Ok, full disclosure – I once played Snoopy in a school production of “You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown” when I was 8. I was confronted with this fact in full 8mm glory recently. So, I was fully prepared to dislike Peanuts #0 and complain that it shit on my childhood. But, honestly, inasmuch as we tend to focus on the more adult oriented comics on this site, particularly in the wake of “T” and “T+” DC titles that may as well stand for “Tits” (or “Tits Plus!”) instead of “Teen/Teen +”” (Red Hood And The Oulaws, Catwoman, etc.), there are actually a lot of great books out right now that will bring enjoyment to readers of all ages. For example, Boom! Studios has started a kid friendly imprint called Kaboom! Studios. The titles range from licensed properties, such as Darkwing Duck and Chip And Dale Rescue Rangers, to original books such as Snarked! by Harvey Award winner Roger Langridge – who also did The Muppet Show comic book for Boom!. I loved The Muppet Show adaptation, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that I also loved the relaunch of Peanuts released this past week.
We’re gonna gamble on the giant longshot that there’s any interest whatsoever about Joss Whedon on the Internet and point out that he just did a reasonably extensive interview online (No, not with us. The only way Joss Whedon would answer any of our questions would be if the first one was, “Do you want to see your dog alive again?”).
Most of the interview centers around his upcoming quickie release of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing, but he also drops a few tidbits about what his long-gestating and ultimately doomed movie adaptation of Wonder Woman might have been like:
She was very powerful and very naïve about people, and the fact that she was a goddess was how I eventually found my in to her humanity and vulnerability…
Hmm… did I accidentally dial up an interview with Ted Bundy?
Yesterday, Barnes & Noble announced that they’ll be releasing the newest version of their Nook e-reader, the Nook Tablet (which sounds like something you take for a particularly virulent yeast infection) next Friday, November 18th. It’ll have a dual core chip, a gig of ram with 16 gig of onboard storage, integrated Netflix and Hulu Plus apps, and… something else…
Marvel Entertainment announced today that the hotly-anticipated NOOK Tablet from Barnes & Noble (NYSE: BKS) will offer readers access to the greatest graphic novels of all time.
Wow! Marvel’s releasing Watchmen and The Dark Knight Returns?
Featuring the Avengers, Spider-Man, Wolverine and more of the world’s most popular super heroes, NOOK Tablet launches with a digital library of your favorite Marvel graphic novels—and more of your favorite stories are on the way!
Oh, okay. Those are pretty good, too.
Blair Butler is 33 years old. In her time on this planet, she has managed to graduate from college, find some success in stand-up comedy, become head writer of a television show, and, eventually, find her way in front of the camera as the star of her own segment on G4’s Attack Of The Show called Fresh Ink. Oh, and if that’s not an already impressive list of accomplishments, this past week, Butler published her first comic book, Heart #1, with art by Kevin Mellon. She used it, she told Comic Book Resources, as an opportunity to bring together her love of comic books with her love of mixed martial arts fighting:
Most of my co-workers love the NFL, but MMA is my sporting poison. I talk about Anderson Silva and GSP [Georges St-Pierre] the way other folks talk about the Packers or the Bears, I’m like the Paul Aufiero of MMA — he’s the football-obsessed parking lot attendant in ‘Big Fan.’ And there’s sort of an interesting analogy to be made to superhero comics and mixed martial arts, if Batman or The Punisher were real, they’d likely be training MMA to get in proper crime-fighting shape. The Huntress would be subduing muggers with a rear naked choke or a spinning backfist.
Well, I’m 39. I like comic books, occasionally workout to Rachel Hunter’s Cardio Kickboxing Workout and this past Saturday I made the world safe from a bottle of Ketel One by turning it into pee.
So there. I am neither writing comic books nor subduing muggers with my terrifying spinning backfist.
Pardon me while I crack open another bottle of self-esteem. Ok, now let me tell you about the comic book.
Warning before entering the Internet octagon – soul searching, temp work and spoilers after the jump.
On Friday night, Amanda and I were having a conversation about decompressed storytelling versus old-fashioned serialized storytelling in comics. Because that’s how we roll here at the Crisis On Infinite Midlives Home Office: a little wine, a few lit candles, and deep conversations about the esoterica of comics writing… okay, actually more often it’s shotgunning Buds, arson and screeching, “This book sucks, Lobdell! And that’s why we’re burning down your house!” but we’re trying to expand our horizons.
Anyway, the agreement we came to is that the problem with decompressed “writing for the trade” is that writers are all-too-willing to make the story beats in each individual issue subtle and slowly-unfolding, to the point where in some of those issues almost nothing seems to happen. Whereas serialized storytelling understands that, yes, there may be a larger story that the individual comics issue is serving, but that the issue should be a story in and of itself, with enough of an arc and satisfying action to be worth owning on its own.
And we wholeheartedly agreed that when it comes to regular comics, we vastly prefer serialized storytelling… And further, we agreed that we should leave poor Scott Lobdell alone… at least while Rob Liefeld’s walking around a home that isn’t primarily comprised of cinders and regret.
The one exception to all rules that we agreed existed was the self-contained miniseries. In the spirit of the old “Lady, you knew I was a snake when you picked me up” parable, a miniseries almost by nature must be told in a decompressed manner, because on its face each issue is part of a larger story. It is what it is, and whether you like decompressed storytelling or not, you know what you’re getting with an issue marked, say, “2 of 6”. And then, because we were feeling generous, we gave Liefeld an exception of his own. Mostly because we found we were out of kerosene. But I’m digressing again, which is stupid because there actually is a point to all this yammering.
That point is that The Strange Talent of Luther Strode #2, despite being part of a self-contained miniseries, meets all the needs of a good serialized story, and a damn good one at that.
Ok, so I meant to actually write a couple reviews and post them in a somewhat timely fashion today. Clearly, that didn’t happen. I could blame the change back to Standard Time, my vodka induced hangover from last night or my generally poor work ethic, but…meh. Hopefully, I’ll be less damaged and more productive tomorrow. In the meantime, via The Laughing Squid, here’s a Furby trying to make itself understood by Siri. Now, I’m going to go kill this vodka hangover with Scotch.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Yes, it’s Superman! Strange visitor from another planet! With spoilers and ruined story notes far beyond those of mortal men!
I was initially skeptical about Grant Morrison’s take on the new early days of Superman in Action Comics – the only attractive thing about an urban hipster blogger with a mad-on for corporations and a Justin Beiber haircut is that when he’s also Superman you won’t do any time if you hit him in his John Lennon glasses with a fucking pipe.
And truthfully, the concept of a Superman who takes on slumlords and capitalists is a wonderful idea, provided it’s 1939 and nobody’s invented Brainiac yet. Even a partially-depowered Superman against, say, a CEO is like deploying a fuel-air bomb against Cookie Monster. As a power fantasy for the unemployed it might be fun, but from a storytelling standpoint, it presents the same problems as a 12 to 2 Red Sox / Brewers blowout: fun, but sure as hell not exciting. Particularly when you stop for a second and realize that you can kill your average American CEO by putting a plate of prime rib at the top of a flight of stairs.
It turns out that Morrison seems to realize this, so in just a couple of issues, we’ve transitioned from Superman as hippie anarchist to Superman as fuckup.
EDITOR’S NOTE: This review contains spoilers. It also contains at least three euphemisms for male ejaculation, several vulgar terms for female genitalia, and more than one filthy joke. With the entirety of Red Lanterns #3 being one of those filthy jokes. You have been warned.
I’ve read three issues of DC’s Red Lanterns now, and having done so, I have one obvious question: who hurt you, Peter Milligan?
What was her name? Sit on down, crack open a beer and tell Uncle Rob aaaaallll about that cooze. Get it out of your system. And then maybe you can get back to writing a superhero book that makes some fucking sense.
Red Lanterns #3 opens with a bat chick with big knockers (You remember Bleez, right?) inverted, look of terror on her face while she chokes on thick, viscous liquid, while Atrocitus narrates:
With luck, the pain will be intense.
That’ll mean it’s working. the gelatinous liquids of Ysmault entering her brain.
Sure, Atrocitus. I call mine “Old Sparky,” but “Ysmault” works too, I guess. Seriously, Peter: where’d you salvage that narration from? Your letter to fucking Penthouse?
Having kicked off Halloween night, Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer are in the process of working their way up the West Coast on a mini-tour titled An Evening With Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer. Ok, so other than being married, what do an author and a musician hope to bring to our entertainment experience?
we’ll have a piano, a ukulele, and maybe some other weird instruments, as well as some unpublished and uncollected Neil Gaiman stories and poems. we’ll both probably switch up what we’re presenting from night to night. we’ll be taking questions from the audience, chat-style, and trying to do special things in each venue, busting out a few surprises, and more or less trying to feel like we’ve connected with you, the people we love and usually only get to talk to directly on twitter & blog-land.
We’ve talked a lot here at Crisis On Infinite Midlives about the formula of event comics: new costumes, giant battles, and the death of at least one character. Some creator boasting that the event is so big it will “change everything” and will “break the Internet in half” remains optional. For now. Rob Liefeld still has to submissively piddle at the end of each event. Rumor is it’s in his contract, along with the whole “coprophagia” clause. But this is no time to be making up stories about Liefeld, this is serious business. We’re talking about death here.
One of the two big deaths in Marvel’s Fear Itself event was the death of Bucky, Captain America’s old World War II sidekick who took over Cap’s mantle after Steve Rogers was killed in (say it with me!) a big crossover event in 2007. Bucky, who was also killed during World War II, was the victim of the new Red Skull, who tore his arm off… probably at the direct order of Joe Quesada, who figured out that it would probably be a bad idea to have a different guy as Captain America in the comics than in the multi-million dollar blockbuster movie of the same name. He apparently realized this several months after the movie was released, and several years after most of us understood that “Bucky Cap” sounds like euphemism for some kind of French Tickler-type device, but that’s not important right now.
What’s important is that Bucky is dead. He is bereft of life. He rests in peace. His metabolic processes are now history. He’s kicked the bucket. He is an ex-Bucky. And he’s been an ex-Bucky twice. That’s pretty final. Right?
Sure it is. This is Marvel we’re talking about: