether it’s destroyed, remains the same, or is extended somehow, this six-issue miniseries is all it ever really needed. Because it’s been this story that’s shown the existential glory at the heart of this whole dang canon, and why Black Hammer remains the weird, sometimes complicated superhero story of our time.
Final Thought: All we need in the multiverse is family and years of trauma.
Score: 7.5/10
Black Panther #8
Courtesy of Marvel.
Issue #7 of Black Panther ended with a rather WTF moment. But as this book has often proved across its still-short run, sometimes those instances have the most potential for something truly great.
Because our “guest” from issue #6 into #7, one Monet St. Croix, could have easily been a kind of aberration in this book, especially given all the big-time drama happening on the X-Men side of Marvel. But writer Eve L. Ewing was a pro in immersing M into Black Panther (and not the other way around), and that made all the difference. That approach gave us a really potent interaction that not only connected this book with some elements and happenings of the larger universe, but it did so in a way that felt thematically relevant to this title (i.e., emphasizing ideas of family, legacies, and even new beginnings).
Meanwhile, something similar was happening with that fiend Kivu’Ma trying to make some inroads with Aliinya Nkisu as her family’s battle with the Ilongas reaches a fever pitch. Toss in some drama with the supporting characters, and what we got is a grander story that’s beginning to move its pieces into formation. While that’s never been a proper issue with this book (OK, maybe slightly), it’s nice to see it happen in a way that feels as if there’s some big stakes here and massive movements just as much as it’s interesting and/or emotionally compelling. It felt like a masterclass in how you align a story with maximum novelty and heart, and what that does for really drawing in your readers’ eyes with the utmost intensity.
At the same time, though, we did get a kind of “aside” with T’Challa and Beisa after their run-in with Monet. After contributing so much to this issue’s developing storyline, it was kind of refreshing to see the two get to pause for a moment on a train back to Birnin T’Chaka. It acted, then, as a kind of status report for T’Challa, and we get to see the kinds of insights and lessons that he’s learned during his excursion. It felt massively removed from the story proper even as it (again) facilitated so much of the action and momentum — and that disconnect, as it were, meant we got the best of both worlds (a story but also this really rich, context-free character dissection).
Sure, it also felt a touch like a slightly awkward TV montage or something, but then that’s the point: it was a chance to slow down and still speed up, and employing that kind of “device” let T’Challa and Beisa’s back-and-forth resonate in a really massive way. We see him in this scene in such a vivid light, and that’s crucial to keeping him in the story’s center as things grow ever more complicated and dynamic.
A massive part of that conversation’s impact stems from the efforts of the rest of the team (penciller Chris Allen, inker Craig Yeung, penciller/inker Mack Chater, and colorist Jesus Aburtov). It was just one of the few moments in this issue where the emotional promise of this chapter came alive in some rather deliberate and interesting ways. That moment, specifically, wasn’t just a pretty solid montage but also gave us some really great examples of emoting and humanity, and that added some great energies to a conversation that was all about movement and building.
But even that moment didn’t even have the kind of “pop” of some other pages here. I’m thinking of the intro between T’Challa and M — it seems like a pretty boilerplate battle between superheroes, but there’s a kind of grace and elegance specific to this scene that drew our eyes and made it visually clear just how much this would set the setting and pace for the rest of this issue (and maybe the story…) There’s also stuff surrounding Kivu’Ma and Aliinya — it’s nice that some of the magical/mystical stuff gets sectioned to one area (even as it, once again, feels utterly connected to the story proper), and that makes it feel all the more essential. The sheer blast of color and the way it plays with portraying human emotion and structures also helped, of course.
One Kivu’Ma and Aliinya interaction, especially, toward the issue’s earlier pages felt like a defining moment for this chapter and the book at-large, capturing the fury, weirdness, and overall intensity that I think has defined this title’s primary upsides. These examples felt very much in line with the rest of the book’s visual output thus far, but building off the sheer momentum of this issue, they proved all the more successful in further building a rather specific world for T’Challa and company, and setting it apart in a way that matters without ever divorcing it from all that rich context and this book’s growing sense of importance within the Marvel line.
That last idea I think defines what made issue #8 so effective: it’s all really and truly happening. Sure, it’s been a long, steady build to this specific moment, with plenty of glowing successes as well as some irksome disappointments along the way. But this issue shined a light on what’s worked so well, extending this tale of evocative, family-colored noir-ian superheroes/villains that continues to surprise (and delight) in the ways that matter most.
Final Thought: Black Panther’s “vacation” continues to pay off in some major ways.
Score: 7.5/10
Green Lantern: War Journal #5
Courtesy of DC Comics.
Issue #4 of GL:WJ was a big enough moment in the ongoing journey of John Stewart. As he faces a return to a much different life as a Green Lantern, he was faced with family woes, an unlikely new mentee (Lantern Shepherd), and a big bad in the Revenant Queen/Radiant Dead. (Oh, and grappling with the legacy of his doppleganger, the mighty Builder.) And through it all, it was a compelling dissection of Stewart the Lantern/son/human/warrior/etc.
As it turns out, though, we didn’t need to go inside Stewart in #4 to see his true self — that exists in the world itself.
Which is a slightly cryptic way of saying that in #5, writer Phillip Kennedy Johnson gave us one of the most powerful interactions of this young book by focusing on the larger stakes. I don’t want to spoil this utterly heart-stomping moment, but it shows us just how powerful the idea of family is, and the kinds of strengths and weaknesses alike it exposes across the ever-complex Lantern Stewart. It’s a moment where we see just how much of himself he filters through the eyes of others, and how for both better and worse, Stewart is a man who is very much of the world, which positions his sense of duty/service as perhaps the most mighty weapon of his arsenal.
We get some generally gripping stuff with both his mom and his sister, Ellie, and through these two (well-developed) characters, Stewart’s focus and mission become clear. From there, he can move onto his actual mission, which in this issue focuses mostly on finding the trail of the Queen and her Radiant Dead (and acclimating to his new ring, of course).
The only downside to that massively potent series of family moments is that the rest of the issue felt a little flat. Yes, Stewart’s farewell with his mother (for the mission, she’s still alive and kicking) informed a lot of other important moments. That mostly includes Stewart’s ongoing relationship with Shepherd — a mostly quiet moment offered these two a chance to really compare their experiences and engage in a way that feels important as they further suss out both their team and how that could help inform/shape something new for the Lantern Corps in general. However, there wasn’t a lot else beyond all that (as profoundly powerful as it may have been), and the rest of the issue played out like a stereotypical, slightly deflated action comic.
I would have love to seen more of how Stewart’s state of mind colored the stuff with the Radiant Dead, but it just felt a little disconnected and stifled. Even with Stewart’s whole subplot with Varron, the Radiant Dead stuff doesn’t really pop yet. It certainly looks cool and intriguing enough, with potential galore, but it lacks that emotional snap that informs the rest of this book and the kind of profound lessons and insights it offers about Stewart.
It’s especially confounding given that the rest of the creative team (artist Montos and colorists Adriano Lucas and Christopher Sotomayor) did a damn fine job in laying out an issue packed with cutting family drama and big-time battle scenes. Through that balance some especially vital things happened.
The former stuff especially was all about the angles and the expert use of color. Through those, we felt the weight of everything in the heart and mind of Stewart. The interactions with his mother, especially, were creative enough in both their visual tone and general layout — it played up the sheer intensity of this conversation and showed us the kind of power that Stewart associates with and draws from these quietly devastating moments. But even something simple like a very specific character reveal has heaps of power because the art proves to be efficient and unflinching in pulling at the old heart-strings and getting us to engage head-on with where Stewart may be emotionally.
The action scenes, meanwhile, busted out a similarly interesting use of angles and colors. It meant we got a bit more of a horror feel from the Radiant Dead, which doesn’t just fit thematically but adds new layers and continues on that decidedly psychological path that the story itself laid out. There’s even smaller, doubly powerful design choices here that work, including the black-green balance of Stewart’s uniform and the increasingly inventive and terrifying Radiant Dead constructs. These two especially demonstrate the sheer potential of the visuals, and how there’s things out there that can reach the multifaceted challenges that await Stewart.
The fact that a lot of that stuff (again, outside of the family-centric moments) doesn’t have the same emotional oomph is upsetting but seemingly isn’t a permanent thing. Instead, I think as we get Stewart away from that family stuff and into the thick of this interstellar horror show, maybe some of that can actually inform Stewart’s trials. Because that heart has been more intriguing than all the space zombies in the known universe, and the reason why Stewart is having a true renaissance as of late. An issue with minor issues didn’t really hurt it, and I can’t wait to see even more of my new favorite Lantern.
Final Thought: The construct you’ll need most is a pack of tissues.
Score: 7/10
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