THE JOHN BRUNI MUSEUM OF MEDIOCRE (AT BEST) SHIT #28: REVIEW OF OK

[I’m a huge fan of Doc Holliday. I even wrote a short storyabout him that one time. I love Tombstone, The Gunfight at the OK Corral, etc. This book rubbed me the wrong way back then. If I reread it today, I don’t think I’d be so harsh on it. Also, I didn’t know James Ellroy’s writing advice at the time. He said that the author had to know how big each characters’ dicks are. I learned that a few years ago, and I have considered it in all of my work, both the serious stuff and the batshit crazy stuff. This is one of the pieces I wrote for the summer edition of the Leader, Aug 18, 2000 to be precise.]

Doc Holliday was a true, perhaps the only, American Western myth that stood out from the rest.

Men like Wyatt Earp, men with extreme violent tendencies in the name of good, were many on the frontier; you only had to go as far as Morgan and Virgil, two of his brothers, to find another Wyatt Earp.

There were plenty of baby-faced killers like Billy the Kid, and just as many gentlemen bank robbers, like Black Bart.

John Henry “Doc” Holliday was strikingly unique. When one looks at his life, one question rises above all else.

Considering how he was well on his way to becoming a respected dentist in the South, a job that would get him quite a lot of money and prospective wives, he somehow became, as Wyatt Earp once said, “the most skillful gambler and the nerviest, speediest, deadliest man with a six-gun I ever knew.”

How did he go from one lifestyle to the other? Granted, he had tuberculosis, but could that have been all?

Paul West tries to answer this question in his novel, OK (Scribner, $24), giving us a peek into Doc’s mind.

Unfortunately, that is all this book is about. It’s very slow moving, considering all it contains are Doc’s thoughts on this, that, or the other thing. Action is only barely present.

While the book shows how many hours West must have researched Doc’s life (as well as the lives of those around him, including the Earps and Big Nose Kate, Doc’s lady of the night), one of the most important aspects of writing a historical novel is conjecture, and West has no idea on how to do this.

No one can ever know all the facts about an historical event, so many writers who write about the past have to guess at many things. These writers use facts to help them guess about certain issues, but West doesn’t use any evidence whatsoever for his conjectures.

For example, there is no proof that Wyatt Earp had a case of disguises in his closet for when he wanted to do things he typically wouldn’t want to be seen doing, like gambling and paying his respects to the ladies of the night.

While West’s guess at Wyatt’s vanity is pretty well grounded, the disguise thing is pulled completely out of the air.

On that same note, one can question West’s basis for his conjecture that Wyatt kept a collection of dildoes. Again, there was no evidence.

However, when it comes to facts, West is a master. When he describes the gunfight at the OK Corral, he is very historically accurate, right down to persons killed and/or wounded at what time, who said what during the shout out, and who chickened out just after the shooting began.

Another accomplishment of West’s is his ability to disturb readers.

He opens the novel up with Doc walking over to the spittoon to drop a hunk of red matter in it from his mouth. Another scene described later in the book how, at the end of his life, Doc’s lungs were being torn apart by the air from the Glenwood Springs asylum.

Doc spent his last years ridden with sores before the tuberculosis spread to his entire body, tearing everything apart “like some fanatic general wiping out France to make sure of Paris.”

West’s difficulty selecting a point of view proves a bit distracting from the story he is trying to retell, though. OK is written in third person limited, from Doc’s perspective. However, every once in a while, West will switch to omniscient to try out Mattie’s (Doc’s cousin) mind, or maybe Wyatt’s.

Even stranger are his sudden switches to first person to relate his own feelings.

West’s biggest problem, aside from the technical ones, is his undying desire to talk about male genitalia.

There’s not only the instance where he mentions Wyatt’s collection of dildos, there’s also moments when he goes out of his way to describe how whenever Doc ejaculates, it’s tainted red. Even more jarring is the discussion Doc and Wyatt presumably had on foreskins, especially when it turns to the two men tying their erections together with a yellow ribbon.

In an historical book like this, these anecdotes are way out of place and are usually uncalled for.

Thinking about sex is natural, but when it becomes so deeply rooted in your writing that you’re constantly referring to large cumbersome objects as erections, it’s time to visit a shrink.

There have been quite a few portrayals of Doc Holliday: Kirk Douglas in The Gunfight at the OK Corral showed how violent and calculating Doc was. Val Kilmer in Tombstone showed how well-spoken, loyal, and vicious Doc had been. Dennis Quaid in Wyatt Earp excelled in showing how loyal a friend Doc was to Wyatt. All these portrayals are great, but West’s portrayal is easily the worst.

West didn’t even answer the damn question. OK has its moments, but they’re not worth it.

THE JOHN BRUNI MUSEUM OF MEDIOCRE (AT BEST) SHIT #27: REVIEW OF PREACHER #63

[My final comic book review for the Elmhurst College Leader. It wasn’t the last thing I would do for them. They invited me to write a few pieces for the summer edition. Some of them will be reprinted here. Others are so irrelevant to me that I’ll keep ‘em in the vault. It’s funny. When the last issue of Preacher came out, I didn’t really think about this review, but a couple of things stick out. The line about Jesse had better be dead before Tulip wakes up: yeah, that came true. Sort of. The other thing is my invitation to the student body to take over my role as a comic book reviewer. Guess what: no one wanted the fucking job. I’ll bet if I did this today, they would line up for it. This is from the May 8, 2000 edition. Just a couple of weeks later, I would graduate with a Bachelors Degree in the Arts.]

There’s no doubt about it: Garth Ennis is the greatest comic book writer working in the business. Steve Dillon is, due to the recent death of Steven Hughes, the greatest comic book artist working in the business. Their comic book, Preacher, is the best title in the business.

Unfortunately, it’s coming to an end this July.

True to Preacher history, Ennis and Dillon are keeping everything completely charged with tension in this last story arc, Alamo. Preacher #63 (part 5 of 7) brings us one of the most horrifying moments in the comic’s history, if you know the characters well. Ennis starts the issue out with the Rev. Jesse Custer talking with longtime girlfriend, Tulip, about the best and worst days of his life. The worst, as any loyal Preacher reader will know, is the day Jody shot Tulip in the head. In order to get Jesse off His back, God gave Tulip life again to show Jesse how much He cares. (He really doesn’t, He’s just scared Jesse’s going to beat the hell out of him.) Now, as Jesse and Tulip talk (naturally, in bed), Tulip reveals that God never saved her at all because “God’s a bastard.” Suddenly, blood is pouring down her face, and the back of her skull is a pulpy mess.

Luckily for Jesse, the image is just a dream, but it comes out of nowhere, and for people who have known these characters for years, it is a genuinely scary moment. Another moment only loyal readers will appreciate is when Jesse breaks one of his promises to Tulip by leaving her to go face the bad guys (this also happened way back in the third year of Preacher). Not only does he leave her, he also drugs her to make sure she can’t follow him into the danger he’s about to put himself into. All that can be said is that Jesse better be dead when she wakes up, because if he isn’t, she’s going to eviscerate him. (It should be noted that last time he did this, Tulip handcuffed him naked to a bed for hours on end while she went to hang out with a friend.)

Another character in very hot water is the unfortunate Hoover. He’s been through a lot. After he arranged for his boss to be anally raped (he thought he was buying him a woman), he was nearly killed. In fact, Starr has always treated him harshly despite his innocent ways. When he confronted Jesse, the reverend used his Word of God to make him count grains of sand on a beach until he reaches three million (Hoover spent years out there, going insane). Now about a hundred pounds lighter and lacking a great deal of his teeth, he still has his innocent (if lunatic) ways. He plays a joke on Starr, which results in Starr getting black rings around his eyes from binoculars before going in to prep his army (about two dozen men; Jesse, Tulip, Cassidy, and the Saint of Killers killed the rest of them) for the final battle to be held at the Alamo. Needless to say, being embarrassed in front of his own men has set Starr off on a rampage which will most likely end with Hoover’s crucifixion, which is really too bad, considering of all the bad guys in the history of Preacher, he is actually incapable of evil. He can’t even bring himself to swear.

The ultimate high of this issue, though, is Jesse’s last talk with John Wayne. To anyone who grew up watching the Duke kickin’ butt on TV, seeing Wayne in Preacher is a real treat. When he pulls Jesse’s father’s words out of Jesse, there is no one who wouldn’t want John Custer as a father. “Don’t take no shit off fools . . . an’ you judge a person by what’s in ‘em, not how they look. An’ you do the right thing. You gotta’ be one of the good guys, son; ‘cause there’s way too many of the bad.” Those are hard words to live by, and the only thing to do is try. Not even Jesse, who is one of the last true American heroes left (oddly enough, written by an Irishman), can live up to those words (after all, he did leave Tulip twice). There is no better feeling in the world than to hear the Duke utter his last words to Jesse: “Hell, pilgrim, I’m just a . . . a broke-down, wore-out ol’ cowboy . . . but this broke-down, wore-out ol’ cowboy wanted ya ta know: He’s prouda’ ya.” And then he’s gone, walking off into his final sunset.

Speaking of sunsets, this broken-down, worn-out ol’ college student is graduating, which means the spot for comic book reviewer is open for next fall. If any of you pilgrims got the sand to step up to a job writing reviews that most people won’t even read, then you better let Grand Journalism Wizard Wiginton know. Sure, no one will probably read it aside from Wiginton and editors, but you can win state conference awards, and you’ll be known as the second comic book reviewer at any college in Illinois ever. Of course, it’s completely understandable if you don’t have the balls . . .

Remember to be a good guy. There’s way too many of the bad. Got it? Good.

THE JOHN BRUNI MUSEUM OF MEDIOCRE (AT BEST) SHIT #26: REVIEW OF HELLBLAZER HARD TIME

[This is another one where I come off as a raging asshole. I have changed my mind about everything I said here (except the part about the logo, as I still prefer the original). Richard Corbin, as I believe I’ve mentioned here before, really is a horror master. I was just stupid and inexperienced with the comic book world back then. Also, I have since learned to love Azzarello’s run. The prison stuff was a bit iffy, but all my doubts were met by the end of that storyline. It laid the groundwork for John Constantine’s journey to the heart of the American dream. Looking back, I fucking love it now. Also, at the time I was unaware of why Warren Ellis was kicked off the book. It was for a one-shot story involving a shooting at a public school. Unfortunately, this happened just after Columbine. Vertigo thought publishing it would be in bad taste. Ellis walked out on the rest of his run. Vertigo eventually published that story. It was pretty good. Anyway, this was in the Elmhurst College Leader on April 24, 2000.]

Okay, this has got to stop. Hellblazer has had its ups and downs (thankfully, there have been more ups), but the latest story arc, Hard Time, is quite possibly the lowest Vertigo’s longest-running title (not counting the newly resurrected Swamp Thing) has ever sunk.

First of all, give credit where credit is due. Writer Brian Azzarello has one of the greatest ears for dialogue in comic books. He took a pretty dull comic from the ‘Sixties called Jonny Double and gave it a hard-edged cynical look for the ‘Nineties that was simply beautiful and gruesome at the same time. He writes another ongoing series called 100 Bullets, a formulaic concept that he somehow manages to write wonderfully every month. There is no doubt as to his abilities as a writer.

Tim Bradstreet, the cover artist, has published some amazing pieces of artwork in the past, from his haunting Unknown Soldier covers to his earlier Hellblazer covers, all very spooky stuff.

As for artist Richard Corbin, well, he just sucks. His drawings look like a child’s dolls. He’s supposedly a horror master, but if he is, then Ronald McDonald is God. Sean Phillips, with his use of shadows (perfected by skipping pencils and going directly to inks) and rough drawings is a horror master, but not Corben and his doll-like drawings.

Corben excepted, Azzarello and Bradstreet have proven themselves in the past as worthwhile. However, with the Hard Time storyline, their talent has gone to hell. Bradstreet seems to have lost his eerie edge (which is also evident in his Punisher covers)—he’s grown sloppy with his shadowing technique, and it looks like he’s trying to imitate Corben.

As for Azzarello, he broke one of the rules that has made Hellblazer such a strong comic book for so long: whenever a new writer takes up the reins, the writer always wanders into protagonist John Constantine’s mind and world. Instead, Azzarello plucks Constantine out of his scummy, disease-ridden angst-ridden London and throws him into an American prison. What’s he there for? Azzarello still hasn’t answered that. Constantine has engaged in ample badness in the past, but he’s an ace at avoiding the authorities.

What it comes down to is yet another story about how bad prison life is. Just what the world needs . . . There are times when Hellblazer wants to go back to its more terrifying self, like the bloody shower scene in #146, but for the most part, the horror Azzarello is emphasizing is the horror of prison. You know, sodomy, cigarette debts, skinheads, the occasional body cavity search form a gloved screw, the usual stuff. Again, the dialogue is great, but whatever happened to the old Constantine? The one that tricked the Satan into curing his lung cancer? The one that couldn’t keep his friends alive?

Azzarello, in a recent interview, said that he wanted to emphasize the con man side of Constantine, but the thing is, that’s not all he ever did. Besides, he usually had a reason to screw people over. Here, there’s no reason—he’s just in prison screwing a lot of people over and up.

Azzarello isn’t the right writer for the job. Whatever happened to Warren Ellis’s run? Granted, his one-shot issues weren’t that great, but his Haunted story arc was the last great Hellblazer story. Bad artists are common in Hellblazer, but there has never been a bad writer. Again, Azzarello isn’t a bad writer, but he’s just not right for this comic book.

Oh yeah, and the new trademark sucks, too. Forget the high-tech crap and go back to the old trademark—it was much better.