Title of the year. 12.7 out of 10. Everyone go home.
And to an extent, I think that’s sort of the point of Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre — shock the brain and razzle-dazzle the senses. Luckily, the book’s got a few devices to do just that.
First and foremost is the premise: “A no-nonsense federal agent and a lone-wolf cop chase down a brutal drug lord in a flooded amusement park swarming with blood-crazed hippos and cut-throat mercenaries.” It’s basically every bonkers ’90s action movie married to every flippant Adult Swim cartoon ever made. It takes the madness promised by Cocaine Bear, drapes it neon paint and a trashy Hawaiian shirt, and makes it sound as thrilling as chugging an original Four Loko.
Courtesy of Mad Cave Studios.
But it’s the larger framework that makes Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre more satisfying than even shotgunning the extra yummy Four Loko Fruit Punch. It very much pokes fun at the “War on Drugs,” and while the story doesn’t necessarily add anything new to the “debate,” writer Fred Kennedy reminds us that the same hackneyed dweebs who perpetrated this in the ’80s are alive and kicking today, seeking to enact their authoritarian bent against our very loud wishes otherwise.
But that happens without feeling hokey or ever forced, and we can laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of these sentiments as much as we can, say, drug-addled hippos. Even the park’s owner, Discau, feels like a stand-in for guys like Trump or Harvey Weinstein — these gluttonous idiots damning us all. (There’s also an intro where a bad Barbara Bush clone frames the story by showing us a video a la the worst D.A.R.E. program ever.) For a book where a character is literally named Clarke Nebraska (the FBI agent), Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre is surprisingly deep so far.
Courtesy of Mad Cave Studios.
OK, well, not too deep; there’s a tendency across the first issue to lean into the same kind of self-aware humor. Like when disposable soldiers come grappling down and talk about their imminent retirement or their wife suddenly being in labor. You know, meta-tinged commentary on action movie tropes that, at least the first 10 times, is entertaining enough. But because everyone does it across Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre #1, I’m not sure how to feel. It could be that they’ve painted themselves into a corner already, and thus the shock and awe of this story may not be powerful enough to overcome some larger structural issues. Or, that the meta-ness is the larger commentary, and Kennedy is commenting on the overt self-awareness that defines our modern media consumption.
I literally can’t decide where I stand this early on, so I’m going to say that the mere hint of another level/angle being present here is generally enough to give the book credit. Even still, you may find yourself “ugh-ing” out loud just a few pages in if you can’t keep yourself actively aware of some larger plan involved with Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre. And even if you can, saying things are too meta doesn’t even feel all that significant in the first place.
Courtesy of Mad Cave Studios.
Still, I doubt most of you are coming into Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre for the social commentary, and you want to see gun fights and hippos on drug. And artist James Edward Clark delivers 12 metric tonnes of that good -ish. Imagine you suddenly gained synesthesia, did a suitcase full of mescaline, and watched 100 hours of Hanna-Barbera cartoons — and you’d get at 1/10th of the insanity here. Heck, even the paper looks like some old ’80s comics with all that filth and grit.
Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre takes a similarly self-aware approach to its character design and world-building. All of the people are all exaggerated angles and 10-feet hair; the park itself is both a fantasy land and also the worst parts of Florida combined into one; colors and sound effects each explode with the intensity of a pipe bomb at completely random variables; and you can’t help but feel like the page is coated in a high-level psychedelic that’s slowly melting your brain stem. It is, without hyperbole, one of the most visually rich and generally exciting art styles I’ve seen in some time, and taking it in will have you feeling giddier than a birthday party at Pablo Escobar’s estate.
Courtesy of Mad Cave Studios.
Again, though, if you can make it past/through that initial buzz, there’s something mostly deeper here. If the storyline’s commentary was subtle, it may be that the art’s larger thematic messages or interests are practically subliminal. But it’s there: Through the psychedelic haze, you can’t decide what’s real or fantasy. Is this what the world looks like, or are you somehow under the influence? Similarly, is this the past, present, or the future, and does that timeline matter at all? And how much of what’s happening is meant to be exaggerated or is this the God’s honest truth?
They’re big, generally unanswerable questions, but then maybe that’s the point. It’s another instance of Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre sneaking in larger ideas/goals under the radar; it brings you in with its endless style, and the substance comes if you’re brave enough to ask what it all actually means. That’s not to say I have any clue regarding said meaning — rather, it’s a depth and intellect that doesn’t take away from this candy-like experience (OK, a lot of candy. Pumped directly into your brain via an IV.) That to me fits with the actual experience of drug use: If you do it right, it can make all the difference in your life. And if you don’t, you’re going to have a bad time.
Courtesy of Mad Cave Studios.
Is Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre trying to tell us something? Is all of this the response of someone overwhelmed by sensory magic and trying to sort it out? Or am I someone trying to find a genuine point for all this random madness? Could be, I simply don’t know. But what I do know is that the best stories keep you guessing, never make assumptions, and try and hide their real intent and charm under a facade of insanity/humor/etc.
I choose to see Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre exactly this way, and while your own experience may differ wildly, there’s clearly something to consider beyond the surface. Or, just spend your time on the surface instead; either way, we’re both going to have our minds blown apart.
And if that ain’t the mark of something truly important and relevant, may drug-addled hippos eat my arms and legs clear off.
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