Happy Halloween from all the staff here at Dave's Long Box

No big post today; I'm too frickin' busy looking like a total frickin' bad ass in my frickin' Nick Fury costume! I'll have pictures and a full report tomorrow for those who care, because my Nick Fury costume is more than a simple costume - it's a frickin' all-day multi-media extravaganza!

For now, just know that S.H.I.E.L.D. is watching over you and ensuring that everyone has a safe and Hydra-free Halloween.

Yep, nobody at work is going to have the slightest idea who I am. Sometimes it's lonely being a geek...

Thank you Space Ghost!

Yesterday on my lunch break I was driving along Alkai Beach here in sunny Seattle and I saw this guy rollerblading along the waterfront in a Space Ghost costume.

Chuffed, I honked my horn and pointed at him and gave him a thumbs-up and yelled "Space Ghost! Space Ghost!" The guy returned my thumbs-up and then kept on rollerblading into the hearts of children everywhere. It made me happy.

So wherever you are Space-Ghost-Rollerblading-Guy, I salute you!

THE F*@% YEAH FILES #7: Avengers visit Ultron without an appointment

If I had access to a Wayback Machine and could travel through time, there are a number of things I would do:

1) I would make sure that Kevin Maguire did all the artwork for the Captain America: Sentinel of Liberty mini-series, instead of just the first three issues.
2) I would steal and burn Young Dave’s piano key scarf so that he could never ever wear it again.
3) I would stop Terri Garr from acting again after Tootsie.
4) I would prevent Young Dave from actually standing in line to see Independence Day.
5) I would provide the Spartans at Thermopylae with repeating carbines and grenades, just for fun.
6) And I would make sure that George Perez drew tighter pencils in The Avengers #22.

I don’t know what it is about this issue, but it lacks the clean, tight artwork that I’m accustomed to from George Perez. The art looks rushed and scratchy. Perez is credited with “breakdowns” for this issue and Al Vey is credited with “finished art,” so that might be the problem. Vey inked over Perez’s pencils for most of the Busiek/Perez era, and I always thought the stuff looked great, but perhaps in the crush of looming deadlines Perez only had time for looser pencils. The rendering and composition looks great, but there’s a rough quality to the work that throws me off.

Why would I care? Because The Avengers #22 has like, one of the most kick-ass scenes of any Avengers comic ever! I just think it deserves the full-on Perez magic, that’s all.

The Avengers #22 is the big climax to the Ultron storyline, in which a team of Avengers fights to save their comrades from the clutches of the monstrous robot. In previous issues The Avengers have had to invade the nation of Slorenia (which Ultron has pretty much destroyed), repel a horde of undead cyborgs, slay a giant Ultron robot, and then fight pretty much every model and variant of Ultron that has ever existed. After all that, the battle-weary Avengers bust through a wall and face The Big Boss:

That's a good line, but then Thor can make anything sound cool. "Verily, good man, fill the God of Thunder's tank with five dollars worth of precious petrol from pump number five!"

You know, that’s the thing about Dramatic Entrances – you have to earn them. I remember reading some X-Men comics long ago – I think it was the Xtinction Agenda or something, the one when they were all trapped in Genosha – and there was like, a dramatic entrance or rescue every other page. It was the superheroic equivalent of a horror movie where somebody gets killed every 45 seconds. I ask you, would that be a scary movie? No. No, it would not.

I think there’s a lot to be said for the old-fashioned storytelling values of pacing, varying the tone, building up to a climax, and making the reader invest emotionally in your story. This Avengers storyline accomplishes that – when the rescue team of Avengers finally busts in on Ultron, damn it, you are PSYCHED! Psyched, damn it!

That’s why this scene gets a special kid-friendly magical happy F*$% YeaH!

THE F*@% YEAH FILES #6: "You're the one who tried to shoot the cat."

Sleep.

Sleep beckons to me like a lover, inviting me into her bed to um, sleep with her. Sleep is a beautiful woman that I cannot touch. Sleep is Rogue and Dave is Gambit, but without the annoying cajun patois.

Anyway, I'm sleepy and lazy so I'll make this quick.

This post is about the big F*$% Yeah moment in Batman: Year One Part 3, brought to us by the Team Supreme of Frank "The Tank" Miller and David "I can draw kick ass flashlights without resorting to stupid lens flare effects like all you young punks" Mazzuchelli.

If you haven't read and enjoyed Year One, you hate freedom and are possibly a terrorist. I'm not going to bother with recapping the entire plot for all the freedom-loving folks out there; I'll just set up the scene:

The cops want Batman dead. They corner him in an abandoned building and drop a bomb on it. A SWAT team from the thoroughly corrupt Gotham City Police searches through the ruins for their wounded quarry. Things don't look good for our hero:

He takes a bullet for a cat! That's almost a F*$% Yeah moment right there.

We have a cat named Po. I tell people she's named after either the Teletubbie or the Italian river - it depends who I'm talking to. She walks on me when I'm sleeping and will suddenly, inexplicably go insane and attack my hand when I'm petting her. Despite her weirdness, I love that cat --

-- and there is no way in hell I would take a bullet for her.

That, my friends, is heroism: getting shot while saving a cat that you don't even know.

And believe me, Batman is plenty pissed about it.

Here's a tip: do not shoot cats in front of Batman. He will punch you through a fucking brick wall.

Oh, F*$% YEAH! That's so awesome that even the people in the comic cheer. Then, a poisonous fluttering of wings, and a mother cries: "Here comes the KING BATS!"

"...and the screaming starts again."

After punching that would-be-cat-killer through a brick wall, Batman makes his escape from the cops under a cloud of flapping, fluttering bats. It was such a good scene that David Goyer cribbed it for Batman Begins. I can't really blame him.

Batman vs. cat hater. Winner: Batman.

Hey, white world-music guy! How about a F*$% Yeah?

Sleep.

The F*@% YEAH FILES #5: Flash's escape-velocity around-the-world hyper-punch

The Flash makes a second appearance in the hallowed halls of the F*$% Yeah Files, this time courtesy of writer/visionary/possible time-traveler from the future Grant Morrison and artist Howard Porter. That’s right it’s JLA #3, part three of the Hyperclan storyline that returned the League to mythic radness.

In this story, Earth is visited by the Hyperclan, a group of super-powered aliens who appear to be good guys. The aliens immediately set about at massive public works projects with their powers, endearing them to the gullible common man. But the JLA aren’t convinced that The Hyperclan are good guys, a suspicion that is confirmed when the old JLA satellite is attacked by armored superhumans. This sets in motion a series of battles between the Hyperclan and the JLA, during which most of our heroes get their asses kicked and are captured by The Hyperclan. All but Batman, who learns their terrible secret… and then proceeds to kick alien ass.

But no! We’re not focusing on Batman kicking ass today! That’s too easy! Let’s look at the second most F*$% Yeah moment in the Hyperclan saga: Flash’s hyperspeed around-the-world duel with Zum, the alien speedster.

Here they go. Pay attention to the panel in the lower right-hand corner, where the startled guy in India drops the vase. It will come up later. Behold:

Morrison writes a damn good super-chase – you get the feeling that he had this sequence in him, waiting to get out, waiting for the right story. While I’m normally a little indifferent to Howard Porter’s work, I think he nails it during this sequence, and the blur effects and whatnot are well-handled and non-gratuitous.

Let’s keep going. Flash is gaining on Zum, who throws frickin’ bricks at Flash! Dick!

“He must have grabbed them from that building site in Beijing.”

I love that.

The chase continues:

Flash decides to get his game on and accelerates towards lightspeed. You can tell it's lightspeed because that's when you start thinking about hyperdimensional gels and trippy shit like that:

Flash realizes that he’s faster than Zum because I mean - please, he’s Flash.

That’s right, Flash accelerates past Zum, runs around the fucking world – again, he runs around the fucking world-- comes up behind him, and smacks him in the face!!! Check it out:

Flash is going so damn fast that he punches Zum off the planet. He gets hit at Mt. Rushmore, flies into space, comes flaming back down, and lands somewhere with zebras. Flash punched the dude to Africa! Sadly, the page in the comic where this happens is so hideously designed that I couldn’t bear to post it. It’s as if Porter’s urge to experiment with page design won out over the urge to tell a coherent visual story. Oh well, the rest of it is keen.

Then, as a nice little punch line, Flash runs back to India or wherever and stops the vase (remember the vase?) from falling:

That’s right – the entire battle with Zum took place in less time than it would take for a vase to drop to the ground.

Somebody give me a F*$% Yeah.

This sequence is so kick-ass that instead of Celine Dion, I’ve brought in some special guests to help me give it the props it deserves:

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Wait for it…
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Norwegian death metal band Immortal joins Dave’s Long Box in a hearty F*$% Yeah for JLA #3!

THE F*@% YEAH FILES #4: Skurge's Last Stand

I've already covered this vintage F*$% Yeah moment in a previous post which you can find right here. I wouldn't be doing my job, damn it, if I didn't bring this macho goodness to your attention.

Skurge at Gjallerbru. Go check it out.

THE F*@% YEAH FILES #3: Batman schools Prometheus

Originally I intended the F*$% Yeah Files to be a sporadic ongoing feature, similar to the Lame-Ass Villains thing I occasionally do when I'm feeling lazy and don't want to write up a commentary on an entire comic. However, there was a great hue and cry from the masses, and lest I be torn apart by an angry mob, I decided to post some more F*$% Yeah moments.

I have to take pains to be balanced and spread the F*$% Yeah loving around among different comic book creators, or else this could easily turn into one big I Love Grant Morrison WankFest. With the possible exception of Frank "The Tank" Miller, nobody writes more glorious F*$% Yeah moments than Morrison. He's a hallucinogenically creative writer, he loves comics as much as you do, and he instinctively "gets" that superhero comics should be crazy and fun. Plus, he took the brown acid - you know what I mean? Dude is out there.

JLA #38, by Grant Morrison and artist Howard Porter, has one particularly cool moment in which Batman kicks all sorts of ass. As written by Morrison, Batman is an uber-competent, calculating ninja who always has one more trick up his proverbial sleeve.

In this scene, he goes head-to-head with Prometheus, a cybernetic villain, for the second time. Prometheus gets some good hits in, but this time Batman is ready for the bastard. You see, Batman got a hold of Prometheus' helmet during a previous battle and had a chance to study it and pick it apart. For round two, Batman is prepared:

Who, Batman? Whose nervous and muscular systems are you imprinting into the villain's cyber-helmet? Who, damn you? (Click to enlarge)

Professor Stephen Hawking! Oh, snap! Batman takes that fool back to school!

Sorry about the big seam down the middle of the image but it was a two-page spread, calculated for maximum F*$% Yeah impact. It's followed by this exchange between The Huntress and Batman:

Huntress: "Did I see you cheating?"

Batman: "Winning. First time I ever hit a man with a motor neuron disease."

I'm not sure if he means a) I've never struck a man who has a dehabilitating motor neuron disease before, or b) I've never used a motor neuron disease as a weapon before. Either way, it works. Batman, you sneaky bastard! I would imagine that Professor Stephen Hawking himself would tip his hat to you for being so clever.

So there you have it: JLA #38, a true F*$% Yeah moment. I know Stephen Hawking and Celene Dion have both got my back on this one.

CLANDESTINE #8 Marvel Comics, 1995

ClanDestine was a short-lived Marvel comic created by writer/artist/ninja master Alan Davis about a family of immortals with incredible powers who are the descendents of an indestructible knight and a genie.

The Destine family live in secret, guided by the “Relative Stranger Protocol” that demands they keep their powers on the down-low – which tidily explains why the regular Marvel super heroes have never interacted with them. In the series, strange assailants begin attacking the Clan, forcing them to band together with their progenitor, Adam Destine, who just returned from a self-imposed exile in outer space. There’s a great sequence in one of the books where The Silver Surfer finds Adam Destine drifting through space in a hippy VW bus, sitting behind the wheel staring blankly into the void. I loved that scene.

Anyway, it’s a pity that Alan’s creation didn’t endure – because it was a bright spot of creativity in Marvel’s publishing line-up at the time. It lasted for twelve issues, and then there was two-part X-Men/ClanDestine crossover, one last desperate attempt to kindle interest in the reading public. Alas, ClanDestine retired to four-color limbo, to make way for a Bishop mini-series or some shit. But hey, if kids want to read about Bishop and his hair extensions instead of this work of art, who am I to say that’s wrong?

Stupid fucking kids ruining comics for everybody…

In case I haven’t mentioned this previously, I am a huge Alan Davis fan. He’s a frickin’ master, particularly when paired with inker Mark Farmer, as he is in this issue. Everything about his work is quality – panel layout, page design, the sure-handed mix of words and pictures, the precise line-work – quality, I tell you. Alan Davis rarely missteps, and ClanDestine #8 is no exception.

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"...if kids want to read about Bishop and his hair extensions instead of this work of art, who am I to say that’s wrong?"

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In this issue, patriarch Adam Destine and his kids Dominic and Walter reminisce about heroic deeds in times past. It’s basically three short stories held together by a somewhat thin framing sequence, but the stories are well-crafted and fun. That’s right – fun.

In the first story, Dominic recalls a strange adventure in the 60’s when he performed as a magician/escape artist. Dominic is this exotic immortal whose senses are so hyper-developed that it’s often painful to him. Isn’t there an issue where he gets all drunk/high after eating a piece of chocolate? Dominic is an excellent character with a unique design – he sort of reminds me of Nightcrawler, The Creeper, and Ziggy Stardust.

Here's Dominic performing as “Hex” in swingin’ sixties New York:

A mysterious puzzle box that opens and unfolds if handled a certain way? Is it ever a good idea to screw with one of those?

Dude! Dominic! Put the box down! Haven’t you seen Hellraiser?

That was the only Hellraiser picture I had handy. Hey, what can I say? Pinhead and I hooked up one night during the 2000 ComiCon in San Diego. Let me tell you though, Pinhead + ether + IcyHot = one crazy evening. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a Cenobite in the depths of an ether binge.

Moving on: Dominic gets sucked into trippy Ditkoland, a psychedelic landscape that should be familiar to Dr. Strange readers. To make things worse, a bunch of Mindless Ones chase after him.

Run Dominic, run!

Appropriately, Dr. Strange shows up to bail Dominic’s ass out with his Crimson Bands of Cytorrak. Alan Davis draws an elegant Dr. Strange, complete with the patented spotty gloves. As far as I’m concerned, it’s not Dr. Strange if there are no spotty gloves. Behold:

That’s my favorite story of the three because, dude, it’s Alan Davis drawing Dr. Strange. What could be better?

How about… Alan Davis drawing giant Nazi robots?

The panels above are from the second of the three stories. Walter Destine tells a tale set in WWII, when he had a front-row seat for a big battle: The Invaders (Captain America, Namor & The Human Torch) versus a giant Nazi robot. During the battle the robot manages to take out The Invaders, and Walter has to transform into his big blue hulk form and kick some Nazi robot ass.

Nothing wrong with that. The third story is the least interesting, but it’s still well-done. Adam Destine recalls a time during the middle ages when he encountered some mean aliens scouting on Earth in preparation for an invasion. The aliens try to kill Adam, but don’t have a lot of luck:

Adam manages to defeat the aliens, who, thinking that the indestructible Adam is a normal example of the dominant species on Earth, call off their invasion plans. Hah! Stupid aliens.

Well, there you go. A nice, self-contained little bit of comic book goodness. It’s a pity that ClanDestine was cancelled. Thanks, everybody that read Bishop or whatever instead of this!

ARION THE IMMORTAL DC Comics, 1992

Well, it has kind of a cool cover...

I thought I would wordlessly review Arion the Immortal #6 because I am lazy and because sometimes I come across a comic so hideous that words fail me. Here, then, is my review:

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* This is international sign language for "this comic made me vomit."

Off Topic: Autobot or Decepticon? You make the call!

Well, this is just brilliant. Dr. Colin Mayhew, a British engineer, made a robot out of a Mini Cooper. Oddly, it's not designed to fight other robots, but with a more benign application in mind:

"I always believed a robot would be the most natural complement to the automobile - a full biped, intelligent version having great strength, dexterity and a library of mechanical knowledge. I imagined a robot with the ability to repair vehicles, direct traffic and watch over high-accident crossroads to preempt accidents."

If I designed that thing, it would have a laser torch, mace hoses for crowd control, and retractable 40 mm grenade launchers. Fortunately for mankind I don't have a technical bone in my body. Fortunately for mankind, Dr. Mayhew has a sense of ethics to match his mechanical genius, and just wants his giant robot to help motorists. (?)

Go check it out HERE. If you scroll down, you can watch the creepy visual tracking video and the impressive car stopping video, wherein the Autobot stops a moving car by grabbing it. It's totally Airwolf - even cooler than the Plustech Forest Walker, if such a thing is possible.

OR... it could be an elaborate hoax and part of a Mini Cooper viral marketing campaign and I could be a total sucker.

THE F*@% YEAH FILES #2: Daredevil Born Again

Here's a true story.

During my last year of school at The Evergreen State College, I took several "individual contracts" in lieu of actual classes. Evergreen was a hippy school that emphasized non-traditional learning and ultimate frisbee. Anyway, these contracts involved creating your own curriculum - readings, projects, papers - in consultation with a faculty sponsor. For many Evergreen students the individual contracts represented a chance to challenge themselves and focus in an academic way on something that engaged them. For others the individual contracts represented a chance to watch The Rockford Files and do bong hits.

I had a writing contract with a faculty member (we didn't call them teachers or professors, that was too hierarchical) who we will call Paul Sparks. Being a passionate young man, excited about writing and fiction and comic books, I brought in some stuff for Paul Sparks to look at. You know, to show him where I'm coming from. Among the books I dropped off were the trades for Batman: Year One and Daredevil: Born Again, both by writer Frank Miller and artist David Mazzuchelli. Paul Sparks thanked me and said he'd check them out.

The next meeting we had, I asked him if he'd checked out the comic books. He handed them back to me, looking vaguely disgusted.

"I didn't read them," Paul Sparks said. "They're violent, adolescent fantasies."

"But... but this one, Born Again, has all these film noir elements, and it's this story about redemp--"

He flipped through Born Again, a little too roughly I thought. I mean, I know it's just a trade, but take it easy, dude. "In this one I see somebody shooting cops, here's a woman hanging, somebody getting beaten to death, more guns, more guns..." Paul Sparks plopped it down dismissively, shaking his head. "I'm not going to read that. Why would I read that?"

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"Too violent? Feh. It’s just violent enough."

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I did not strike him. No, I just sat there and looked at him and I thought, "You and I are not going to get along."

Put simply, anybody that doesn't like Daredevil: Born Again is no friend of mine.

Too violent? Feh. It’s just violent enough. Adolescent? Only a stupid shithead would think that, Dave said adolescently.

Seriously, this is one of my favorite comic book stories ever, and it has more than a few F*@% Yeah moments, but anybody that has read Born Again will know what scene I’m going to pick. It is perhaps the most satisfying, the most stirring, the most F*@% Yeah moment I can think of.

That’s right, I’m talking about the last page of Daredevil #232.

On the slim chance that you have not read Born Again, I’ll do a quick fly-over. This is the return of Frank Miller to Daredevil, the title he made his name on. The story runs from Daredevil #227 through #233 with art by David Mazzuchelli. In Born Again, blind attorney Matt Murdock (aka Daredevil) has his life completely destroyed when his enemy, the crime lord known only as The Kingpin, learns his identity. Murdock’s ex-girlfriend and secretary Karen Page, now a junkie, sells Daredevil’s secret identity for a fix, setting into motion a horrible chain of events. The Kingpin dismantles Murdock’s life piece by piece, leaving him disgraced, disbarred, and destitute – and more than a little crazy. Finally, the wounded and deranged Murdock is goaded into a confrontation with The Kingpin, who beats the living bejeesus out of him and has his men seal him inside a taxi, which they push into the East River. Daredevil is dead.

Or not.

Of course, Matt Murdock escapes the watery death trap and begins clawing his way back to the life he once had. When they don’t find Murdock’s body, The Kingpin starts to worry.

Murdock is alive. The Kingpin tries to flush him out of hiding by sending a deranged killer in a Daredevil costume to kill Foggy Nelson, his ex-partner. Murdock saves Nelson and Karen Page, who has fled to New York seeking the man she betrayed.

Desperate, The Kingpin brings in Nuke, a super-powered psychopathic soldier to finish his enemy off. Nuke is a rabid, pill-popping dark reflection of Captain America (who appears in #233). He is barking mad, bat-shit crazy.

The plan is crude, but effective. Drop Nuke into Murdock’s neighborhood, Hell’s Kitchen, where he will start killing people until Daredevil shows up to face him.

I didn’t want to scan the whole damn comic, but there’s a great sequence where Murdock – who we haven’t seen in costume since issue #227 – runs through Hell’s Kitchen while Nuke indiscriminately lays waste. With his super-senses, Murdock can hear and feel the carnage happening blocks away. He’s running –

- and you just know he’s going to suit up in the Daredevil costume that the Kingpin’s killer was wearing.

Imagine that you are Young Dave reading this for the first time in a monthly comic book format. Imagine the agony, the anticipation Young Dave must have felt, waiting months for this moment. It’s been half a fricking year since Young Dave has seen his hero in action, and now… now…

I’m getting goosebumps just writing about it. To this day, Daredevil #232 remains one of my most treasured comic books and one of my most memorable reading experiences. Seriously, it’s that fucking good.

He kisses Karen. He takes the costume. He rips open his jacket.

He’s going to do it. He’s going to suit up. Young Dave is breathless with anticipation.

Then --

Then --

F*@% YEAH!

That, my friends, is 100% pure comic book gold. You are dead inside if you don’t feel at least a little stirring of sentiment looking at that triumphant image, remembering when you first read that. It speaks to the part of us that still believes in heroes, that has faith in the power of the human spirit.

And in the next issue? Daredevil kicks the living shit out of Nuke. He mops the floor with the guy! The fricking Avengers have to show up and stop him from killing Nuke! The fricking Avengers, man!

So there you go. If that isn’t a F*@% Yeah moment, I don’t know what is. I know Celine Dion has got my back on this one, right Celine?

Requiem for Rampage

“You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em
Know when to fold ‘em
Know when to walk away
And know when to run”

-“The Gambler” Kenny Rogers

So I hear one of my favorite blogs ever, Graeme MacMillan’s Fanboy Rampage, is retiring as of tomorrow, and I am distraught – fucking distraught – about the whole thing.

For two years Graeme has hosted a 24/7 snarkfest that casts the stink-eye across the vastness of comic fandom and unwarranted hyperbole. FBR was link-blogging at its best – Graeme trawled the message boards and comic news sites every weekday morning and offered up his fresh catch for the hungry masses waiting on the docks. With a few salient comments, Graeme got the ball rolling then turned things over to the jackals in the comment section (myself included), who would rip into the day’s fodder with glee. Wow, that’s a lot of mixed metaphors in one paragraph - forgive me.

Fanboy Rampage was a daily ritual for me. I didn't always comment, but I always checked out what people were saying. At its best, FBR was a pissing contest in the comments section between wise-ass geeks, each trying to top the last bon mot. On occasions folks like Warren Ellis or Kurt Busiek (who always wins) would stop by and drop some knowledge. On other occasions the comments would get invaded by outraged nerds from whatever message board was being mocked, and sometimes you’d just get assholes spouting off some insane shit. Always lively, always provocative, always snarky, Fanboy Rampage was the Algonquin Round Table of comic fandom, with Graeme as Dorothy Parker. Actually, it was like the Algonquin Round Table with guest appearances by Macho Man Randy Savage and Sam Kinnison.



While I'm bummed for selfish reasons that FBR is going away, I’m of the mind that blogs should be transient or constantly evolving entities. A site that doesn’t adapt soon grows stale or “jumps the shark.” The day will come when I close the doors and turn out the lights on Dave’s Long Box and move on to something else. One should quit while one is ahead, or risk becoming irrelevant or just boring. Don’t you wish they had yanked Friends or The West Wing off the air while they were still at the top of their game? That’s what I’m saying.

Now, I’m not sure that’s why Graeme is pulling the plug. Two years is a long time to run a blog on a daily basis, and if I had to guess, I’d say he just felt it was time to focus on other things. Perhaps the daily immersion in the briny waters of fandom was exhausting, or started to take the fun out of comics for him. Maybe he got tired of offended fanboys emailing hate bombs to him. I don’t know; any of those would be a good reason to move on.

So let me just extend my thanks to Graeme for providing so many of us with a place to gather, a place where we could all speak the same vernacular, a place where we could all sing Kumbaya. I wish him luck and hope to see him online again soon.

You know, I just thought: perhaps I should have waited until Graeme actually pulled the plug. I mean, if FBR doesn’t end on Monday, I’m going to look like a total ass.

Wouldn’t be the first time…

From the Department of Corrections: A new look at Alpha Flight #121

So today I get this email today from a reader who was upset that I took the piss out of artist Craig Brasfield’s work on Alpha Flight #121. Since the original post was back in May, I took a gander at the comments and lo and behold, there’s a comment from Craig Brasfield himself on there which I hadn’t seen.

For those of you who haven’t read the post in question, click here. In the post I take Craig to task for directly swiping John Byrne’s art and slapping a photocopied character into the comic. I believe I say, “All those involved in making this comic should be held as enemy combatants. Indefinitely. In a country that allows torture.” Which is kind of funny, really.

It turns out that Craig had nothing to do with slapping the villain Caliber into the art, as you’ll find out below. It was done by the editor after Craig had turned in his work. Why?

Read Craig’s comments for the real truth behind the infamous Alpha Flight #121:

Hi, Dave & Co.

A friend pointed out your site & I felt the need to come to my own defense, if just a little.

It really should be obvious that the disaster of Caliber was NOT the artists' doing. Really, my stuff may not be your favorite but it IS all mine (I despise swipes).

Avoiding drawing that one character in his 3 or so panels would really not save much time.

The original villain was Black Tom, which I loved drawing in an appropriately Cockrum style. Far after the pencils, inks, & letters, the X-Office denied use of that character. Some other villain was suggested & I was going to have to redraw those panels quickly but then THAT villain was vetoed.

Editor Rob[Tokar] had his back against a deadline and just went w/ a villain HE had control over, pasting a Xerox of previous art over Tom. I've peeled those off the original art I've gotten back.

Interestingly (kinda), the Goblin was there in the crowd scene, covered over by a peculiar black blob after the Spider-Eds objected, but is still seen later fleeing the fight. Also, I drew some of the villains here in that month's New Warriors (#36) arriving at the Vault after their defeat here. I thought that kinda neat.

I honestly always tried to do my best for Marvel, being a huge fan of the characters but my work always looked much better in pencils than finished. The inkers I got tended to be on the scratchy side, sort of unfinished. Also being a freelancer, it often happened that I'd go months with nothing then get 3 books in one month.

Check out AF 113, New Warriors 35-6, Illuminator, the Justice mini, and the Toys R Us '93 X-Men giveaway for some of my better efforts.

Thanks for the forum and special thanks to the one kind soul that complimented that Spider-Man What If.

-Craig Brasfield


So there you go.

I thought I’d post that because while I enjoy mocking comic book badness, I think it’s important to mock with accuracy. Craig’s art work is fair game, but I’d hate to diss somebody for something they have no control over and I’d hate to call somebody a swiper when they clearly are not. That’s just mean, and I’m not about being mean. Much.

So thanks, Craig Brasfield, for setting the record straight on the whole swipe thing and my apologies for any hard feelings.

See? We’re all about The Love here at Dave’s Long Box.

THE F*@% YEAH FILES #1: Flash's Mid-Air Rescue

My first selection for the F*@% Yeah Files is this big sequence in Flash #54 that was written by Bill Messner-Loebs and drawn by Greg Larocque.

I’m going to temper my praise for this excellent F*@% Yeah moment with some criticism. After Flash #50, I think, our hero got a shiny new costume with big white Batman eyes, which I hated. It’s not the shiny metallic quality of the costume, I think that works okay. It’s the damn white eye things, they don’t work with the character. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of the white eye things in general; they look great on Green Arrow, Green Lantern, Batman… even Spider-Man has them. Warbird from The Avengers would look better if she went back to the white eye things (and changed her name.) I just think that some heroes shouldn’t have white eye things, and Flash is one of them.

Let’s get back on track. This is a simple, plot-driven, self-contained story. Flash is on a cross-country flight with some government agents. He meets a cute and funny flight attendant named Julie Meyers, forms a little bond… and then the plane gets hijacked by goons while he’s in the bathroom:

I just realized this is the second comic book where taking a piss actually factors into the plot (the first is here). That’s kind of cool.

Anyway, Flash takes out the hijackers, but in the melee a hole gets blown in the fuselage. The cabin decompresses, sucking the unfortunate Julie Meyers out into the stratosphere, as seen below:



The title of this story is “Nobody Dies,” and Messner-Loebs establishes earlier in the book that as far as Wally West, aka Flash, is concerned, as long as he’s around, nobody dies. “It’s a rule,” Flash says.

So he’s suddenly faced with this situation where an innocent bystander is going to die. She’s probably already dead. At first glance, there’s nothing he can do. He runs fast - how’s he going to help a woman falling from 30,000 feet?

Come on, Flash. Do it.

Do it!

Fuck yeah!

I fucking love that! I don’t want to get all sappy or anything, but that’s what it’s all about, man: saving people and shit. I’m a big sucker for acts of heroism and conspicuous gallantry, whether they be fictional or otherwise. I remember the first time I read this issue, I got goosebumps. I just think it’s a great moment and sort of exemplifies All That Is Good in superhero comics.

So after Flash jumps out of the perfectly good airplane, he has to locate the plummeting flight attendant, catch her, and somehow save both of them from certain death.

So he frickin’ runs in place in mid-air to slow himself down:

Only in comic books, folks.

Flash manages to slow their fall by “airwalking;” he builds enough friction or air pressure or something to put the brakes on – somewhat. But the ground is coming up pretty fast…

Of course, Flash and Julie Meyers survive the fall because damn it, as long as Flash is on duty, nobody dies. It’s a rule.

I chose this sequence for the F*@% Yeah Files because it’s a great example of a hero doing something –gasp- heroic. Messner-Loeb sets up and unravels the crisis well, and Wally’s internal dialogue is spot-on and enhances the sense of risk. While I’m not the world’s biggest fan of Greg Larocque’s art, I have to give it up for the guy’s sense of pacing and drama. You can’t go wrong with that epic whole page shot of The Flash jumping out of the airliner – that’s a thing of beauty.

In short, Flash #54 really gripped my shit. I know Celine Dion would agree.

New! The F*@% YEAH FILES

Okay, I’m starting a new ongoing feature here at Dave’s Long Box – The F*@% Yeah Files.

The F*@% Yeah Files will spotlight those scenes in comic books that made me as a reader stop and say, “Fuck yeah!” That may not be literally what I was moved to say by a particular scene; I would be just as likely to say, “Oh, hell yeah” or “That’s what I’m talking about” or “Kiss my grits!” You get the picture. The F*@% Yeah Files will celebrate the Airwolfness of a particular scene or panel that has moved me in some way.

I think I might enlist Thumbs-Up Celine Dion to help me give appropriate props to these great moments in comic history. I don’t know; I can’t decide if Celine Dion is comedy gold or comedy poison.

Any questions? You, in the back, with the sweater.

Q: Yeah, will this be just like, a rehash of the Top 10 Fight Scenes thread that every single comic book message board has?

A: No, although I will probably include some fighting, yeah. My goal for the F*@% Yeah Files is to explore cool shit, not just fighting.

Okay, next? You there, the Tim Curry looking motherfucker.

Q: What did you think of Serenity?

A: Haven’t seen it.

Q: (Gasp) Whaaat? I’ll buy you a ticket! You should go now – stop typing and go see it now! Joss needs your support, he –

A: You know, if I have time I’ll get around to it.

Q: You’ll get around to it? Jesus Christ! Who are you? I thought you were one of us!

A: Okay, enough dude. Any other questions? Yes, young man in the front.

Q: What about doing the top ten comic book movies ever?

A: Good question. I feel like so many people have weighed in on that one that it wouldn’t be anything new. I’d probably have the same top ten as somebody else, anyway.

Q: Do you think Fantastic Four was the best comic book movie ever?

A: No. You’re high.

Q: You’re high. You probably think Blade: Trinity was the best, don’t you?

A: I never said that.

Q: You’re gay for Ryan Reynolds, aren’t you?

A: No, I’m not.

Q: But do you think he’s attractive in that movie?

A: Ryan Reynolds? Well, I mean, he’s very fit…

Q: See? Your gayness for Ryan Reynolds has warped your judgment, and you can’t acknowledge that Fantastic Four was the best comic book movie ever.

A: Okay, next question. Turtleneck gal.

Q: Why do you hate Serenity so much?

A: Lady, I haven’t even –

Q: What do you have against Browncoats? How can you be so full of hate?

A: I don’t -- Oh my God! GUN! GUN!!!

(gunfire)

Okay, no more fake Q&A sessions for me, they’re dangerous, and not very funny.

Next: the first entry in the F*@% Yeah Files delves into the awesomeness that results when The Flash believes he can fly.

DAREDEVIL #207 Marvel Comics, 1984

I love good old-fashioned plot-driven episodic fiction, so I think very highly of Daredevil #207.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy reading well-written dialogue or character studies or stories that focus on setting a mood or exploring a theme, and I think that comics as a medium is broad enough and versatile enough to handle all manner of story-telling. But I have to be honest, 22 pages of Ultimate Peter Parker talking to Ultimate Mary Jane in his Ultimate Bedroom? I don’t find that a very satisfying read in a monthly comic book. It’s okay if you’re reading the trade paperback, I guess, but if I’m reading a “pamphlet,” I want some narrative momentum, some plot… some head-kicking.

There. I said it. I want Daredevil to kick somebody in the head at least once an issue.

Back in the Golden Age – the 1980s – head-kicking was par for the course in Daredevil, but not at the expense of character development. Frank “The Tank” Miller set the bar high with his plot-heavy tales of swashbuckling and skullduggery, and after he left the book, writer Denny O’Neil took over the writing chores. The under-appreciated O’Neil run maintained a similar tone to Miller’s work, but strode confidently in a new direction.

Denny O’Neil worked with artists like William Johnson and David Mazzuchelli, which didn’t hurt things, either. I’m the first to admit that some of the issues were a little underwhelming, and there were some lame villains thrown in the mix. Crossbow? Micah Synn? Yeesh. But still, the Denny O’Neil run on this book made me get into comics again, and then I went back and read all the Frank Miller stuff which blew my young mind.

And how can you go wrong with panels like this?

That is money.

I don’t know what happened to William Johnson, the penciller for this issue. Did he work in comics after this? I love his stuff, and Danny Bulandi’s inks work perfectly with Johnson’s art. It’s great stuff. My only complaint about this issue is that the colorist was too fond of pink, and they switched inkers for the last couple pages. Oh well.

I almost forgot! Check out that cover at the beginning of the post. That’s Bill Fucking Sienkiewicz inking over William Johnson. Is that perfection? Daredevil kicking his way out of a Hydra death trap? Is that not what superhero comics are all about? Is that not all that is good and right in the world? Do you hear angels singing when you look at it? If you don’t, stop reading right now, you commie.

Ha! I kid. Keep reading.

_____

"I want Daredevil to kick somebody in the head at least once an issue."

_____

This issue is a self-contained story about Daredevil taking some Hydra chumps to school. In twenty-two pages Denny O’Neil efficiently gives you the set-up, the complications, some head-kicking, some sub-plot, a death trap, more head-kicking, and a flirty denouement. You don’t have to know anything about Daredevil to appreciate the comic – it’s totally accessible and totally entertaining.

The story? Black Widow gets captured by Hydra, the evil green-clad global terrorist/criminals who give S.H.I.E.L.D. such a hard time. They’re looking for a microchip that a Russian defector has (remember, it’s 1984), and they make the Widow contact attorney Matt Murdock, aka Daredevil. HYDRA wants Daredevil to find the chip, or they’ll kill the Widow. Simple as that.

In the middle of the book, Daredevil and HYDRA both figure out where the defector is, and arrive at a dark construction site at the same time. Daredevil’s natural habitat is dark construction sites, so we get this brilliantly laid out cat-and-mouse sequence where he picks off the Hydra hit squad in the dark:

And yes, Daredevil does kick somebody in the head. Actually, if you count the cover, he kicks three people in the head this issue, and punches or otherwise pummels five other people. Good enough for me!

Hydra are sore losers, so they wrap up the Widow like a mummy and hang her from a rafter in a warehouse. The Hydra field leader plants a bomb in the floorboards so when DD shows up, “Boom! You will both go away forever!”

Bastards!

We get this great sequence where Daredevil enters the empty warehouse to rescue the Black Widow. The evil Hydra guy has paralyzed her vocal chords so she can’t alert Daredevil about the trap. With his super-senses he can hear her panicked heartbeat, so he knows something’s fishy…

My only complaint? The sequence is drawn in such a way that it looks like this one tiny floorboard is the trigger for the bomb. How does Hydra know Daredevil is going to walk on that precise spot in this huge warehouse? It would have been better if there was a large section of floor that was booby-trapped, but whatever.

Does Daredevil trigger the bomb? Do he and the Widow die in a huge explosion?

No.

He cuts her down, they beat the crap out of the Hydra goons, and all is well.

And the McGuffin – er, microchip? We learn at the very end of the comic that the Black Widow had the thing all along, hidden under a false fingernail. That crafty minx!

Meow! Looks like somebody’s getting lucky…

Daredevil #207 – light on angst, heavy on plot and head-kicking. What more can you ask for?

NEVER COOL: Skating Superheroes

You know what is really not cool? Leg warmers. They’re not even cool in an ironic way.

You know what else? Superheroes on skateboards or roller skates. Has that ever been cool? Ever? In 1980, was it cool? No. 1990? I say thee nay. For a brief moment in May of 1991, there was a window of opportunity during which a comic featuring a young Asian girl with rocket-powered inline skates would have been cool, but nobody capitalized on it. June of 1991 came, and then a comic about drift-racing would have been cool. O fickle winds of coolness, where will you blow next?

I submit to you this fundamental, Primal Truth: it is impossible to have a cool skating superhero.*

Rocket Racer, from Spider-Man?

Not cool.

Okay, Night Thrasher from The New Warriors? I was too lazy to find a picture of him skating, but that was the big deal with him, initially, he was the skating guy. So just imagine him doing Tae Bo or whatever he’s doing here – but with a skateboard.

Witness uncoolness:

And what's with the bandana around his leg? What is he, frickin' Chachi or something?
Dazzler originally started off as the roller disco superheroine in the pages of Spider-Man, but eventually evolved past the skates and into aerobics gear. To Dazzler I say don’t forget your roots, girl. Back in the day you were rocking those skates with the fat disco glitter wheels and shit – you had it going on. Embrace your disco past, girl!




Here is the zenith, the apex of skating uncoolness: Neal Adams’ Skate Man.

I’m sure I’m missing some skating heroes, but I am bloated and drowsy, and cannot be assed to do any research on the subject. That’s why God made Dan Coyle. Dan, who am I missing? Blue Streak, but I already did a post about him here.

Does DC have any skating heroes or villains? Marvel seems to have cornered the market on skating characters, trendy folks that they are. They also have The Silver Surfer who, you know, surfs and stuff. I’m hoping for Segway Man or Rascal 2K soon from the House of Ideas.

To counteract Marvel’s seeming monopoly on heroes who skate or surf or otherwise use recreational transportation, DC created The Black Racer, who, is Death in the form of a black skier who um, skis through the cosmos. That’s the only character I can think of. Help me out, here.

The motion picture industry is always keen to exploit any comic fad, so skating/skiing/surfing heroes have received the Hollywood treatment as well. Unfortunately, the public wasn’t ready for a gun-toting child with Dolph Lundgren’s giant head and a thirst for vengeance. He’s got a sled and he knows how to use it: Death Sled. This one was only released in Germany, where it did pretty well on DVD.

Okay, the jokes are getting lamer; time to quit while I’m a-sled. Ha HA! I fucking kill me!

* There is an exception to this rule which I call the Street Angel Corollary.

WHAT IF Vol 2, #1 Marvel Comics, 1989

This is the first issue of the second series of Marvel’s What If? comic.

The premise of the What If? books is simple: what if a key storyline in a Marvel comic had turned out a different way? How would this “road not traveled” affect the Marvel Universe? You know: What If Elektra Had Lived? Okay, that’s not a good example. What If Captain America and Bucky Had Both Survived World War II? Hmm, that’s not a good example either. What If Daredevil’s Secret Identity Was Exposed? Okay, no. What If The Hulk Went Berserk? Hmm, perhaps the What If? books were meant to explore the “road eventually traveled.”

In my mind, there were several big flaws in the What If? comics.

One was that in general, in the What If? comics everybody died. Seriously, in every damn issue, regardless of the scenario, the entire Marvel Universe died – except The Punisher. What If Spider-Man Had Joined The Fantastic Four? Why, that would mean the death of us all! I may be overstating my point a little, but it seemed like the What If? series was a great opportunity to gack some beloved characters for cheap dramatic effect.

The second big problem with the What If? series was that after a while, they sort of ran out of interesting scenarios. The first volume of the series ran for over a hundred issues, and after a while they just seemed to be copies of the classic What If The Avengers Lost The Korvac War? issue.

Case in point: What If The Avengers Had Lost The Evolutionary War? This is the first issue of the second series, and they’re already tapped out for ideas. I think a more appropriate question for the book to pose would be: What If People Cared About The Evolutionary War?

For those of you who don’t care or know of the Evolutionary War, let me give you some background: In this summer annual crossover, The High Evolutionary, a genius who wears magenta, wants to jump-start man’s biological evolution with, of course, a Huge Bomb. The Avengers stop this pink madman from his misguided scheme, and everything works out in the end.

But in the What If? universe, anything can happen! In this alternate reality, the High Evolutionary’s genetic bomb goes off, blanketing the world in evolvo-fallout. Mankind and mutantkind start to evolve at an incredibly fast rate (except for US Senator Rick Santorum, who doesn’t believe in shit like that), and comedy ensues.

For instance, the genetic bomb bulks Wolverine up to normal-person size, and now he’s got really huge adamantium claws. Check it out:

Man, Wolverine has a colloquialism for everything! He doesn’t call them “knuckles,” he calls them “knucks.” I am so using that. And no, I don’t know how a genetic bomb would affect non-organic material like adamantium, but then, I’m not smart like the High Evolutionary. I don’t wear pink, either, so it balances out.

Wolverine isn’t the only person affected: everybody’s car keys grow to five times the normal size. It’s a New Dawn for Metal Tools everywhere!

I’m kidding, but what actually happens is much worse. Behold:

That’s right, all the humans instantly grow huge heads that are “bigger and balder than a giant’s cueball” and develop telepathy. Now that mankind is all on the same wavelength, war and strife miraculously cease overnight. Even Dr. Doom calls it a day – he’s just full of so much love that he doesn’t need to hide his huge cranium under that mask anymore.

Long story short: Wolverine becomes the messiah of the new Homo Superior Superior, and all the mutants fly up into space in a big comet and Earth becomes a living planet or something.

But not before everybody breaks into song!

Perhaps a better title for this book would be, “What The Hell…?”

And hey – who’s that pink blob guy standing next to She-Hulk? Is that Karkas? They get points for sneaking him into the book.

You gasp and ask yourself, “Self, who wrote this?”

Roy Thomas. ‘Nuff said! I’m not dissing Roy Thomas, who has written some comic books that I absolutely love, but this comic seems a little… out of step? Do kids really want to see giant egghead people and mutants floating in space and Eternity and Death and all that? I mean, I think it’s kind of charming and goofy, but man, is that a strong way to kick off your new What If? series?

I could describe the rest of the book, but it gets very cosmic and heady and frankly, uninteresting. One of the big problems I have with it is that, story-wise, it’s sort of a mess. There’s no protagonist, there’s no antagonist, there are no goals or people to root for or obstacles to overcome. Plus, seriously – was The Evolutionary War such a big deal that they actually had to write a spin-off comic that enhanced on the original story? Were the Marvel readers in 1989 just dying to know how things would have turned out if the Avengers had lost?

I say thee nay.

Plus, big-head people. Come on, that is never cool.

STREET FIGHTER: THE MUSICAL DC Comics, 1995

Honestly, I Bought It For A Quarter Week continues with a look at a Truly Awful Comic Book.

This is going to be a short post. There are three reasons why:

1) I watched Ong Bak last night. After that beautiful symphony of knee-strikes and elbow slams, any martial arts material is going to seem weak by comparison – particularly a comic book.

2) This comic book is so awful that writing a long post about it merely prolongs its existence in our collective pop cultural landscape. Talking about it is like watering an ugly, ugly flower.

3) I went to bed late. Then two raccoons got in a fight outside last night, and I had a hard time getting back to sleep after that. Have you ever heard raccoons fight? They fight to the death, man. It sounded like somebody was butchering a tauntaun outside my bedroom window. I broke it up, and the little fuckers scrambled up some fir trees, but I could hear them talking shit to each other in their native tongue – Hamburglar - for an hour after the fight.

So anyway, short post.

Has there ever been a comic book adaptation of a film that was actually better than the film itself? You would think that an adaptation of Street Fighter, that shittiest of movies, that sad coda to Raul Julia’s career, would have a chance at surpassing the source material in terms of quality – but you’d be wrong. Impossibly, this comic suffers in comparison with the film.

It’s got to be tough, writing and drawing a comic based on a movie. I should do a whole week on comic books based on movies – God knows I have enough of the damn things. I don’t envy anyone who has to put together a movie adaptation – it sounds like joyless drudge work to me.

Having said that, this comic sucks. It tries to pack all the witty dialogue and plot points of Street Fighter: The Motion Picture, which has a pretty big cast and a storyline that is more complicated than the original source material, the Street Fighter video game. So let’s see: this is a comic produced in 1995, adapting a Jean Claude Van Damme film, which was in turn based on a video game.

How could it not suck?

The art – oh, Christ help me, the art. Everyone in this comic book looks like they’re taking a shit, or they’ve been dosed with Smilex*, or they’re turning into hideous Dr. Moreau pig-men. I’m not an expert, but I think the goal in movie adaptations is to have the characters actually resemble the actors in the film. Unless there was another Street Fighter movie made with ugly Muppets, I’d say the artist failed bitterly in that regard.

Who wrote this thing? Who was the artist? Does it matter? I don’t want to beat anybody up here – I just want to get a few cheap gags in. It is the way of my people.

Anyway, the art. Here’s General Bison, who was portrayed in the film by the fine actor Raul Julia. I don’t remember any scenes in the movie where Raul Julia passes a kidney stone, but then I think I saw the edited-for-TV version on TBS:



And here are two really ugly guys looking surprised or aroused or something. What is up with the guy on the left’s neck? I’m hoping that’s a coloring mistake and he’s supposed to be wearing a scarf or something, because that is one freaky-ass neck he’s got there:



Next up, here’s um, Howie Long? I think maybe this is supposed to be Jean Claude, the Muscles from Brussels, but I only know that because I read the comic:

Yeah, hey what about the purity of unarmed combat? And saying "ma'am" and "sir" when addressing your elders?

Here we have a Gallery of Grimaces, Street Fighter style. The artist on this comic has the unique talent of making the same character look different from panel to panel. Here are three images of Jean Claude Van Damme’s character, Guile:



Okay, I’m just messing around. The guy in the middle is No-Eyed Pig Man, not Jean Claude.

I’m fading fast; let’s wrap this up with another quality panel of Raul Julia:



This comic book is so bad that I want to burn it, but I’m afraid that the toxic smoke from the fire will ruin a sunset or poison something beautiful, like a butterfly. There should be a special airless chamber at the Yucca Mountain nuclear waste disposal site where comics this bad can be safely interred until we find a way to dispose of them.

Street Fighter: so bad it gets a special Blindfolded Pain Award.

Hey, that was a longer post than I thought! Take that, you fucking raccoons!

* I think I may have used the Smilex joke before. Sorry.

ELVEN #1 Malibu Comics 1995

First of all, shouldn’t it be Elvish instead of Elven? Not to get all Tolkien on your ass, but the word “elven” is sooo D&D. And if this comic book were called Elvish, it might be about the crazy adventures of a magical female Elvis impersonator with a speech impediment, which would make for a better comic than Elven #1.

I cannot wrap my head around this comic, thematically. An offshoot of Prime, Malibu Comic’s flagship title, Elven is the story of Elvia (snicker), a young girl who has the ability to transform herself physically into Elven, a superhuman elf chick in a bikini. The girl, who is the victim of domestic abuse, is a voracious reader of fantasy books and has created the elf avatar out of her subconscious. Judging from Elven’s appearance, perhaps the little girl was reading John Norman’s Gor series.

Prime himself makes an appearance to nudge sales a bit, because kids love Prime (irony). Of course, Elven and Prime must fight:



Here’s where I get confused: The themes of writer Len Strazewski’s story involve men who abuse women, and the effect that abuse has on the women. Elven stops a dealer from smacking around a woman in the beginning, we get a flashback of Elvia’s drunken asshole father beating on her when she’s reading Lord of the Rings (“Look at the trash she’s reading!” he yells.), and Elvia’s therapist is portrayed as an unethical prick. Basically, all the men in the book are bad, except Prime, and he’s only okay because he’s in essence, a boy.

So here’s where Elven loses me: If the abuse of women and misuse of power by men form the thematic underpinnings of the book, are those themes best explored by a BoobWar elf-hotty in a metal bikini? I don’t want to get over analytical, because that’s not funny, but doesn’t the way she looks sort of send a mixed signal? Or is it really a noble deception, enticing young readers into the world of Elven with cheesecake, only to blow their young minds with a powerful message of non-exploitation? Is Elven too clever for me?

Possibly, yes.

After we’re introduced to Elven, most of the story takes place in the unethical prick therapist’s office. Young Elvia has an appointment with the therapist to help her deal with the trauma of her abuse. Before she arrives there is a brief scene with another of the therapist’s patient/clients, Bruno, a very troubled and very horny young boy who is possessed by a demon:

The therapist is too bored and self-centered to notice the demonic possession thing. “Yes, very interesting,” the therapist says. “Excellent voice, Bruno.”

Elvia comes into the therapist’s office while Bruno hits on the secretary in the waiting room. “I can do all sorts of fun and nasty things to you,” Bruno says. I gotta remember that line.

The unethical prick therapist gets impatient with Elvia after about thirty seconds. “We’re getting nowhere,” he thinks. “Little brat is about as uptight as they come.” At about forty-five seconds into the session he decides to “speed things up” and hypnotize her. “We’re supposed to get permission first, but who’s going to know?”

The session is interrupted by young Bruno going into full-on demon mode in an effort, one assumes to violate the attractive secretary. Elvia transforms into Elven, and wackiness ensues as the two over-sexualized twelve-year olds go at it:

I didn’t dig Elven #1, but clearly some amount of care and thought went into crafting the story and character and themes.

What then, am I supposed to take away from the fact that the main character is a little girl who turns into Bikini Elf to stop the abuse of women? To be fair, artist Aaron Lopresti’s artwork isn’t lascivious or overly titillating, but still. It reminds me of the comic Ant, which is now being published by Image, I think. I’m not going to make any judgment calls on Ant because I haven’t actually read it, but I have flipped through it and looked at preview art online, etc. It seems to me that Ant covers sort of the same ground as Elven, I believe – little girl morphs into nubile superhero chick – but Ant is full of ass shots and has a clear cheesecake agenda. I mean, if you have J. Scott Campbell cover featuring a nice juicy ass, you’re using sex to sell your book right?

Now I’m not saying that’s a bad thing; I love BoobWar as much as the next guy. But am I way off base when I say that it’s a little creepy to have a sexed-up character that is, in essence, a little girl?

If there are two things I’ve learned from Elven, it’s that 1) metal bikinis sell, and 2) men are total dicks. It’s confusing, but hey, what do I want? I bought it for a quarter.

Honest.

NFL SUPERPRO Marvel Comics, 1991

The idea behind “Honestly, I Bought It For A Quarter Week” here at Dave’s Long Box is that there are some comics that I’m sort of ashamed to admit that I bought at full price. In my defense, I did get Nash #1 out of a five-for-a-dollar box. No, really.

And at no time have I ever masturbated over the imagery in Nash #1. Seriously. Why are you looking at me that way?

Ha ha! Comedy! You can’t look at me at all – we’re on the Internet. I was being fanciful. Just thought I’d start things off right with the old reliable masturbation joke.

NFL Superpro #1 – yes, I paid retail for it. Got an employee discount, though, because I was working at Whooo’s Comics and Cards in beautiful Lacey, WA. I still think I paid too much, even if the cover screams COLLECTOR’S ITEM 1ST ISSUE!

Unbelievably, NFL SuperPro lasted a full 12-issues (and a SuperBowl special!). I know – in what cruel mirror universe do we live in where SuperPro can get a full twelve issue but they no longer publish Sleeper? I know, I know: different companies – but you know what I’m saying. There’s no justice. I’m guessing that Marvel signed papers with the NFL that said they’d crank out a full twelve issues of SuperPro or else they’d get a visit from Terrible Terry Tate, the Office Linebacker.

Sure, it sounds bad, but let’s be fair: Is NFL SuperPro any good, as a comic book?

You tell me:

They should have called this comic book NFL SuperCorporateWhore. The most unrealistic thing about the story of ex-football player Phil Graysfield, aka SuperPro is the fact that he runs around with this big corporate logo fighting crime – and doesn’t get sued by the NFL. If he were real (what am I talking about?), SuperPro would be fighting The Subpoenea Server and Intellectual Property Rights Man.

NFL SuperPro was undoubtedly thought up by a bunch of drunk mid-level marketing guys who no longer have jobs with the NFL, and brought to life with joyless care by writer Fabian “X-Men” Nicieza and penciller Jose Delbo. It’s a pedestrian, paint-by-numbers affair.

Insert Spider-Man guest spot here:

That’s right, Spider-Man shows up to give SuperPro a proper send-off. It’s like breaking a bottle of champagne over the bow of a new ship – Spider-Man has to show up and say, “Bon voyage, Darkhawk!” or whatever. But usually Spidey doesn’t show up until the second issue of a new series, to keep that second-issue sales slump to a minimum. Spider-Man’s presence in the first issue of a comic is like the banshee, it’s a harbinger of doom that means Marvel has no confidence in the book at all – they’re just shooting their wad in the first issue and praying for the best.

The story involves SuperPro trying to clear a Raiders lineman from bogus gambling charges (because athletes would never – gasp – gamble) and to keep him from getting killed by mysterious yet generic assassins.

This involves jumping around and lots of football puns:

“What the #$%@ was that?”

“It’s goddamn NFL SuperPro! What are you, retarded?”

The uneasy hybrid of football and superheroics continues until we reach the climax, the one panel that the entire story has been working towards:

I’m convinced that Fabian Nicieza constructed the entire story around that one lame line. On a cocktail napkin.

NFL SuperPro has no shame, and I have no shame in admitting that I paid retail for it. I open my arms and embrace all manner of trash, even if it causes me pain…

This week's theme...

Anticipate lameness.

NASH #1 Image Comics, 1999

I pause before dissing on Nash #1, an Image Comic from the creative Dark Ages of the 90’s that stars Kevin “Big Sexy” Nash, the professional wrestler. I pause because of all the comic creators that I may slight with my mockery of their work, Kevin Nash is the only one who I feel sure could physically kill me.

Actually, Marc Silvestri’s a pretty big guy, he could probably take me out. Ed Brubaker looks kind of tough, too. And you know, I don’t know what Chuck Dixon looks like, but I’ll bet he carries a gun, so he could definitely kill me. Dale Keown did time in the slammer, I’ll be the picked up some “jailhouse rock” moves. Micah Wright, of course, was a commando… You know, I’m kind of a pussy now that I think about it. Peter David could probably kick the shit out of me.

Anyway, at the risk of having Big Sexy show up at my door one night to play a game of Slap The Rag Doll with me, I shall commence my critique:

Nash #1 sucks.

Bad.

You know you’re in trouble when you see a photo cover on a comic book. It’s a fad that has thankfully died off, but there has NEVER been a good comic book that had a photo cover. No, that last issue of Spider-Woman doesn’t count; it was a cool cover but the comic itself was crappy. It’s just not physically possible to marry quality sequential art storytelling with a photo cover. Furthermore, it is not possible to have a quality comic if your comic revolves around a real life professional wrestler, Playboy model, or the Insane Clown Posse.

Nash! The Comic was created by Kevin Nash and artist Maryat “Demonslayer” Michaels. That’s another problem; you can’t write a comic book about yourself, dude, even if you do put yourself in a post-apocalyptic setting. That’s just vain. But then, I’m guessing anyone who refers to themselves as “Big Sexy” doesn’t have confidence issues.

Before the comic starts, we get a two page set-up that explains the whole crazy mixed-up world that Nash lives in and modestly introduces us to the man himself:

We start the story out in The Wastelands, where a mean, bald truck driver gratuitously kills an old woman begging for food and is about to pop a cap in the woman’s poorly-drawn grandson until Nash arrives.

Nash blows the mean, bald truck driver’s head off with a grenade, then asks the traumatized kid: “You okay, little man?”

“Yeah, Nash, I’ll be fine as soon as I wipe the brain off me and bury grandma. Thanks for asking.”



The comic continues. The art is bizarre - everyone looks partly melted and over-rendered. It looks like Michael Bair's art - if he was drawing with his left hand or his eyes closed. Anyway, Nash jumps around, blows some shit up, breaks an arm or two, sticks a sharp piece of metal up a guy’s nose, and has on-panel sex.

Don’t believe me? Behold:



That’s something I did not need to see.

Who is the target audience for this book? You gotta know that even in 1999 there were only so many Nash fans in the world. And of that group, not all of them read comics – or even read, really. I figure there are like, 2,500 people world wide who eagerly awaited the publication of Nash #1. And that’s being generous. Out of those 2,500, I’d say about 500 are probably related, or at least live in the same trailer, so they’re sharing an issue. Probably 500 potential readers are female fans who can’t get enough of Big Sexy and are drawn by the photo cover – but the interior art only superficially looks like Nash, so only half of those women actually buy the book. I’m guessing 100 potential buyers opened the first page, saw all the intimidating text, and put it down. 100 more underage buyers were “cock blocked” by their parents, who flipped through the comic, saw the sex scene, and made their kid buy Youngblood instead. That leaves only about 1,800 people who actually bought this comic – and of those purchases, 500 were gag gifts and 100 were from confused stoners who thought the book was called Hash. All in all, the numbers don’t look good for Nash.

I could go on, but I think I need to go read some Jane Austen or something to purge all this extra-testosterone from my system.

I grant Nash #1 a special Asgardian “The Pain” Award, because the regular Pain Award just didn’t have enough bitchin’ facial hair.