This is the first posting of a theme week. I'm calling it Skiffy Week, recognizing those science fiction fans who deplore the term “sci-fi,” pronouncing it skiffy. These are the kinds of stories that probably qualify for such a title...old-fashioned, corny, oddball. You know, skiffy.

First up, a chapter from the long series of post-invasion tales, “The Lost World,” illustrated by Graham Ingels. The villains are the usual Voltamen, but it’s early enough in the series (it began in Planet Comics #21*) that the Voltamen had not yet adopted their Yoda-speak. Dialogue that in this that story reads, “The old one is dead. We will take the female,” would soon be written as, “Dead the old one is. Take we will the female.”

This story shocks my sense of cultural heritage when our two protagonists, Lyssa and Hunt, burn movie film. Outrageous!

From Planet Comics #26 (1943):











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*I posted that first story last year. Click on the thumbnail to read it.


Here are a couple of terror tales from Harvey Comics’ golden age of horror, the early '50s. Both of these particular stories are tied together by having creepy crustaceans, crabs, as monsters.

First up, from Chamber of Chills #7 (1952), “The Crawling Death!” is credited to Abe Simon, pencils, and Don Perlin, inks, in the Grand Comics Database. Secondly, “The Bride of the Crab” is from Chamber of Chills #12 (1952), and is not a story of Pappy’s honeymoon with Mrs. Pappy, although I can be mighty crabby. The story is drawn by Moe Marcus. Karswell posted it back in 2008 in The Horrors Of It All, and you can go there to check it out by tapping the link with your claw.












There's a bit too much coincidence here for it to be coincidence.

That's what I thought as I read the climactic last pages of Denise Mina's graphic novel adaptation of Stieg Larsson's The Girl Who Played with Fire from DC/Vertigo. The book is filled with credulity-bending coincidences, including characters who barely know one another having all the same friends and, apparently, many of the same enemies. But it comes to a head when a major bad guy is defeated just by a stroke of right place, right time luck; at that point, it becomes clear the amount of fortuity in the book is not accidental.

The Played with Fire graphic novel is intriguing and thrilling and best of all, long. This and Paul Dini's Black Canary/Zatanna: Bloodspell don't necessarily play to the same audiences, but as DC Comics's two most recent original graphic novel releases, Fire is about double Bloodspell's size (and Bloodspell is even shorter if you take away the extras). This is to say that Fire really feels like a graphic novel, something you can sink your teeth into, and I applaud that DC released it as one whole volume instead of two parts like Girl With a Dragon Tattoo. That helps the readability a lot.

However, while I liked this book and would happily read the third volume, some difficulties with the graphic novel adaptation of the first book still apply here. As I've said before, I have not read Larsson's original novels (though these adaptations do make me eager to do so), and it continues to feel to me like Mina adapts these books in favor of someone who's already read the novels and wants a supplemental experience, not someone coming to the books fresh. I can't fault Mina for subtlety, but at times I found sequences too subtle, and the artists didn't do a sufficient job conveying to me what Lisbeth Salander and others were thinking through expressions alone.

The art was perhaps more consistent in this volume than in Tattoo, where Leonardo Manco and Andrea Mutti each did well, but their styles differed so much that it was jarring when the artist sometimes changed from page to page. There's no good list of which artist does what in either book, but it seems to me here that Manco bows out fairly early and that Mutti and Antonio Fuso share the rest, and their styles blend perfectly. The only catch -- and this goes again to at what audience the book is directed -- is that there's two or three men with short-cut, blond hair and also a couple of men with goatees, and it's often tough to tell them apart (I read an entire scene thinking one of the bad guys was hero Mikael Blomkvist).

The only other stumbling block in Girl Who Played with Fire is an odd bit of perspective-shifting in the second act -- not wrong necessarily, but unusual -- that I as an unenlightened reader couldn't tell if this was part of Larsson's original design or Mina's fiat.

[Review contains spoilers]

Larsson and Mina do well by a sequel to Tattoo, in that the first book was a somewhat straight whodunit but the second book is a more traditional thriller. We have the same characters and the same tone, but an entirely different set of circumstances, which keeps it fresh. Compare, ludicrously, to the Mission Impossible movies, where they never complete missions so much as every time it seems the spy organization has crumbled and the agents are on their own; in contrast, in the first book, Larsson actually gave us the characters doing their jobs, such that in the second book the characters can be the targets this time and the adventure feels fresh, not re-hashed.

The authors also engage in some world-building here, appropriate for a second volume. Setting aside for a moment the entire cast of police officers introduced, here we actually learn the names of characters like Blomkvist's sister and Salander's girlfriend, and we meet Paulo Roberto, who's both Blomkvist and Salander's boxing instructor. This is just one of the book's many coincidences; on one hand, the authors expand this world but also keep it tightly knit by tying many characters to both Blomkvist and Salander separately, but on the other hand, given all the investigating Salander did of Blomkvist last time, it's hard to believe said connection wouldn't have come out earlier.

The coincidences become harder to believe from there: that Gunnar Bjork, whom Salander's abusive guardian Nils Bjurman contacts about killing Salander, also happens to be a key source in an expose that Blomkvist's Millennium magazine just happens to be writing about at that moment; that Ronald Niederman arrives to kill Bjurman just at the very moment Bjurman has received a random phone call from a Millennium staff member; that at least twice characters happen to travel by when other characters are being assaulted or abducted; that the man that Millennium is hunting just happens to turn out to be Salander's father; and most pointedly, at the end, that Blomkvist, driving around lost, happens to hit Niederman with his car.

This last one, which more than the rest really works in the book as "luck," solidified for me that all of these coincidences are, if not random, then at least the product of authorial intention. To an extent, what the authors try to say in this book is that nothing is coincidence; Salander believes herself to be the victim of a number of unlucky turns of the law, but what we come to find is that many of the bad things that happened to Salander are by design of her father pulling the strings behind the scenes. In presenting a series of too-easy coincidences, the book actually invites a certain paranoia -- what if they actually are out to get you, just the same as they actually are out to get Salander? All of this makes for an engaging and thought-provoking read, including the number of levels on which Larsson's Girl Who Played with Fire title resonates.

As regards those police officers, Mina and company devote a "who's who" kind of page smack in the middle of the book to introducing them by name, even as the same has never been done for the Millennium staff or the Milton Security staff where Salander works. It's almost as thought you're watching Bourne Identity and then an episode of Law & Order starts half-way in, complete with credits, plays through, and then Bourne picks up again. I liked it, I'll admit, sucker as I am for police procedurals (and whatever artist handles it evokes police procedural artist extraordinaire Michael Lark [Gotham Central]), but it's a bizarre left-turn from the already-established characters. If, perhaps, these police characters reappear in the third volume, maybe their over-the-top introduction makes sense, but I couldn't tell if this choice was Mina's or from Larsson's original, and frankly there were plenty other characters I could have used an introduction page for aside from the police.

In all, however, Denise Mina's second adaptation of Stieg Larsson's "Millennium Trilogy," The Girl Who Played with Fire is plenty enjoyable, and seems to use the graphic novel format better than the first volume(s) -- more characters, more subplots, more of a general winding narrative that feels less rushed and more like someone telling a story. I felt iffy at times reading the first volume(s), but the second definitely whetted my appetite for the third.
[Review by Doug Glassman, who Tumblrs at '80s Marvel Rocks!]

The two stories collectively called the X-Men: Inferno crossover are arguably the last entry point to the X-Men franchise before it became hopelessly convoluted. It’s the third in a series of major crossovers, but Inferno makes sense without reading Mutant Massacre and The Fall of the Mutants. One of its central conceits is breaking down the barriers between X-Factor (the original five X-Men) and the Uncanny team (focused around Storm, Wolverine, Colossus and Rogue). At this point, the Uncanny X-Men were thought dead, and they were convinced that the X-Factor team were traitors due to their mutant-hunting façade. It’s a miscommunication propagated by Madelyne Pryor, Cyclops’s ex-wife, whose son is in the custody of X-Factor and who ended up in Australia with the Uncanny team.

I mentioned that there are two stories involved here, both of which are two-title crossovers and are loosely linked. Apart from the Uncanny/X-Factor crossover, there’s also the New Mutants and their adventures with the X-Terminators, the young wards of X-Factor. The X-Terminators mini-series is not collected in the older paperback edition of Inferno that I have, but the pertinent events are explained well-enough in New Mutants. To be perfectly honest, none of the X-Terminators are all that interesting, with the few that are -- like Rictor and Boom-Boom -- later migrating to New Mutants and X-Force.

What I really like is that Chris Claremont and Louise Simonson built up the two stories around women victimized into becoming villains, creating some narrative parallels. Even though Madelyne was named after folk musician Maddy Prior, it’s likely not a coincidence that her name is also similar to Medea, who went on a rampage after being wronged by her husband. The story also explores her link to Jean Grey: as a clone of the heroine, she was never intended to have a life until her master pulled her strings, and then she had to deal with an interaction with the Phoenix Force. Meanwhile, the younger mutants finally resolve the fate of Illyana Rasputin, Colossus’ younger sister who was kidnapped and aged up in a demonic Limbo, becoming that dimension’s savior. (I’m not even getting into some of the more recent retcons about Illyana’s motives or I’d be here all day.)

A demon from Limbo, N’astirh, while warring with Illyana’s tormentor S’ym, has come up with a scheme to link Limbo to Earth using twelve infants as a sacrifice. N’astirh also unlocked some of Madelyne Pryor’s powers to transform her into the Goblin Queen while also using her son Nathan as one of the infants in the portal scheme. When this plan goes awry, N’astirh delivers the boy back to Madelyne, who has fully embraced her powers and brought out the negative influences of the Uncanny X-Men, putting some of them in her thrall. That’s just about the simplest I can reduce the plot to, leaving out some really unnecessary bits like the transmode virus getting involved and Archangel’s constant angst over his then-recent transformation by Apocalypse. Yet believe it or not, this whole book has a relatively low level of X-angst; that doesn’t really kick in until the arrival of Gambit a few crossovers away.

It all leads back to Mister Sinister; this is his first major plotline so that’s not the cliché it would later become. Sinister’s a really nasty piece of work here, with an utter disregard for his creations like Madelyne. Turning him into just another underling for Apocalypse really reduced his level of menace; Inferno demonstrates his skill as a master planner with plots reaching back to Cyclops’ origin. He’s actually not in the story for much of the second act, letting the X-Men get angrier and angrier until he meets a well-deserved end. There’s even some callbacks to the last time the X-Men got this angry and Colossus snapped the neck of Sinister’s henchman Riptide, who is suddenly alive in this story. (Spoiler: cloning.)

A major highlight in the artwork -- from Mark Silvestri, Bret Blevins, and Walt Simonson -- is the demonic transformation of New York City. People are warped into their darkest forms and items become sentient and deadly. I can sense two film influences here, Ghostbusters and Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, both of which were contemporary to Inferno. The former can be seen in the transformation of the Empire State Building into the locus of the Limbo portal; a group of “Ghostbusters” look-alikes are killed early on. The “Roger Rabbit” connection was a later realization that came while re-reading some of the New Mutants issues. Many of the now-alive possessed objects act like the Toons in how they exploit their forms for maximum mischief; when they worship Illyana, all I could hear was “Hi, Eddie!” from the Toontown sequence. Blevins especially shines in this crossover since he was used to turning Warlock into odd, personified objects.

Speaking of art, one thing I really enjoy about the old paperback version which I’m not sure is present in the hardcover is the title page. The entire thing is set up as an Aleister Crowley-style summoning diagram, with interlinking circles containing the different positions. There’s a later page showing the Uncanny X-Men and X-Factor casts as the Sefirot in the Kabbalistic Tree of Life (a concept Claremont used again in X-Men: The End). A lot of recent trades don’t put this much work into creating title pages; it’s a glimpse at a time when collected editions were a little more rare.

While the stories in X-Men: Inferno are a bit overlong, that’s just expected in a crossover, and the stories themselves have some great character bits. The artwork is also excellent; it may have just catapulted Silvestri over Jim Lee as my favorite Image founder. Blevins is an unsung master and Simonson, as always, can’t be beat. If you’re really new to reading the classic X-crossovers, you might be better off starting with the Phoenix Trilogy that I previously reviewed, followed by Mutant Massacre, but definitely make your way to Inferno.
Wayne Hart rides into the town of Lodestone looking for a blacksmith. He finds that and his true love in the same person, Edie Ford.

Since this is a love comic book, Cowboy Love, pardners, you know that the road to love will be mighty bumpy, and the roadside lined with owlhoots and sidewinders lookin' to get what Miss Edie’s uncle left her. There’s a rich guy dressed fancy who hires Wayne to do the dirty work, but Wayne double-deals him with his true payoff in mind...the hand of Miss Edie.

This is the second story I’ve shown recently where a Western woman is doing a “traditional” man’s job. In an earlier post, Pappy's #1157, she is the sheriff. In that story her fella takes her job and puts her in the home as his wife. I’m not sure that happens here with Wayne and Edie since the ending is left open on that subject, but I know what I’d be thinking about a blacksmith woman if I were Wayne: “Do I want a wife with Popeye arms who could pick me up and toss me like a cowchip?”

“Love’s Last Stand” is scanned from a reprint in Cowboy Love #28 (1955). It was originally shown in issue #2 (1949). Cowboy Love is one of the titles picked up by Charlton in 1953 when they bought up the rights to Fawcett’s non-Marvel Family comics. In his notes for issue #2 comic art-spotter Jim Vadeboncoeur Jr credits Marc Swayze with the art.
















I had a little difficulty with Gail Simone's Batgirl Vol. 4: Wanted because for the most part it wasn't the story I was expecting given the end of the last volume. That's on me, however, not Simone, and indeed I found the story particularly moving at times and enjoyed it on final reflection. But surprisingly, what really sold the book for me was new series artist Fernando Pasarin's art, which I had not favored in Green Lantern Corps but which really, really works here, giving the book a realism it in some ways lacked previously.

[Review contains spoilers]

Batgirl: Wanted essentially contains two stories, the Villains Month-linked Ventriloquist story and then the "Wanted" story. The Ventriloquist story does reflect the overall circumstances of "Wanted," namely that Batgirl Barbara Gordon is being hunted by her father Commissioner Gordon for the apparent murder of her psychopathic brother James Jr., but it does not delve into it too much in earnest. The story tends to favor the new Ventriloquist villain more than Batgirl (the caper is all the Ventriloquist's, and Batgirl "just happens" to show up when trouble starts) and so the focus feels off if, like me, you're expecting Fugitive-esque Batgirl action. I don't mind a new villain like the Ventriloquist getting a profile story; I just wasn't expecting the spotlight to go off Batgirl so quickly after Batgirl Vol. 3: Death of the Family's strong finale.

Given that, I thought Simone did well enough with the new Ventriloquist. It continually surprises me that the original Ventriloquist Arnold Wesker first appeared in 1988, given how "classic" a Batman villain he seems now, and it's likely a testament to it that we get a new New52 Ventriloquist as well. The two-part story reads like a horror flick (the ongoing tone of Batgirl to some extent) and Simone presents well the common "evil puppet" tropes, with the dummy Ferdie skittering along the floor and stabbing people's eyes with the blades in his hands.

I tend to like my Batman villains "real" (or at least "magically real"), and Simone giving the Ventriloquist metahuman powers to control Ferdie, among others, felt too "superheroic" to me. At the same time, I can't argue with the creepiness of Batgirl having to fight two animated, decaying corpses, even having to go so far as to handcuff them, so Simone makes good use of it all. Again, if this didn't feel as though it interrupted "Wanted," I might be even more satisfied with it.

"Wanted" starts with a prelude issue that mainly involves Barbara out on a date. With twenty-some issues past, Simone has by now established the character of the "new" Barbara Gordon, but I believe this is Batgirl's first issue with the hero out of costume the entire time. As such, I felt I got (or got again) who this Barbara Gordon is, her likes and dislikes, her sense of humor, and so on. Simone does especially well showing, often at the same time, Barbara's Batgirl-given confidence and also her brainy social awkwardness -- Moreover, given how confident and in-control Oracle usually was, I felt I could really see here how different, appropriately, this Barbara was from Oracle, but also how one could reasonably some day become the other.

The story gets darker after the date issue, and ultimately Simone ties it all together such that the date issue is relevant. But in reading it the first time, I still felt the book was "off"; there's two not-really-"Wanted"-related Ventriloquist issues plus a tonally light date story, and at that particular point I was wondering whether the book, called Wanted, would ever quite get down to it.

Fortunately, "Wanted" gets serious almost right away, when after a series of events Barbara appears to fail to stop her father from shooting said date, Ricky. Ricky is an interesting character here, who seemed in his first appearance to just be a one-off victim of the villain Knightfall, and who was brought back not by Simone, but by Ray Fawkes during his short stint on the title. Simone kept the character and impressively built a convincing relationship between unlikely partners Barbara and Ricky in the aforementioned date issue. But given Ricky's tenuous role in the book, Simone had me pretty convinced the character wouldn't make it. That's not the case -- Ricky recovers miraculously in the end (unless it's the Ventriloquist) -- but the pages leading up to the shooting are among the most harrowing in the book, intercut well by Pasarin.

"Wanted" ultimately arrives at the Batgirl/Commissioner Gordon conflict, though there's a convoluted series of events in between involving the villain Knightfall that I didn't think was necessary (I like Knightfall and would rather see a story about her conflict with Batgirl than have Knightfall's goons play second-fiddle to the Gordons' story). The conclusion is quite affecting, though -- not when Batgirl tries to unmask to Gordon (with too many shades of No Man's Land here), but when she turns Gordon's anger around on him somewhat psychologically, demonstrating that he's really mad at himself, not her. This was unexpected, but made sense, and served simultaneously to assuage both father and daughter's guilt. I might have preferred more of Commissioner Gordon chasing Batgirl through the streets in this book, but the end is exactly what I would have wanted irrespective.

The book also includes the Villains Month Ventriloquist issue by Simone (Batman: The Dark Knight #23.1) and the Zero Year tie-in, Batgirl #25 by Marguerite Bennett. Both are fine if not necessarily notable issues, and I'd prefer that DC included them than not (some books are omitting their issue #25 in favor of the DC Comics: Zero Year collection, but maybe a Bat-title gets an exception); that Pasarin draws Bennett's issue offers nice continuity despite Simone's absence. My key problem with each is that obviously something has happened in the DC Universe -- people seem hungry and desolate in both -- but neither issue takes pains to explain what the situation is. Bennett's sudden introduction of Gotham's Coldlight Island is especially confusing, and I wonder if that appears in Scott Snyder's Batman: Zero Year or not. For a reader not "in the know" about other events in the DC Universe, it seems to me this trade needed a text page or two.

Batgirl Vol. 4: Wanted does not take as direct a path as I'd hoped, but there's still some excellent character work from Gail Simone here and plenty of surprises and chills. Artists like Ardian Syaf did a fine job on this book at the start, but Syaf and Ed Benes have a rounded, animated style; I felt Fernando Pasarin's figures were too human-looking to follow Patrick Gleason drawing aliens in Green Lantern Corps, but his actually-human figures in Batgirl are just right. Though Wanted gets serious, it is in some ways not as "serious" as the previous Death of the Family collection, but Pasarin does well in making the characters seem "real." That reality contributes mightily to how Barbara Gordon's personality comes forward in this book, and I hope DC keeps Pasarin on this series for some time to come.
Solid Jackson is a friend of Natch Kilroy, and another funny character from The Kilroys, a popular teenage series from ACG in the late forties and early fifties. Animator Bob Wickersham (“Wick”) did the artwork and Hubie Karp wrote the story.

The phrase, “Solid, Jackson!” was in use during the war years based on this photo.

After the war it was used in hipster-talk. Man, if everything is aw reet, copacetic, then you is solid, Jackson! I’m glad to see that according to the Urban Dictionary the term is still being used, but in reading their definition, maybe more graphically defined than 65 years ago.

From The Kilroys #19 (1949):