Friday, May 07, 2010

Totem Of The Depraved by Nick Zedd


Know Zedd? If not that's a shame. Nick Zedd is an underground film maker with titles like Geek Maggot Bingo, Police State, Whoregasm and many more. Zedd's films either work for people or they don't. You don't get a lot of middle ground with Nick's flicks.
Totem Of The Depraved is Nick's tale of his life. At 163 pages that doesn't add up to a lot.
Or does it?
Nick Zedd manages to put a lot into his life. He also doesn't fall into the drug addled idiot who thinks they are a film maker because they hang out with an edgy crowd. Nick acts, directs, writes.
It's funny to read how edgy he thinks he is, but towards the end even he admits that he isn't really. He has respect for a lot of people. Normal people. He can't stand posers and morons, but the general public doesn't do anything to Nick and he responds in kind. He mentions a time that they were going to make a snuff film and he couldn't do it. He felt that murder was wrong. To take someones life away from them seemed too much for Zedd.
I remeber watching some of Zedd's stuff in my younger days and I decided to write to him and tell him I reviewed stuff. He sent me a tape of Lord Of The Cockrings which I thought was hilarious. I also thought it was pretty cool to have a film director send me a homemade tape of their films for me to review. I should have realized that he was a softie right then.
A lot of the book deals with his multiple sexual conquests and travelling from place to place where he is misunderstood and looked down upon.
In the end I think that Nick likes being the underdog, but there are certain times in the book where he could have chucked it all, gone mainstream and made a successful life for himself, but he would have been miserable the entire time.
When you consider that Nick Zedd made They Eat Scum in 1979, that makes the young, angry film maker a crotchety old man at this point.
Then he delivers on the perfect superhero spoof with the cable access gem Electra Elf and Fluffer and proves that he still has what it takes to make sure people still say;
"Nick Zedd? Who in the Hell is Nick Zedd?"
Nick would love that last quote.
Seriously.

Thursday, May 06, 2010

A few thoughts on superhero movies

I've enjoyed a few superhero movies--the first two X-Men flicks, the Burton Batmans, Dark Knight, Spider Man 2, Watchmen, Kick Ass. I haven't seen Iron Man yet, but plan to give it a viewing and then check out the sequel. Matt Zoller Seitz is right, though, that this genre hasn't exactly distinguished itself in this medium. Having said that, I don't know that he deserves any special plaudits just for poking holes and pointing out shortcomings; he really offers no more penetrating diagnosis, or makes any effort to suggest more fruitful directions or other alternatives.

Superheroes in live action present a lot of problems that are damn near intractable no matter how much money you throw at them. It's notoriously difficult to realize costumes that don't look stupid and/or totally impractical on a flesh-and-blood human being. Then, superhuman powers and even Batman- or Daredevil-level feats are damn near impossible to realize with even state-of-the-art practical special effects, and require expensive CGI that is just now entering a generation where it isn't quite so jarring when integrated with live elements. The enormous costs of dealing with these problems in a minimally satisfactory way pretty much put superheroes beyond the reach of the indie. A shoestring-budget breakout like Blair Witch Project or Paranormal Activity is simply unthinkable at this time, where superheroes are concerned. So they're bound to be huge corporate mega-products, embodying exactly the sorts of imperatives and sensibilities Seitz complains about.

More fundamentally, though, I think that format-wise, a feature-length film is a terrible fit for superhero storytelling. Everyone has an origin and backstory, and no matter how brusquely those are dealt with, the time they eat up is considerable. Then, because a mass audience of non-fans must be assumed for this relatively nascent genre, a lot of time is spent just selling this or that concept. That doesn't leave nearly as much room for the kinds of nuance and development that movies in more established genres can take for granted. Throw in the fact that superhero storytelling in comics has grown increasingly long-form and complex, and a 90 or even 120 minute movie is bound to look cramped and superficial.

The ideal model for superhero storytelling in a moving visual medium is, I'd argue, something more like Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex or Neon Genesis Evangelion--an adult-oriented and more realistically 2-D animated series that completes an arc over something like 26 half-hour episodes. Such a series could tell an action-filled story of mega-crossover-event proportions, with all the thematic density and shading that Seitz complains is lacking in superhero movies as they are now. I know it could, because that's exactly what GitS:SAC and Evangelion are able to do in this format.

More of this, please

I like good discussions of actual topics.

Scary vs. Horrifying

For a variety of reasons, defining the horror genre in terms of fear, and judging given works on how scary they are, have seemed problematical to me. I've gone back and forth on the question, but no answer I've come to yet has sat entirely comfortably with me. Thinking I've done recently about whether revealing or suggesting is scarier, and whether comics can be scary, has helped me clarify another potential problem with that conventional formulation.

Basically, fear tends to be anticipatory. If you're afraid of some person or creature, what you're really afraid of is something they might do. If you're afraid of some situation, you're afraid of something that might happen in it, or as a result of it.

This has led, I think, to a lot of confusion in reaction to and discussion of certain kinds of horror. What do we say about horror that features extreme violence and the gruesome consequences of it? Because the anticipatory element is eclipsed by realization of the threat, horror fans understand on some level that they aren't responding to such horror with fear. Such horror isn't "scary," strictly speaking. So, purists whose understanding of horror has hardened around fear are dismissive of such fare. The prominence of gore misleads them into thinking that mere disgust is the primary response aimed at by such horror. In some instances, where the creators themselves have bought into this misguided notion, that actually may well be the case.

But in most cases, I think this view does a tremendous injustice to horror of this sort, and I think horror of this sort merits the name of horror more than "horror" that aims merely to be scary, because horror is precisely the primary response aimed at by such fare. Such horror confronts us with something worse than scary--it confronts us with something we would be scared might happen, actually happening. Just think: witnessing a horrible injury, death, or sudden tragedy in real life isn't scary; it's terribly upsetting, even traumatizing--it's horrifying. Watching a character get stalked in a movie by a chainsaw-wielding maniac might be scary, but watching that maniac lop off a limb or shove the chainsaw in his guts is something else entirely, and there's something fundamentally wrong, to my mind, about reducing or constricting one's reaction to a scene like that to mere disgust at the splattery eruption of blood and viscera.

Well, I'm just thinking out loud here. What say you, Groovy Agers?

Wednesday, May 05, 2010

BLACKEST NIGHT: Concluding Overview, Pt. 4: New Reader Friendliness

Before moving on from Charles Hatfield's excellent review of Blackest Night 1-8, I'd like to address his judgment that the story is not terribly accessible to new readers:
It’s axiomatic by now that DC and Marvel have given up on casual readers. Hell, that was true twenty-odd years ago. The vast narratives of the DC Universe and Marvel Universe not only allow for, they’ve practically come to revolve around line-wide crossovers like these, mega-events that presuppose readers steeped in company lore and conversant with the latest involutions in continuity. . . . [A]ll the emotional cues are dependent on obsessive reader investment in the DCU characters, specifically the ways those characters have been “developed” or ravaged in other recent event series. Attempts at pathos depend on minute knowledge of the Identity Crisis/Infinite Crisis/Final Crisis cycle of crossovers, and, more broadly, on the literal-minded, demythologizing, and reductive treatment of the heroes that recent DC books have trafficked in so heavily, a kind of treatment that has rendered longtime favorites nigh-unrecognizable.
I came to Blackest Night as a new DC reader, for all practical purposes, since I hadn't read any of the crossovers mentioned by Hatfield here, and hadn't regularly followed Green Lantern or really any titles since I dropped New Teen Titans after it transitioned many years ago to Direct Market only. Yeah, I read the Death of Superman graphic novel, and a smattering of various Batman GNs, none of which had much of anything to do with broader DCU continuity, and that's about it. So "new reader friendliness" was a question and concern for me.

Having read my way through the whole event, I'd say Hatfield vastly overestimates how inaccessible the main story would be to new readers, for essentially the same reason he overstates its incoherence and dependence on a diffuse array of tie-ins, and that is--he's only read the limited series. Simply on that basis, he can't ascertain much more than that the limited series doesn't present a complete story by itself; he can only speculate how much or little other material is needed to fill the gaps and tie off the dangling threads, and how satisfyingly the other material accomplishes that. As I argued last post, though, the limited series provides one half of a whole, coherent, self-contained story, and Green Lantern 43-52 provide the other half. Deplore, if you're so inclined, the fact that the limited series doesn't stand entirely on its own, but the fact remains that the Green Lantern issues do complete it. Coming back to the question at hand, since Hatfield only has an incomplete story before him, he's really just making a guess (an educated and reasonable one, to be sure) about what prior knowledge of the DCU is necessary to understand it or find it emotionally engaging.

This question is actually the first one I addressed after reading the first issue, and here's what I had to say about it:
Is it as "new reader friendly" as so many longtime hardcore fans assume? Well, yes and no. Yes, in the sense that it's not confusing. Partly, that could be because the exposition those fans find so annoying does its work so well, but I suspect it has more to do with the simplicity of the premise--something in the universe is raising all the dead superheroes as evil zombies. Storywise, all the tangled continuity and soap operatics surrounding how these characters died is far less relevant than the simple fact that they're dead and being horrifically reanimated. I'm aware of how sketchy my understanding is on many points, but reading through these issues, I never feel lost, or like I have no idea what's going on.

There is a sense in which this isn't so "new reader friendly," however. While it doesn't presuppose much knowledge of prior continuity, it does sort of presuppose a history of emotional attachment to these characters. The climax of BN #1 is a gruesome murder of two characters by reanimated zombie versions of two other characters. From what I can tell, having read a ton of reviews, this scene was a disturbing gut-punch for many longtime fans, in a way that it simply wasn't for me and probably couldn't be for any new reader. It's not that I didn't grasp what was going on--I didn't need a wikipedia article to help me sort out backstory or anything. And really, I don't even think it would help much if I ran out and bought a relevant graphic novel or two. Much of the emotional whammy in this scene, the horror and tragedy, depends on viewing these characters as old friends. It's funny--I think I can tell pretty exactly what emotional response is being aimed for in each such scene, and I can well imagine how I'd feel it if I were a longtime fan, but I'm not, and so I don't actually feel it. Probably the most solid take on the matter I've seen is in this IGN review:
This issue succeeds best in its more intimate character moments. Johns writes a scene between Hal and Barry that more effectively communicated Barry's disconnect from the modern world than all three issues of Flash: Rebirth have managed to do collectively. The dynamic between Hawkman and Hawkgirl, though plenty familiar from Johns' past work, is poignant, and only becomes more so as the issue reaches its climax. In all honesty, my first instinct when reading this issue was to scoff at some of this expository material as a needless stall for time, but that isn't really fair to what Johns is trying to do here. The problem with most event books is that they're all pizazz and no heart. Johns spends time making us care for his heroes now so that we'll feel right there with them when the lights go out. I do worry that new readers won't feel quite the same attachment to some of these characters even by issue's end. Johns heavily references DC continuity of the past five years. All I can say is that I greatly approve of his character work in this issue, and I think the majority of readers will too.
Yeah, these character moments were a bit opaque to me, but I could tell the creative team was doing what it could to minimize that. Also, I think it's entirely reasonable for fans to want the kind of poignant jolts that presuppose and reward a long, committed acquaintance with the characters, so I can't begrudge them that.
In fairness to Hatfield, here's one instance where he was absolutely right--the murder of the Hawks by the Black Lantern Dibneys certainly did presuppose familiarity with Identity Crisis for much of its emotional punch, and in fact the prominence of the Atom as a major player in Blackest Night gives IC a strong and continuing relevance for the event.

On the other hand, about halfway through BN, I decided to check out Final Crisis, and it shed no light whatsoever on anything, as far as I could see. Perhaps it could be argued that one needs to have read FC to know what happened to Bruce Wayne, but I don't think it really helps--even those who saw Batman get zapped by Darkseid's Omega Effect aren't in that much better a position to understand what's up with that "Bruce Wayne" skull Black Hand is running around with, or what the fuck exactly happens when Nekron summons up and then dismisses a Black Lantern "Bruce Wayne" in one of the most spectacular and cryptically dramatic moments in the story.

Even where Identity Crisis is concerned, though familiarity with it certainly would have helped, my lack of familiarity with it didn't by any means prove in the end to be a crippling impediment to my understanding or enjoyment of Blackest Night. In fact, I'd put it this way: precisely because of its ongoing relevance, as a matter of course, through seeing the role it played in context, I was able to absorb or infer what I needed to know about it, including its emotional impact on the characters, to the point that the allusions eventually served as effective cues to my own emotional responses.

And that speaks to the broader point I raised, that many of the character moments and emotional cues in the first issue seemed to depend on "viewing these characters as old friends," which is also pretty much Hatfield's point when he says, "the emotional cues are dependent on obsessive reader investment in the DCU characters." Sean T. Collins agreed with the point at the time I made it, and elaborated:
[H]e articulates a problem with serialized superhero comics that not even Jim Shooter-style "new-reader friendliness" can overcome, namely that even if a superhero comic uses exposition to provide you with all the information you need to make sense it, it still "presuppose[s] a history of emotional attachment to these characters" to connect with it. And frankly there's no more of a way around that than there would be to make latecomers to The Sopranos instantly connect with the plight of Christopher Moltisanti. It's just the nature of long-form serialized storytelling.
Having come out the other end of Blackest Night, however, I would heavily qualify that claim, just shy of retracting it altogether. The fact is, almost all popular narrative, going back centuries and even millenia to oral storytelling traditions, begins in medias res. A crossover event like Blackest Night, as a point of entry into a long-running continuity like the DCU, can be structured and managed in such a way that new readers are able to experience it much as they would any novel or movie. I'm going to have a lot to say that's very critical of Geoff Johns's writing, but in this regard, I think he did a much better job than anyone had a right to expect of making a very continuity-heavy story nevertheless quite emotionally accessible and engaging to new readers like myself.

As I mention above, the simple and familiar (some might say cliche) high concept of a DCU zombie apocalypse that gets the ball rolling goes a long way toward opening the story up to new readers. And then, as I also mention, there's a certain degree to which simply continuing on with any halfway decent story usually helps bring a reader up to speed with what she needs to know, and in the course of that story the reader will tend to grow emotionally involved with the characters as a matter of course.

But Johns deserves credit for a few other canny choices that make a dramatic difference. First, he pairs Hal Jordan with Barry Allen as the main heroes of the event. As a long-absent and recently-returned character who hasn't fully caught up yet with what's been going on in the DCU, Barry Allen makes a great in-story proxy for new readers. Complementing that casting choice, Johns fills one key supporting role with Mera, who I'm given to understand came into the event as a fairly undeveloped lower-tier character--which puts old and new readers alike on a somewhat similar footing as we get to know her and watch her develop and grow in stature and significance. The way she blossomed over her arc was as fresh and exciting for a longtime, hardcore DC fan like Rokk as it was for me:
However, what has impressed me the most about Johns' character work in Blackest Night has been the surprisingly good handling of Mera's character. I strongly questioned Johns' heavy use of Mera at the beginning of Blackest Night. I have always viewed Mera as a rather lame character. Johns has pulled off the impossible and actually made me a big fan of Mera's character. I am thrilled that Johns has used Blackest Night as an opportunity to breathe life into a lower tier character like Mera.

I dig the edge that Johns has given Mera's character. However, Johns has not made Mera just a stereotypical and one-dimensional angry brawler. Instead, Johns has made Mera rather fascinating by giving her character some depth by showing the reader the personal sorrow and conflict that resides beneath the more overt rage and anger. Personally, I thought letting Mera go toe-to-toe with Wonder Woman was a brilliant idea. It immediately elevated Mera's character into a force to be reckoned with.
If I understand correctly, the principal villains of Black Hand and Nekron, too, are elevated by Johns here out of relative obscurity. With these two, he employs another technique at which he seems quite adept--recontextualizing a character's backstory in a way that delivers all the information new readers need, yet tweaks it and expands upon it enough to make it of fresh interest for old readers. Green Lantern #43 is essentially a reintroduction/rebooting of Black Hand, which not only entertained and satisfied me as a new reader, but garnered tremendous acclaim from longtime fans, as I noted at the time:
All I can say is, thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster that the exposition in this exposition-heavy issue comes as news to fans as well as newbies, because it's nice to hear such a helpful and enjoyable (if disturbing) issue receive plaudits rather than excoriations:I wouldn't say much of anything different from the reviews above; it just so happens that the new twists on the Black Hand character detailed in this issue put me on the same footing (or at least in the same Space Sector) as longtime fans. That should go in the Event-Crossover Writer's Handbook: "When bringing new readers up to speed, twist the info in a way that adds something for longtime fans." The upshot is, I get fully introduced to the event's truly creepy major villain, and I don't have to listen to fans complain about me (the "new reader") when I read their reviews to see if I missed anything important.
At first glance, Johns's whole "emotional spectrum" thing might seem tacky and simplistic, but he uses it to very good characterizing effect as members of different lantern corps are able to see through each other and lay bare lost or repressed emotions in each other that interestingly inflect their memories and backstories--the love that Carol Ferris discovers in Sinestro, the hope that Saint Walker rekindles in Atrocitus, the bitterness Larfleeze confesses at having been misled and manipulated by the Guardians. Every such revelation conveys, in a relatively natural, organic manner, a blending of new and old information that ideally clues new readers in on what they need to know while also surprising old readers, or at least not boring them.

In the end, I'd have to say Johns sets the stage for new readers as well as anyone could realistically hope for, then does a truly terrific job of making it possible for them to catch up through his dramatization, recontextualization, and occasionally just exposition of necessary backstory. As a new reader, I did feel at first that I was missing out on some of the emotional experience enjoyed by more longtime readers, but that sense faded as I kept reading, until I felt as emotionally engaged by Blackest Night as I would from the midpoint on in any standalone novel or movie. That's not necessarily to say I would recommend Blackest Night to new readers (or anyone), but I certainly wouldn't recommend they stay away from it because it's not "new reader friendly."

Monday, May 03, 2010

BLACKEST NIGHT: Concluding Overview, Pt. 3: What's the story?

I turn now to the main story of the Blackest Night event. By "main story," I don't just mean the main title, the Blackest Night eight-issue limited series. Charles Hatfield of Thought Balloonist recently reviewed the whole limited series by itself; his remarks are almost uniformly negative, and while I would agree with many of his criticisms, I had to take issue with this:
Blackest Night is yet another example of a story that isn’t really a story in itself, but a skeleton, a notional blueprint, a whiteboard’s worth of Post-It notes. It continually gestures outward and backwards rather than resolving into a tight, self-contained performance. The resulting impoverishment of the narrative is twofold: for one, the plot judders unpredictably from one issue to the next, transitioning vaguely, with unexplained sidelong bits that are never fleshed out. The result is a hectic patchwork of allusions that makes clear only one thing, the fact that DC is banking on me investing in a bunch of interpolated tie-in issues from other series.
I responded:
Did you only read BLACKEST NIGHT, or the GREEN LANTERNs too (which Johns also wrote and interwove very tightly with the main event title)? GL is so closely tied in, it almost doesn't make sense to call it a tie-in; really, the crossover story pings between the two titles, and if you read one without the other, the gaps you mention are bound to seem many and enormous. Other tie-ins have some bearing on the main story, but GL is the one (and really the only one) that completes those dangling threads you complain of here.
To which he replied:
I figured that BN and the current GL titles were tightly interlaced; obviously, the GL Corps is at the heart of the emotional spectrum concept. Out of stubbornness, I would not buy BN and certainly wouldn't buy the tie-ins, so inevitably I missed some of the connective tissue. Call my review an experiment in reading an event series without its attendant crossovers.
Well, fair enough. But then, when Ryan said further down in comments:
The saddest part is alone, BN is weak, and thus, the HC/TPB/GN will be weak because instead of printing them in order ala Sinestro Corps War, they aren't doing Blackest Night with all the middle parts (GL/GLC a little) between each issue. Ideally it should have been a 3 volume series or one pretty huge HC.
. . . Hatfield speculated:
Wouldn't you say that a huge HC collection would falsify the experience of BN by implying that it is one coherent, monumental work, rather than the opportunistic series of tie-in products that it really is?

We fans crave the monumentality, legitimacy, and durability that a big HC seems to confer, but, really, the whole point of something like BN is being strung along for months and going with the flow and seeing what kinds of surprises the experience has in store for us. As a collected work, a series like BN simply doesn't have the coherence that would justify a massive HC omnibus edition.

I would think that keeping BN issues in a long box would be a better memento of the experience than buying some oversized book collection. I just don't see the narrative and aesthetic coherence that would make a $50 "Blackest Night" HC worthwhile.
I'm no fan of hardcover collections, but I definitely wouldn't say that a Blackest Night collection of the sort Ryan proposes would "falsify the experience" for the reasons Hatfield suggests. I was actually hoping for a more diffuse, more branching and interweaving, less linear reading experience (I guess you could call what I wanted the kind of "series of tie-in products" Hatfield has in mind here, except motivated more by narrative considerations than mere rank opportunism), but the truth is, BN simply does have the coherence that would justify an omnibus edition. There is a whole and self-contained story that could be collected in the following order:
  • GL 43
  • BN 1
  • GL 44
  • BN 2
  • GL 45
  • BN 3
  • GL 46
  • BN 4
  • GL 47
  • GL 48
  • BN 5
  • GL 49
  • BN 6
  • GL 50
  • GL 51
  • BN 7
  • GLC 46
  • GL 52
  • BN 8
What's more, although I'm glad I followed this in monthly floppies and had a lot of fun discussing it with a lot of cool comics bloggers I wouldn't otherwise have met, I'm surprised to say the story running through these issues really is better served by being read as a collection. I know I'm not the only one who complained about the pacing. Rokk, to name just one example, prefaced his review of BN 5 by saying, "This big event has been plagued with poor plot progression and an incredibly slow pace." But I find the pacing evens out and works much better when it isn't parceled out over months and months and months. I'm reminded, in this regard, of the contrast I noted between Sean T. Collins's reaction to Batman: Hush after reading it in monthlies, and my reaction after reading it in the trade collection. You'll find, at that link, I say, "some superhero events benefit from the monthly pamphlet format and actually suffer from being collected in a graphic novel (and I suspect Blackest Night will fall very firmly into that category)," but I was wrong, about Blackest Night anyway.

So, the issues listed above, in that sequence, are what I consider the "main story," and that's how I believe they should ideally be collected. That's not quite how I'm going to discuss them, however. Although dual plot threads running in parallel should probably alternate in a collection, they're best considered as separate whole sections for the purposes of discussion and analysis.

So here's how I intend to break it down:
  • The Superhero Horror Story (GL 43, BN 1, GL 44, BN 2-4)
  • The War of Light (GL 45-48)
  • The Pivot (BN 5-6, GL 49)
  • The Specter (GL 50-51)
  • The Classic Crossover (BN 7, GLC 46, GL 52, BN 8)

Who's honoring me now?

Thanks Rip!

Saturday, May 01, 2010

BLACKEST NIGHT: Concluding Overview, Pt. 2: Power Ring Visions of Mahnke and Reis

My greatest frustration in discussing mainstream superhero comics is my inability to describe, clearly and precisely, what's distinct about a particular artist, or the differences between this artist and that one. Independent cartoonists usually bring such aggressively individual styles to their work that it isn't too hard to talk intelligently about the difference a given artist's style makes to the experience, even if someone lacks (as I do) a technical aesthetic vocabulary, so long as they're sufficiently attentive and responsive to the art. Some mainstream superhero artists really do bring more daringly distinct styles to their work--Bill Sienkiewicz on Moon Night and especially New Mutants were eye-opening early examples for me, and J. H. Williams III's more recent Batwoman arc in Detective Comics is a brilliant standout case. But the differences are much more fine-grained and tricky to articulate when the artists aim at what Douglas Wolk calls the "default style of the superhero mainstream":
But what is that default style, exactly? You know it when you see it, but it's hard to pin down. Here's a stab at it: it's designed to read clearly and to provoke the strongest possible somatic response. You're supposed to react to it with your body before you think about it. Most of its characters, especially the heroic ones, are drawn to look as "sexy" as possible--wasp waists, big breasts, and flowing hair on women; rippling muscles on men. People and objects are partly abstracted and partly modeled, but always within a framework of representation. There's a lot of foreshortening, for the somatic excitement of seeing something right in front of your face. The style gives a sense of even the most everyday actions and interactions being charged with sex, power, and beauty. Most of all, generic mainstream drawing is doggedly quasi-realistic--or, rather, it's realism pumped up a little, into something whose every aspect is cooler and sexier than the reality we readers are stuck with. It's meant to provide an escape route into a more thrilling world than our own. (Reading Comics, p. 50)
In the Blackest Night crossover event, Ivan Reis's art for the main title and Doug Mahnke's for Green Lantern are both clearly of this sort--and both strike me as really first-rate examples of it, too. It's seriously hard for me to imagine these comics looking any more perfect for what they are. Mind you--I've read some complaints, some of which I'm inclined to agree with, and some of which I'm not. Ultimately, Reis and Mahnke deliver exactly the visual experience I was hoping for. Their art has been so crucial to whatever enjoyment I've gotten out of Blackest Night, that I felt I owed it to them to dig in a little deeper and try a little harder to say something about their contributions, in a way that spotlights their individual strengths. I truly wish I could. Here's the problem, though--below are two images of the same scene, one by Reis in BN #1 and one by Mahnke in GL #44:


What's clear to me from these images is that although Reis and Mahnke are both working at the high end of mainstream superhero art, they're still quite distinct from each other. The distinction is easy to see in these fairly representative images, and nobody with a passing familiarity with either artist should have trouble identifying who drew which. I'm afraid this is where I hit my critical limits, though--I just can't figure out how to put the overall distinction, or a more detailed breakdown of the differences that comprise it, into words.

What's more, I have to confess that I don't have a good sense at all for the difference an inker makes, to the point where I could easily confuse an inker's contribution with the penciller's, in analyzing these comparisons. For example, in his review of BN #5 at IGN, Dan Phillips notes:
More problematic is the presence of two different inkers, Oclair Albert and Joe Prado, whose different approaches to Ivan Reis' pencils lend an inconsistency to certain sequences; Look at the panel of Superman and Superboy fighting a horde of the undead and tell me that looks like any other page in the book.
Here's the panel he means:

He's right. The panel does stick out like a sore thumb in that comic, and looks to my (admittedly inexpert) eye almost as different from other inkings of Reis's pencils as Mahnke's pencils look from Reis's in the sample panels above. Again, though, damned if I could explain the difference.

Bottom line, here: I'm just entirely unequipped to offer intelligent criticism of mainstream superhero art. If anyone would care to educate me, or point me toward some resources where I could begin to educate myself, I'd sure appreciate it. The best I can do now is say that Mahnke and Reis, both in their own ways, rose magnificently to the occasion for Blackest Night, to deliver, with their distinct yet nicely complementary styles, one of the most eye-popping and viscerally thrilling visual experiences in superhero comics I've ever had the pleasure of savoring (what's more, they stuck impressively close to schedule, maintained impressive consistency of quality, and only the single issue of GL #49 featured guest pencillers).

Having said that, one difference did jump out at me, that has less to do with the detailed technicalities of style and more to do with broader visual imagination, and that is the way they depict the operations of the power rings. The difference is both noticeable and consistent enough that I would guess writer Geoff Johns left them plenty of leeway in the scripts, rather than writing detailed instructions for how each specific use of a power ring must look on the page. For example, I doubt Johns specified to Mahnke that the following exchange of "ring-fire" from GL #46 had to be drawn as Sinestro swinging a giant morningstar and Hal Jordan cutting the chain with a giant scissors:

My guess is, those details are Mahnke's contribution. If anyone knows otherwise for sure, please do correct me here.

Reis is responsible for the extraordinary two-page spread from BN #1 at the top of this post. That one example notwithstanding, as I took a closer look back over each artist's work for the crossover, I was surprised to find that almost all the ring-slinging images that stood out in my mind as particularly vivid and memorable were done by Mahnke in the pages of GL. What this comes down to, I think, is that for Mahnke much more than for Reis, the rings manifest their power not only functionally, but expressively, as well. This image of Black Lantern Abin Sur spraying rapid-fire giant skulls at our heroes from GL #47 is probably my favorite:

The battle with the Specter in GL #50 offers some amazing sights, too. While a giant hammer isn't the most inventive power ring effect, Mahnke gets a lot of mileage out of it with an intensely graphic depiction of the damage it does to Black Lantern Specter's lower jaw:

This image of Hal staking the Specter not only has a great power ring effect on display as the focal point, but is a marvel of composition, with the giant Specter surrounded by buildings getting their windows blown out by his mighty bellow of agony, while other ring-slingers fly all around and Coast City Black Lanterns mill zombie-apocalypse-style in the street below:

Of course, it also recalls another striking image for which Mahnke is known--the Green Lantern staking of that stupid random non-Darkseid Big Bad that Grant Morrison pulled out of his ass in Final Crisis:

Back to GL #50, though, it doesn't work this time! The Specter yanks it out and throws it right back in Hal's face:

Very cool! But Mahnke doesn't just do straight-up action--he also throws a lot of wit into the mix, as when he accompanies sarcastic dialogue about a violin with an actual ring-generated giant violin in GL #47:

Or there's this humorous use of the ring to punctuate a bit of dialogue from GL #48:

And I love the way the stop-sign fades out in the lower panel. I also can't help mentioning another favorite image, from GL #50, where a similar device is used to more serious purpose:

Mahnke often puts just as much thought into how the other rings should visually manifest their powers, given the characters who wield them and what the situation calls for:






To be fair, since Mahnke handled the art for Green Lantern for this event, where most of the War of Light played out and most of the ring-slinging took place, he had many more opportunities than Reis to get creative with the power effects. And Mahnke does draw plenty of instances where power rings function--and look--simply like blasters, shooting generic colored beams of light. But just because Reis didn't have as many opportunities doesn't mean he lacked for them, and yet he shows almost none of the expressive flair Mahnke does in depicting the visual manifestation of ring powers. Almost all the time, it's plain old blaster-rings (from BN #5):

This, from BN #3, is a little better:

. . . but just mimicking Hawkman's weaponry in a fight against Hawkman is still pretty on-the-nose. There is quite a cool moment in BN #7 where Black Hand shoots tons of coils of barbed wire out of his ring:

. . . and I love it that Hal Jordan then clouts him with, of all things, a giant cross:

Astonishingly, that's about it, though, as far as visually interesting power ring effects drawn by Reis in the main Blackest Night title.

Now, I know Reis did a lot of prior work on the Green Lantern title. I went back and looked at his art in Sinestro Corps War, and was surprised to find pretty much the same as in Blackest Night--plenty of colored light all over the place, and boy does it look snazzy, but he almost never gives it interesting form there the way Mahnke does in the GL Blackest Night tie-in issues. One of the most visually arresting power ring effects in SCW is Karu-Sil's pack of predators, and Reis does draw them well, but she (and they) are an Ethan Van Sciver design.

I don't mean to knock Reis here. I'll say it again--I love his art!!! Without it, Blackest Night never would have held me. And by no means does he ever skimp on the flash and pizazz in rendering action scenes with power rings a-blazing. But I do want to praise Mahnke for going above and beyond, and giving just that much more thought to how the ring effects could and should look in each specific context.

And that's enough for this installment. I'll keep looking at the art, and maybe something else will jump out at me worth writing about. In the meantime, stay tuned and stay groovy!