OK, I was definitely wrong about The Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre.
When creators Fred Kennedy and James Edward Clark launched this book just a few months ago, I was instantly seized by this neon-tinged joy ride across a theme park overrun by hurricane winds and (you guessed it) cocaine-addled hippos. But the resulting two issues have demonstrated that, despite some actual promise, Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre may have been struggling with a sense of direction and effective execution this entire time.
And as we conclude our four-issue run, it’s pretty much clear than no amount of uppers in the world could have saved this book.
Courtesy of Mad Cave Studios.
Still, the saving grace of Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre has always been Clark’s artistic achievements, as he nailed an exaggerated, perpetually stylized take on ‘80s Southern Florida. Be it the big hair of Detective Senecoza, the pitch-perfect gluttony of the nefarious Discau, or the innate fierceness of Agent Nebraska, the thrilling look and feel of this book is perhaps the closest I’ve come to doing actual cocaine. (Perhaps.)
The problem is that, especially as we see in this issue, there’s just not enough story underneath to make more effective use of that extra sharp style. Sure, we get some great action scenes at the finale, and all that whiz-bang energy married with the bite of subtle but effective satire feels genuinely exciting. But those very moments never seem to last or fully resonate — they’re pops of engagement before we get more long, drawn out conversations (that are often as filled with meaningful content and commentary as they are meager excuses for more half-cocked jokes and gags).
It feels clear following issue #4 that as much as the book’s style totally cuts through the noise to feel significant, it’s mostly wasted with the overarching story. It makes the art feel like sugar-coated action movie fluff, a distraction of sorts that does feel super exciting until you realize there’s really not much else going on (and the grander narrative power is seemingly right there).
Courtesy of Mad Cave Studios.
And even what is going on in the action/visuals department still feels sort of flat. For a big final chapter, the final set pieces don’t give us nearly enough intensity and power. And if this book is about using that genre as a vehicle for something else, I’d expect the action to land with much more oomph. Things happen (gun battles, explosions, etc.), and while it seems initially fun, that never actually lasts. It’s all just the briefest pops of intensity and yells of excitement before you realize not only does the messaging never land but even the conflict are empty calories. Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre seemingly had a mission statement, but it doesn’t seem genuinely committed to the actual work of subverting its genre and poking and prodding readers.
Here’s a good example: There’s a scene toward the end that features a returning character, and it’s generally shocking. But what could’ve been a nice swerve winds in several ways ends up feeling mostly flat and irksome as the moment never seems to resonate and/or it shrinks back before it can actually affect the story. It’s an instance that best exemplifies the book’s biggest problem: It did a great job nailing how things ought to look, but ultimately the subject matter and consistency of the narrative and plot weren’t at all strong enough to maintain anything.
Courtesy of Mad Cave Studios.
A big part of that is that some of the satirical aim of this book ultimately comes to rest in some awkward and confusing waters. With the setting, timeframe, and bootleg Nancy Reagan, I would’ve thought this book was satirizing the War on Drugs. And, yes, there were great bits of that in issues #1-3, mostly in the opening intros from our knockoff Nancy (whose name is actually Mandy Laser). But then we didn’t get those moments in Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre #4, and while she appears at the very end of the issue, Laser’s re-framing is indicative of a troubling shift across the story.
There’s moments in this issue that the satirical aim was seemingly cleaner than ever, and that the ridiculous, uncaring nature of these incompetent ninnies spoke volumes about their “war.” From there, Discau was cast as the enemy because he seems to represent some kind of revolutionary bit of socialism that might free us all. (Discau has some really great monologues in this finale, and his speeches prove that this book had a real heft and intellect at its core — it just doesn’t really know how to sustain it or position it more meaningfully.)
By the end of the issue, I really don’t know what the message is — it could be that the War on Drugs was misguided; that our current political climate suffers from the same brand of ineptitude; that the world is more complicated than these matters would indicate here; and maybe even that everything is taken too seriously to make a difference. And, duh, you can have multiple coalescing ideas in a story, but this book makes the reader do far too much of the heavy lifting.
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Mostly, I have no real idea what this book actually thinks and feels. However, not for one second did I think it was because the book nailed its premise of being some subversive social examination under the guise of cheesy action madness. Rather, just like with the final battle between man and hippo and how it all felt quite flat, so too did the book’s mission and purpose. What should’ve been a grand and final declaration of intent was a mess of ideas and sentiments that seemed half-cocked in some (many) places and even a little bit contradictory or counterintuitive in others areas/aspects.
And, sure, this book didn’t need to have some final closing message to make it all worthwhile. Except that it’s been poking fun at everyone this entire time time, and without something to stand firmly on, even if that declaration wasn’t all that novel or inventive, would’ve made such a huge difference. It would have been the glowing ember amid a chaotic, uneven story — a sole bright side among a book that never really met its potential. Well, it did, sort of, but under-cooked is obviously worse than being burnt to a crisp.
The closest that Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre comes to some defining or definitive closing message is that, without reveling too much, we should buy the trade paperback and keep the Laser Drug Force going in future stories/titles. Oh joy, a meta-tinged plea for money and attention masquerading as some half-spun commentary on capitalism. If it were at least more sure of itself, then maybe that message might have at least proven disappointing. Instead, it’s the final, half-enthused legacy of a book that, quite frankly, deserved so much better.
Courtesy of Mad Cave Studios.
I wanted to love this book — I mostly did until the cracks and dings made themselves abundantly clear with issue #3. And in one final issue, the creators buried the rest of their potential alongside the hippos, having neither the energy or respect to land this thing with a semblance of sustained interest or thematic heft. It had the right look, a solid tone and sense of humor, and a simple but potent premise that could’ve said so much about American politics and society over the last 40 years. But it dropped the ball with a boring, underwhelming finale that made me wish all the drugs in the world could erase my memory.
As wrong as I was, at least I can provide some hard-earned advice. Avoid this park of broken dreams, don’t let flashy titles fool your sensibilities for too long, and find something that makes you feel high for a story delivered and not a story promised.
Damn you, Florida Hippopotamus Cocaine Massacre, damn you to heck.
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