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.
Slow Burn #5
Courtesy of BOOM! Studios.
Slow Burn has been one of my favorite stories of the last several months. The creative team — writer Ollie Masters, artist Pierluigi Minotti, colorist Alessandro Santoro, and letterer Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou — have told this utterly poignant heist tale that’s infinitely more interested in the human drama than any overly noir-ish malarkey. But all good things must come to an end, and issue #5 had quite the expectations attached. Not only in terms of all that rich drama but the larger messaging and impact for this multifaceted tale.
And I have to say that for all my love and admiration of this book, I’m feeling a touch conflicted after the finale.
Partially because I know that the creators did exactly what they were supposed to. It was the exact ending you could’ve hoped for as everything was given a proper resolution — there were really almost no threads left hanging.
Without spoiling too much, I think every character got what they deserved in this book. Patty and Roxy’s tale may not be over just yet (and that’s both thematically appropriate and just generally exciting for the promise of a sequel); Zach got his just desserts — and yet it was done with the utmost respect and care for that character; and Roxy’s dad certainly ended up right where he needed to be all along. We even get some perspective and more time with Luke (who died way back in issue #1), and the framework around that young man — the one person who seemingly didn’t deserve any of this strife — wasn’t just gut-wrenchingly effective but also a great way to demonstrate the wholly original way this book approaches time and character work. That, and the use of Luke as this framing device also spoke about the book’s interests in not just deeply human portrayals but notions of how people can linger as these ideals or energies that shape so much of our life (for better and worse sometimes).
And, as you’d want, I think the art team’s efforts reflected that definitive and concrete narrative with an especially solid showing. In the past, the art team has been able to use the inherent mechanics of comics, and some really solid lettering to boot, to play with the passage of time and how that’s connected to memory.
In this issue, a lot of that structure still served as a solid foundation, but there were far more intertwining narrative threads and solid actions scenes, and thus things felt a touch more chaotic (in the very best sense, of course). But that same kind of thoughtful approach was effective in adding layers to tense moments, including one between Patty and Roxy’s dad that gave us this slow but explosive moment for peak emotionality. Or, how a quiet moment with Zach, the violin, and his seemingly faulty memory crackled with thematic gold. It even made tiny instances -—a slap in the face, or the way a flashback with Roxy and Zach was contrasted with events in real-time — feel all the more exquisitely painful and wildly life-affirming.
Skill and intent have always been one thing, but it’s this X-factor, as it were, about authorial commitment and understated innovation that has made the art across this book (and certainly this final issue) so vital in letting us see those themes in action. It’s the art’s commitment to extending and reinforcing the narrative that gave us these quiet but powerful additions to let us ruminate more deeply about human connection, family trauma, the hope for quiet dignity, and how life is like this series of rooms we all just move through.
But despite the bulk of my generally positive feelings for this issue, there’s a reason I felt conflicted. Because as much as everything wound up just as it should, I didn’t want some of it to happen in the first place. Again, without spoiling too much, I didn’t want that specific fate for Zach because I felt so close to him — and the same goes for Roxy and Patty and their prospects. I’ve committed a cardinal sin of fiction and cared far too deeply for these characters, and all of my logic and reason was nearly overwritten in some childish hope that they’d ultimately have their happy endings. I feel a little silly, sure, but there’s this huge part of me that craved something overly cheery and narrative-smashing to bring us a bit of sunshine and give these people the life they’d always wanted for themselves.
But for their part, the creators were unwavering in their commitment to giving these characters the exact, precise endings as to fully satisfy the narrative and its specific demands. And that process — giving us so many new “friends” to admire and also being unafraid to smash our hearts — is exactly why I love this team and their creation. They forged this story with ample love and devotion to get us to fall deeply, and they used that connection to make us feel the loss and the grief and the sheer intensity of it all as if we were right there. And, sure, that’s the aim of any story worth a damn, but for Slow Burn specifically, it just made this human drama resonate all the more deeply, and all those twists and turns felt more real and approachable than a lot of other recent noir-leaning tales.
It was about grounding us in this story, and making it real through these relatable characters grappling with their own grief and doubt and burning desires that are both universal and deeply personal. We felt felt like we lived there in a real way, every movement feeling like it happened in our own family or neighborhood, and that’s a level of relatability that plays with the heart and brain and it makes you yearn for light in a world where that’s not always possible.
In that sense, Slow Burn reminded us exactly why these grounded tales often land the hardest. So while it didn’t necessarily give us what we wanted, it gave us what we needed: more stories that explore life with a truth and intensity that comfort us not with half-cocked fantasies but how even the most unforgiving of life paths are still worth following based on the sheer connective potential. It changed my brain chemistry ever so slightly, and made me think about violence, optimism, family, and the future in some compelling new ways. Forget months — it’s one of my faves of all-time, and maybe it should be yours, too.
Final Thought: As this flame burns out, it sets your very brain ablaze.
Score: 9.5/10
Newburn #15
Courtesy of Image Comics.
It’s odd to think that Newburn is readying its final two issues. It only feels like we’re just now peering behind the true facade of Easton Newburn, and fully understanding our especially nuanced antihero. But creators Chip Zdarsky and Jacob Phillips have nonetheless given us a rather full story, and as we round into the penultimate issue, the noose is ready to tighten around Newburn’s neck (or is it…) It’s just more proof that the best stories feel full and still open with potential in the same breath.
So, after the flashback that was issue #14, issue #15 not only brings us back to the present but furthers that dynamic of building a tight story and keeping the possibilities open extra wide.
It helps, of course, that the issue #15 ends with a cliffhanger. After Newburn springs a trap against Michael (the newer, slightly dumber head of the Angelo family), we’re left to wonder not only who remains standing, but where everyone’s loyalties rest and what it all means for the future.
As you’d expect, Newburn remains at the heart of this book. This arc, especially, has been hugely revealing, and showing us just what happens when Newburn is backed into a corner. And while our understanding of him may have changed, as well as our perception of just what he’s capable of, I think this latest issue proves another important truth: you cannot truly know the man. He will always be five or six steps ahead, and that’s sort of what makes him such a compelling lead. That specific placement at the center of this book really drives home not only his own moral development (or devolution?) but positions Newburn as a scale or contrast for the other characters. Not just in a way that makes for a compelling moral dissection, but in trying to push these characters into new roles and new places in life in a way that feels wholly refreshing.
This issue does just that for both Emily and Natalie Serotta, a reporter who uncovered this whole “crime cop” shtick in a recent issue. In that way, we get really interesting character interactions and arcs of growth and development, and yet Newburn almost transcends from being just a player to something almost mythical. He’s like the hand of God himself, and characters shift around him (fully fleshed and formed, of course) while adding to the power and influence of Newburn. In that way, he’s not just, say, possibly moving replacements into place but cementing himself as something so much more, a kind of superhero (or villain?) that exemplifies the biggest ideals of this whole book — the battle of old versus young, how real change is cemented, and even how our notions of right and wrong remain antiquated (and why that analysis always matters). All of this transforms Newburn into something really compelling, and a figure who opens up a universe of moral study while offering space for this story to grow beyond it’s current state (both figuratively and perhaps literally, too.)
On the flipside of all this, Phillips’ art feels a little more direct across issue #15 especially. Sure, there’s plenty of powerful visuals surrounding some key moments — the face work in this issue, for instance, continues to be top notch as the drama and tension build to a fever pitch. And having this direct emotionality feels important to cut through some of the big layers of this book. Plus, it’s that core notion that really matters here — it’s about using key moments in a really powerful way.
This arc has been full of just such that — the car “fight” in issue #13, for instance, was about grabbing our eyes with lots of visual candy even as things felt more deliberately manufactured and even understated. And that’s doubly true in issue #15: Newburn’s plot to suss Michael out wasn’t just a masterclass of emotional manipulation but also the result of powerful, inventive artwork. Be it the understated hesitation in a direct shot of Michael’s face, the way blood shines on a pair of severed fingers, or body language between Emily and Natalie, all of it gave us something to chew on — moments with real grit but also style and grace to spare. It’s a bit of gore and razzle dazzle for sure, but really more than anything, it’s a huge part of this vivid world that hints at truths, positions double meaning and grander context, and generally gets us thinking that what we’re seeing is more (or maybe less). It’s the whims of Newburn personified in a really effective manner.
And in that, we feel ourselves pulled into Newburn’s larger scheme, and we’re yet another helpless pawn in trying to uncover our role and what this man intends to do. Its immersion like you don’t always get, and I love how the art continues to find new ways to pull us in, extend the narrative, and go further than the storyline ever could in fully bringing home this game of cat and mouse (that we, the mice, never seem to truly win). It’s an unassuming but powerful approach that has continued to push this book toward new and daring approaches to noir.
We’re certainly in some interesting territory for the big bash that’ll likely comprise issue #16. And based on this issue (but really the whole dang series), I’m sure we couldn’t guess the finale with 40 chances (even if we might get close enough for some participatory prize). I’m looking forward to seeing both the future of and the deeper essence of Newburn on display with lethal effectiveness and ample heart. No matter how much of a mystery he still remains, the story of Newburn has been a proper adventure in every sense of the word.
Final Thought: Solid noir like few others can truly muster.
Score: 8.5/10
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