THE JOHN BRUNI MUSEUM OF MEDIOCRE (AT BEST) SHIT #6: PREACHER #49 REVIEW

[My third comic book review for the Leader, this one is from March 23, 1999. I’m about to discover something horrible about my reviews, which I will tell you about when we get there. In fact, I might not need to explain. It’s pretty obvious what my problem was.]

It has taken 49 issues, but Jesse Custer, the main character of Preacher, has finally found God. Writer Garth Ennis and artist Steve Dillon pull no punches in the latest issue, entitled “First Contact.”

About a year ago, Jesse set out to chew peyote in Monument Valley to see if he could track down God (which has been his goal since issue four). Now, after a series of battles including tanks, the Saint of Killers, a nuke, a little guy who looks like Ross Perot and enjoys having sex with meat statues, and a stint as a small town sheriff facing off against the evils of Big Business, he finally takes the drugs and leads us through a series of hallucinations that proves just how imaginative a writer Ennis is. Only one other hallucination sequence has outdone this, and that was the issue-long Arseface delusion (#40), which was extremely imaginative.

Not only this, but Dillon’s artwork is surreal. TC looks as twisted and demented as ever, and Gran’ma looks utterly revolting (even before she turns into a snake). It was extremely funny to see the leech with Irish vampire Cassidy’s head, and Tulip looks so much like a hooker it’s disturbing.

The undercurrent to the content, though, is rich with character. Jesse constantly denies that he sees Cass as a leech and Tulip as a slut, but it is oh so obvious that he is lying through his teeth. For all of his John Wayne attitude, he certainly seems not to be “shootin’ straight.”

The story and the art compliment each other nicely. In this one scene, Ennis portrays the God of the Christian Bible as contradictory. One moment, He’s a beautiful male model emanating glorious yellow light, peaceful and forgiving; the next, He’s a power-driven raving lunatic, boiling with red light. He even sucks Jesse’s left eyeball out in a fit of rage! Yes, Ennis is a die-hard atheist—anyone who read “True Faith” will attest to that.

Jesse Custer finally knows what he needs to find God, and he’s got a new inner strength. He’s been doing only what he needs to do and nothing more for a while now, but now he’s got the twinkle back in his eye, and his confident grin is back in place. It’s been a long time since Preacher felt this good.

Not that the last few issues were bad. They had some excellent storytelling in them—storytelling that proves Garth Ennis doesn’t always have to blow stuff up or shoot people down or what not. He captures the quiet moments nicely. Jesse lost himself for a while, and now that he has found himself, he’s raring to rip, and you better pray you don’t get in his way. This is something Preacher fans have been waiting a long time for.

This is the beginning of the end for Preacher, my friends, and it looks like Garth Ennis is going to give us one hell of a ride.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #173: I'M THE BIGGEST WANKER IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!

I've been unemployed for almost a month. Today I learned that I am once again gainfully employed. That picture is of me having a celebratory glass of Booker's, the most expensive whiskey I've ever bought and probably my new favorite alcoholic beverage.


In that month of not working, though, I learned something horrible about myself. And that's why I'm writing here tonight for the first time since May. It all has to do with PREACHER, so if you haven't read the book or seen the show, there are some spoilers in this piece. You might want to read this another time.


When I was in college I was through with comic books. That might sound funny to those of you in my life today, considering how deep into comics I am now. But when I was a kid Marvel canceled THE TRANSFORMERS, my favorite book then, and I was so pissed that I gave up on the medium. But then I met my buddy, CJ. He put three books into my hand that brought me back. The first was EVIL ERNIE: YOUTH GONE WILD. He also loaned me the first HITMAN story arc. But most importantly he let me borrow PREACHER: UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD.


That book blew me the fuck away. I was at a low point in my life. I hated everyone and everything. If you knew me back then you wouldn't have wanted to be my friend. In fact I only know four people right now who knew me back then and are still my friends. But PREACHER helped me understand the world a bit more. I learned to love because of PREACHER. It helped me in so many ways I can't mention them all here.


AMC recently adapted the comics to TV, and I love the show. It's not as good, but it's pretty fucking good. Now that I had more time on my hands I decided to reread PREACHER for the thousandth time. It had a much different impact on me.


I've lost my way. I knew I had, but I had no idea how far off the path I'd strayed. For most of my adult life I have lived as a Jesse Custer. Rereading PREACHER this time revealed me to be a Cassidy. Don't worry, I'm not full Cassidy. I'm not hitting on your girlfriend behind your back or beating the shit out of women or letting drugs control my life. I drink a lot more than I should, but I'm not that bad. My mom still drank worse than me before she died.


I used to stand for things. Now I just have snarky comments. I loved, but now my heart is cynical. Those of you who read the comics know about Jesse and Cassidy's discussion about Laurel and Hardy fans vs. Charlie Chaplin fans. Here's the thing, though: judging by later issues I think that Cassidy is a style over content guy despite what he says. I love content in my writing life, but in my regular life . . . fucking hell. I think my style has overcome my content.


Rereading PREACHER shocked me. I've never read it like this before, with this interpretation. I have compromised all of my old thoughts about the world.


So that's changing. I'm going back to my roots. I'm welcoming love back into my life. I'm standing for things. I'm trying to be one of the good guys because there are way too many of the bad.


I got fired. What did I do that first day? I chopped up about seven Vicodins and drank a shit-ton of whiskey. I did so many of them because I have a high tolerance for opiods. I underestimated them and for about four hours of dizziness I had to keep reminding myself to breathe. When I came out of it, and I don't mean to compare me to this horrible scene, but I felt like Tulip waking up after being stuffed with so much Valium and vodka by Cassidy. When I reread PREACHER, I knew exactly what she meant by telling Cassidy that she was no longer his drugged up slut; that she was HER.


It took me a while to admit it, and when I did I gave myself the weekend to finish up wallowing in my misery. The end was last night. Today is the new me, better than the old me. I used to be so certain of myself, and then I hit about 10-15 years of fucking up. Doubt crept in. Depression ruled my mind.


No more. I know who I am again. It's good to be back, pardners. Let's see what we can do with this crazy ol' world of ours.