THE JOHN BRUNI MUSEUM OF MEDIOCRE (AT BEST) SHIT #14: REVIEW OF TRANSMETROPOLITAN #27

[I was fairly certain no one read my comic book reviews, and this one convinced me of it. All this talk about backup vaginal orifices to joints in a penis flew right by everyone. This review is actually kind of good. I stand by it today. I also find it funny that I considered Warren Ellis as “Hellblazer’s Warrn Ellis.” From the Elmhurst College Leader, October  2, 1999.]

Transmetropolitan, the world’s dirtiest, most viciously crass comic, has once more stepped over the boundaries of good taste. That’s not a bad thing—in fact, while the humor is pretty low, it’s also very intelligently written by Hellblazer’s Warren Ellis.

Journalist Spider Jerusalem is the most unique hero in the history of comics. There are no superpowers here, just an unwavering dedication to the Truth. He doesn’t care about journalistic ethics. As he says, “The truth . . . that’s all I need.”

The latest installment of Transmet introduces an undoubtedly illegal form of journalism called monstering, or “the art of ambushing people . . . with questions . . . driving them to their graves.” Spider and his filthy assistants decide to try this out on a senator who has been accused of funding porno movies under the table, hounding him with typical Spider questions like, “Do you have a joint in your penis, Mr. Sweeney?” At one point, he even demands Senator Sweeney to “show us your penis!”

Spider despises traditional forms of journalism, just as Dr. Hunter S. Thompson did when he invented Gonzo Journalism. The news shouldn’t be written with a cold, almost robotic voice. Spider says that journalism is truly “caring about the world you report on.” There should be emotion in journalism, and even bias. Journalists should be pissed off and should make that clear to his/her audience. Of course, Spider brings this even further, and he starts babbling about “possessed journalists with fiery eyes and steaming genitalia.”

The world of Trasmet is the future, and thus Spider has a legion of toys to get to the Truth with. At one point, a hologram of Spider’s head appears in Sweeney’s toilet and starts asking questions when Sweeney is trying to take care of business. At another point, Spider is able to get information from a small floating globe that is apparently a bug that overhears Sweeney talking to his transient (people who alter their genes to look like aliens) daughter about how she “grew a backup vaginal orifice.”

This futuristic world is brought to reality with the superb artwork of Darick Robertson. Someone once described it as “brain candy,” and it’s true. Each time you look at the artwork, there’s something new to find, whether it be crazy soda products like Ebola Cola, or references to Preacher, a comic written by Ellis’s friend, Garth Ennis. No one can draw as demented as Robertson.

Yes. Transmet is extremely offensive, but it’s also extremely entertaining. One way or the other, it’s definitely something that can’t be forgotten—Spider Jerusalem constantly makes sure of that.

THE JOHN BRUNI MUSEUM OF MEDIOCRE (AT BEST) SHIT #10: REVIEW OF HELLBLAZER (DON'T REMEMBER THE ISSUE NUMBER)

[Here’s a little nugget of information I remembered upon rereading this piece: I didn’t come to Warren Ellis through Transmetropolitan, as I had previously believed. Nope, I came to him through his Hellblazer run. That’s odd. Anyway, I had just discovered Hellblazer a few months before I wrote this. It was the first comic book I found on my own without the assistance of a friend. I devoured the whole run so far (even the one Neil Gaiman wrote that is hard to find and a bit on the expensive side). So, all things considered, I was new to the book at the time. I still can’t believe Vertigo killed it to bring Constantine back into the DCU so he could rub elbows with the likes of Superman and the rest. Ah well. This is from the Elmhurst College Leader, April 27, 1999.]

The first and foremost question on all Hellblazer fans’ minds is, “How’s the new team doing?” Put simply, don’t worry about the integrity of this comic. Tim Bradstreet, who worked on Unknown Soldier, follows in Sean Phillips’s footsteps, capturing the moody darkness of John Constantine’s world on very devious looking covers.

John Higgins is not disappointing, either. In a comic where artists have been a dime a dozen (a lot of whom didn’t know what they were doing), Mr. Higgins is definitely one of the best. He combines the shadowy, ink-laden art of Sean Phillips with Steve Dillon’s sense of the real world. He just has one problem—drawing blood. It just seems unreal and out of place. Then again, that could be the colorist’s problem. It’s hard to tell. One way or the other, Higgins makes up for this in his own sick way. Haine (issue 137) has got to be the most repulsive looking human being I’ve ever seen, aside from maybe Arseface of Preacher fame.

The glittering gem, though, is writer Warren Ellis. Oddly enough, he didn’t start out where Paul Jenkins, the last regular writer, left off. Instead he brings us a story of his own, which is a bit reminiscent of the days of Ennis. Ellis’s first story arc, “Haunted,” still has two issues to go, but it’s vintage Constantine already. An ex-girlfriend of his has been murdered Ripper-style, and John’s trying to find out what happened, and well, this is familiar territory. While the plot is the basic revenge story, it’s the population of his search that is unique. The first person he goes to is a leery, questionable detective named Watford. As usual, John has something on him that makes Watford cooperate. He’s a twisted man who likes to look at crime scene photos, and his blunt nature is beyond tactless. When he tells John the victim had VD (there was a very grotesque image that went with it), he added, “Any road up. It has a quick wash. We’ve got the flannel. Pus and come.” That, in addition to continuously refer to the victim as “it” instead of “she” is definite grounds for a beating I’m sure John will administer in the future.

Another contact, a guy named Map, is just plain odd. He’s apparently a very powerful magus that works in the subway tunnels under London. Then there’s Hawkstorm, a magician/pimp/electrician. His brother, another lunatic, was told by Jesus to cut off his own, ah . . . ahem!

One thing Ellis is bent on is the idea of a dark and foreboding London. The scene with the kid blowing his mind with an air freshener isn’t very optimistic about the youth of the UK. Neither is the naked baby lost in the alley. Very depressing stuff.

On a lighter note, it’s very good to see Chas again, considering his absence throughout most of Jenkins’s run. John is also seeing ghosts again, except she’s not out for his blood like the others.

Speaking of friends, no one close to John has died yet during his investigation. Give it time, though. It’s pretty early in Ellis’s run. John will get them all killed eventually. It wouldn’t be Hellblazer any other way.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #257: THE REASON WHY

This is the 257th installment of GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS. What have I been doing with this? Sometimes I wonder, myself. How did it keep going so long? What is the purpose? How did this become a pattern in my life?


Well, it hasn't been much of a pattern lately. I'm fucking depressed as all hell. My square job is slowly killing me. I like the people I work with. I love the way we interact. The job is OK, too, with the exception of Wednesday night. The commute, though, is destroying my will to live. When I first got the job I found myself making a choice when I got home: write or work out? Can't have both. I chose write for a long time, but I haven't been getting good stuff lately. It's gotten to the point where I choose neither. The only writing I'm getting done these days is my work on the Zimventures, and that's a fucking joke. Besides, they are already written. I'm just changing them. Improving (I hope) them. I get home from work. I shower the day away. And I lose myself in fast food, booze and TV shows. And then I go to bed. And I go to bed so late that it's not worth writing a GF post because no one will read it.


This started when I was inspired by Warren Ellis and Brian Keene. They wrote something the very instant they got out of bed and posted it for the world to see. I love that writing exercise, except I am a very cranky son of a bitch when I wake up. I am not suitable for words when I'm fresh from slumber. My solution: GF is going to be the very last thing I do before I go to bed every night (hence the title). I think it has worked out pretty well. For the most part.


As I get older I think more about GF and its purpose. Now I consider it more of a diary than anything else. But . . . I've been thinking about my own mortality recently. I don't think I'm long for this world. It's not just my bad habits. Maybe it's paranoid, but I feel like I'm being hunted very slowly. Not by anything physical, of course. Just hunted by my own impending death. Maybe it has to do with the fact that next year I'm going to be 40. I thought I'd already had my midlife crisis back in my twenties. I don't know.


But I think the purpose of GF is more than just a diary. I think it's an accounting of my memories. An accounting of who I am for any archaeologist who gives a shit. I'm reading T.C. Boyle's The Inner Circle. I've always been fascinated by Alfred Kinsey. I would have loved to give up my sexual history to him personally. To have been a "friend of the research."


Instead I'm going to give up my history to you all, for whatever it might be worth.


Here's a memory for you. I have been writing every since I was a child. When I was in seventh grade my English teacher--who I had an enormous crush on--had a project for the class. She said that we were going to all write a book together, and it was to be the life story of a human being. Each of us would write a chapter.


I still have a copy of this book. It's really about twenty pages of photocopied text with an occasional picture. Maybe I have the only extant copy. Who knows? But it's in the pile of stuff with POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS and that issue of SHROUD I was in, etc.


Luck of the draw: I got the final chapter. My teacher was very aware of my personal trauma, and she said that if I wanted another chapter, she could reassign it. No, I told her. I really wanted the final chapter. Why?


I helped create the guy. His career. His loves and his hates. I even gave him his first name: Montgomery. Even back then I was a huge Star Trek guy, and I named him after Scotty. I knew all about him before the other students even had a chance to delve into his character.


Why did I want the last chapter? I've never told this to anyone before. I don't know why. I don't see anything wrong with it. It just reaffirms how I've always felt about beloved characters. But here it is. Confession time.


I wanted the last chapter because I wanted the honor of killing him.


To those of you who read my fiction, this will probably make a ton of sense.


This is me. This is who I've always been. If you want my history, it is here in all the GFs I've ever written. If you wanted to piece together who I am, this is what you need to read.


Of course, I'm assuming anyone gives a shit. But maybe, just maybe, some archaeologist will discover the internet long after we've all perished. Maybe that scientist will try to piece together who we were. Maybe they can even turn the internet back on and find my mad ramblings here.


This is all data, no matter how silly or stupid it might be. And I hope I can contribute to the charts of whoever comes next.


Goodnight, fuckers.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #88: COMIC BOOK READER

In the wake of the new season of COMIC BOOK MEN, I feel the need to talk about my love of comic books. Since I started reviewing comic books for the Elmhurst College LEADER in 1998, I've been considered a comic book reader. To be fair, I did this long before. I loved comics when I was a kid, and I didn't stop until Marvel's incarnation of THE TRANSFORMERS ended, much to my chagrin. Years later, CJ, a friend I'd met during my senior year of high school, got me back into comics with EVIL ERNIE, PREACHER and HITMAN. Three years later, I was writing reviews for the LEADER as the first comic book reviewer EVER on staff. My time there won me an award from the Chicago TRIBUNE. (I got two, actually, but I only got one for my comic book work.)


Still, whenever I mention my love of comic books, people assume I'm talking about superheroes. This pisses me off a great deal, because not all comic books are about superheroes. In fact, I don't like superheroes. I know, that's blasphemy in this age of Marvel movies. Let me make myself clear: I love the superhero movies, but I can't stand the superhero comic books. I'm not condemning those books. It's a matter of taste. I don't like them, but I don't hate people who like them. That's your business, not mine.


I don't really read superhero comic books. The only time I do is when a writer I respect is writing them. There are a handful of great superhero stories, I think. One of them is obviously WATCHMEN. Another is THE BOYS, which is one of the greatest comic books ever written. I loved Mark Millar's take on OLD MAN LOGAN. The same goes for David Morrell's take on SAVAGE WOLVERINE. And then there's books like Brian Azzarello's WONDER WOMAN and so on and so forth.


But ultimately, those aren't the books I'm interested in, aside from THE BOYS. I think superheroes are stupid. I find it's a fucking shame that the average person isn't aware that comic books are more than some person wearing skintight underwear facing off against criminal/evil alien villains. I want PREACHER. I want TRANSMETROPOLITAN. I want 100 BULLETS. And yes, I want LOCKE & KEY. How about AMERICAN VAMPIRE? Or DICKS? Or CROSSED? Or THE FADE OUT? Or CRIMINAL or FATALE? FBP? SAGA? SEX CRIMINALS? STRAY BULLETS? TREES? How about DORK and MILK AND CHEESE? I could go on forever, but most average people, whenever they think of comic books, will think about Superman, Batman, the X-Men, Spider-Man and whoever else wears spandex tight enough to show the shape of their genitals.


I love Tommy Monaghan, one of the few guys in the old DCU who took the piss out of superheroes on a regular basis. He puked on Batman and showed how Green Lantern was a cheapskate. Or how about THE BOYS, who policed the degenerate supes?


But . . . the loyal fans of HITMAN remember very well that there was one superhero who had earned Tommy's trust: Superman. And just like that, I can appreciate certain things about the comic book superheroes.


Whenever someone brings something cool into the Stash on COMIC BOOK MEN, I can truly appreciate it. I'm wowed. I'm very interested to see how these things turn out, because they're historical documents.


But let's be honest. Superheroes should have died out long ago. Marvel manages to keep them alive, for the most part. I don't like a lot of their methods, but they have their hearts in the right place. DC, on the other hand, has driven their titles into the ground. They don't know what the fuck they're doing. If their BATMAN/SUPERMAN movie succeeds, it will only be because people were curious enough to see it. Not because it's great, though.


Some superheroes are immortal, and that's fine. Those who aren't should have been released a while ago. The Big Two work constantly to reinvent these characters, but in all honesty, I think they should just be released. If they continue with new people behind the mask, then it's the same ol' bullshit as ever. If there's a reboot, no matter how much you change it, it's still the same ol' bullshit as ever. If you let these characters die? They can serve a narrative purpose.


Reboots only serve as commercial agents. Actually killing characters off would serve stories very well. Not like I give a shit. Just give me my non-superhero books, and I'll be satisfied.


But what the fuck do I care? You guys fuck around with your superhero comics, and I'll stay over here with the other stuff. Goodnight, fuckers.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #18: VERTIGO

It always makes me happy when I see Vertigo doing one of their preview books. These days, they're for free, although in the past they've charged, and I've willingly paid. Once upon a time, Vertigo was my favorite comics company, since they put out the best books I'd ever read (PREACHER, TRANSMETROPOLITAN, 100 BULLETS, hell, you know me and what I like). (And yes, I know that TRANSMET started as a Helix book. Quit nitpicking.) I'm more of an Avatar Press kind of guy now. (Big surprise, considering they've worked with Vertigo greats like Ennis, Ellis, Delano, etc.)


This new preview is nice, in that it reminds everyone what Vertigo is doing right now with great books like AMERICAN VAMPIRE, FBP and so on, but it's also giving us a peek of what's to come. Sad to say, their new fare doesn't look very interesting to me. BODIES has some great creative-types attached to it, but the story doesn't look very appealing. I love Peter Milligan's work, but THE NAMES looks like heavy-handed crap. THE KITCHEN could be interesting. It's a hard-crime look at the 'Seventies in Hell's Kitchen, but told from the female perspective. What they sample, though, doesn't look that great. I'll probably give it a shot.


The one that looks most promising is SUICIDERS. I'm a fan of Lee Bermejo's artwork, but this will be the first time I'll get a taste of his writing skills. I love the cover, and the sample is just over the top awesome. Of the new batch, I look forward to this one the most. I'm glad to see it's a monthly, although I have no idea how Bermejo will get that much work done. Have you seen his art? It's insanely intricate. Writing and illustrating this book should put him through the ringer, but I love what I'm seeing so far.

EVERYONE'S GOT ONE #30: TWEETING TALES

Before we begin, I have a confession to make: I haven’t read anything by David Mitchell. I hear a lot of good things about his work from people I respect. I have CLOUD ATLAS on my reading list, but I don’t know when I’m going to get to it. But what I just said is almost not true anymore, at least not as of July 15, 2014, because Mitchell is doing something rather interesting on his Twitter feed: he’s tweeting a short story, 140 characters at a time.

The idea appeals to me directly as a writer. I’m constantly trying to think of new ways to tell tales. Some of my experiments succeed (see “Unkillable” in MORPHEUS TALES and “Amber” in TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE for these), but most fail (take a look in my drawer for these, if you can get past me first). Putting a story out through Twitter is a very fascinating idea, so you can imagine I looked it up right away to see what it was like.

First of all, I like Mitchell’s style. From what I’ve seen so far, I like what he’s doing. Yet . . . maybe it’s a bit soon for me to talk about this story, since it’s not finished yet, but so far I don’t think it’s living up to its potential. Right now, I think it’s coming off as a gimmick, nothing more.

What the story needs is a reason to be told through Twitter. I lucked out: I came to it a bit late in the game, so I was able to read a good chunk of it back to back. For those reading it as each tweet comes out? I don’t think it would be a very good reading experience. It reminds me a bit of Warren Ellis and Jason Howard’s SCATTERLANDS experiment. They were telling a comic book story by posting one panel every day. Again, a wonderful idea, but flawed.

Mitchell’s story suffers from the same problem that SCATTERLANDS does: it is unnecessarily divided in the way that it is. Perhaps I would get more of a kick out of it if Twitter was actually involved in the plot. Or if the protagonist lived in a world where people could only speak in 140-character increments. Or something. I know those are lame examples (which is why I haven’t gotten a lot of attention with a Twitter story of my own), but you get the idea.

Have you ever watched a TV version of a movie? The ones edited for time and content? Something’s always off about them. That’s because the network has to edit them down so they fit into perfect 13 minute increments. Or 15. Or whatever. Because of that, it fucks with the flow of the movie. It’s kind of like listening to a song when the bass player is out of phase with everyone else.

You can’t take, say, a novel and cut it up into 20-page increments and just post it like that. Mitchell’s story just seems like it was cut into those 140-character pieces just because that’s what Twitter demands. He’s the bass player, and he’s out of phase with the reader.

Not only that, but based on the delivery system, it makes things really hard for a reader. Say it’s been a while since you could check back with the story. All of a sudden, you find that you have to go back and read the previous entries because something might have slipped your mind. Or you start to wonder if you missed something. That feeling that you’re Donny in THE BIG LEBOWSKI starts to set in.

I had that problem with SCATTERLANDS constantly. It’s hard to get a cohesive idea of story, and when that happens, it’s easy for a reader to feel alienated from what’s going on. Sometimes, it feels like having a conversation with someone who doesn’t recognize and understand social cues.

I never want to make it hard for my readers. That’s not to say I don’t write complex things with action between the lines and implications that might need deductive thinking. That’s all good, and I enjoy that. What I mean is, I don’t want my readers to have the impression that they’re reading something.

I’m not stupid, and neither are my readers. Every reader EVER knows with 100% certainty that they’re reading something someone made up. But for me, the cardinal sin is letting the readers feel that truth. I want them to be so lost in my words that they forget they’re reading a book.

This isn’t working for Mitchell’s story. Based on the delivery system, it might be impossible. I don’t want to believe it is, though. There’s got to be someone out there who can make this medium work as a way of believably telling fiction. The idea is just too good to let go.

I end most of these things asking you all if you think I’m full of shit. Despite getting a significant number of Everyone’s Got One readers, no one ever does this. I can’t be right all the time . . . can I? Let me know in the comments below.

NEW REVIEWS

Please be sure to check out a couple of new reviews that just went up this week on other sites.


First off, I did a comic book review for the Napalm Reviews. It's of Warren Ellis's new book, MOON KNIGHT #1, and you can read it here.


I also did a movie review for Forced Viewing. It's a look at one of my favorite films ever, GODS AND MONSTERS, and you can read it here.


Thanks, as always, for reading!

COOL SHIT 1-16-14

GRAVEL: COMBAT MAGICIAN #0: FUCK YES! The return of William Gravel! I’ve been a fan of this book since I stumbled upon the first issue of STRANGE KISS at the Graham Crackers in Wheaton. Hot off the fucking press. I only wish that Warren Ellis was still writing it. Don’t get me wrong, I like Mike Wolfer, but Ellis brought a harder edge (and a darker humor) to Gravel. In this one, Gravel expounds on the history of combat magic in Britain, and of course he has to go up against a French combat magician. This is a bit of an odd #0, though. Usually, when Avatar Press does a #0, it’s a smaller book, maybe 99-cents, with a black and white preview, or maybe the first five pages of the first issue with a bunch of artist sketches. This one is fucking massive and comes in at $4.99 with a story of its own, which looks a lot to me like an issue one. There is a great combat log in the back of the book, giving readers Gravel’s history, starting with STRANGE KISS and going through to the final issue of GRAVEL. (Although the order is kind of off, and I can’t figure out why.)

CRYPTOZOIC MAN #3: This is an odd book for me. I can read any comic book with shitty art, just so long as the story is good. I’ve been fond of saying the opposite is not true. No matter how good the art, if the story sucks, I can’t get through it. I’m not saying the story of this book sucks. I just can’t get into it. However, the art is so mindblowingly amazing, I can’t ignore this book. There are so many great images, I found it really hard to settle on the one I wanted to sample for Cool Shit. I think I made the right choice, though.

GOD IS DEAD #5: OK, the gods are still kicking the shit out of each other. That’s not the cool part about this book. You know how the geniuses are trying to create gods of their own to fight the real gods? Well . . . they succeeded with this issue, and not in a good way. That last panel will make you clench your asshole.

NEXT TESTAMENT #7: This is probably my favorite miniseries going on right now, and Clive Barker and Mark Miller have upped the ante big time with this issue. God demands that his new followers fucking BUILD HIM A PYRAMID. When they fuck it up, he gets rid of them all. Next on the agenda? Blacking out the sun and raising a plague of locusts. And he’s acting like he just did everyone a favor. It’s unreal how good this book is.