Showing posts with label steve dillon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label steve dillon. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

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.

Friday, October 6, 2017

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.

Saturday, October 22, 2016

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #229: RIP STEVE DILLON

Once upon a time my favorite living comic book artist was Steven Hughes. Some of you kids might not remember him, but he was primarily known as the co-creator of Evil Ernie and Lady Death along with writer Brian Pulido. Hughes was a fucking rock star. He was a wonderful horror/fantasy artist. He could do anything. One of my favorite images in comics history is when Evil Ernie ripped off both of Dr. Price's arms and shoved a mop handle through the stumps to prop him up. It's a wonderfully horrific scene, and Hughes pulled it off like a champ. I only wish he could have been there for Ernie's final battle with Price.


I got to meet Hughes once. I was surprised at how frail he seemed. He had a weak handshake. I was shocked that such powerful art could come from a guy like that. He couldn't have been nicer. He was one of the most quiet, polite guys I've ever met. I didn't know at the time. I guess no one did except his close circle of loved ones.


I walked into my comic book shop one day, and my dealer gave me the bad news. Steven Hughes had passed away. Cancer. Fucking cancer. He had it when I'd met him. Goddam, that was his strength. He was dying before my very eyes, and he still did the show. Do you realize how much strength that takes?


Fast forward to earlier today. Steve Dillon is my favorite living comic book artist. And then I turned on fucking Twitter. Jesus Christ. We don't have a cause of death yet, but he was a young guy. A lot of people are suggesting it was booze related. I don't know the truth. Whatever killed him is horrible. He was a talent taken from us waaaaaaaay too soon.


He co-created my favorite comic book of all time, PREACHER. If you doubt his talents, pick up an issue. Or go for HELLBLAZER. Or PUNISHER. Fuck.


I never got to meet him. I had a chance at this year's C2E2. I was super excited for it. And then . . . then I got sick, and I had to skip it. I regret that from the very bottom of my soul.


A while back I had a conversation with a fellow horror/bizarro author. I won't mention who in case that person doesn't want it to be public knowledge, but we were talking about the death of Nick Cave's son. It sounds horrible, and I realize it, but I pledged to be completely honest with all of these GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS. We were in agreement: Nick Cave's next album would be really fucking good. I haven't gotten SKELETON TREE yet, but I feel that his son's death would have a profound effect on his work.


Yeah. I know. That's a shitty thing to say or think. And I'm about to say something else that's also shitty, but I'd be less than honest if I didn't say it.


We are never going to get Ennis and Dillon's dream project now. Some of you might remember that they were planning an epic for Vertigo called CITY LIGHTS. I've been salivating for that thing for years, and we're never going to get it. Maybe Ennis could get someone else, but it wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be the vision.


So I went into my comic book shop today. I asked my dealer, "Did you hear about Steve Dillon?" He said he didn't, and I told him about it. He was shocked. I hadn't realized how much this had mirrored our earlier conversation about Steven Hughes until this very moment as I'm writing about it. He reacted the very same way I'd reacted to him years before.


I can't believe Steve Dillon is gone. I can't believe we're never going to get another Ennis/Dillon series. He really, truly was one of the best. Now he has entered the pantheon of greatest comic book artists. I'd put him in the top 5. I'm not sure yet where, but he's up there.


It's so unfair. The life of a comic book artist is not very financially rewarding, especially now. I'm sure he did all right, being an artist for both DC and Marvel, but still. He had AMC money rolling in now. It's not right.


Rest in peace, Steve Dillon.






















































If you want to know who my favorite living comic book artist is now, I haven't decided. It's either Gabriel Rodriguez or Darick Robertson. If you haven't, hunt down LOCKE & KEY, TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE, THE GREAT AND SECRET SHOW, TRANSMETROPOLITAN and THE BOYS to see why. Just fuckin' do it, all right?