Girls Gone Geek

Ultimate Comics Spider-Man #13
Writer: Brian Michael Bendis
Pencils: David Lafuente
Colors: Justin Ponsor
Letters: Cory Petit

In its 13 issues so far, Ultimate Comics Spider-Man has proven itself to be just as much of a crackling page-turner as its long-running predecessor, the nearly identically titled Ultimate Spider-Man. Writer Brian Michael Bendis’ style may not be for everyone, but I happen to love his take on beleaguered teen superhero Peter Parker. Even when he’s doing something stupid, Peter is endlessly endearing, and Bendis’ UCSM dialogue often reads like the script for a really good young adult TV show. Think “Freaks and Geeks” meets “Smallville.”

After establishing the nutty state of Peter’s personal life — friends Johnny Storm, Bobby Drake and current girlfriend Gwen Stacy are living with him and Aunt May — Bendis has upped the ante with identity theft: A shape-shifting villain has kidnapped Peter, assumed his visage and … well, let’s just say he’s doing conspicuously uncool things. All comic book villains are bad in their own way, but there’s something unnervingly sinister about this shadowy figure, and he’s not working alone.

One of the interesting things about this arc is the way the nameless bad guy (I call him Anonymous Tool) has pondered Peter’s choices — why a kid with such amazing powers lives in Queens and puts up with idiots like Flash Thompson. He considers Spider-Man a chump who’s wasting his advantages, but he quickly realizes that being him is harder than it looks. Swinging across the New York skyline with a homemade web-shooting device isn’t for the faint of heart, so Anonymous Tool has to give Peter some props, however begrudgingly.

To say that things end on a shocking note is an understatement. Secrets are uncovered (or at least figured out), and without giving too much away, you’ll see newspaper mogul J. Jonah Jameson — or at least an approximation of him — in an entirely new light. Ultimate Comics Spider-Man #13 is a terrific issue overall, and a great deal of credit goes to artist David Lafuente. His pencil work is crisp and energetic, and certain panels — a close-up of a long-faced Jameson comes to mind — really grab and hold the reader.

I’m eager to see if and how Bendis reintroduces Peter’s former flame Kitty Pryde, who remains a fugitive following a disastrous, anti-mutant showdown at school. And now that everyone knows Peter’s immediate ex-girlfriend, Mary Jane, is still in love with him, the unavoidable arguments and relationship renegotiations are sure to be intense. In the meantime, it’s hard to see how Peter is going to escape the truly awful jam he’s in, which has nothing to do with the women in his life. But judging from that last panel, something tells me he’s going to get by with a little help from his super friends.

Vampire Huntress #1
Writer: L.A. Banks with Jess Ruffner
Artist: Brett Booth
Colors: Stephen Downer
Letters: Bill Tortolini

I really want to love Vampire Huntress, the comic book based on L.A. Banks’ popular series about paranormal battle. For one thing, the main character is a black woman, gorgeous spoken word artist (yeah, I know) Damali Richards, who also happens to be a vampire slayer. As The Neteru, a person born every 1,000 years to take on demonic forces, Damali fights the good fight with a band of equally attractive, racially diverse heroes.

Take away the impossibly long torsos, perfect hair and supernatural happenings, and Vampire Huntress is that rare comic that reflects the multi-hued world I live in. That’s definitely something to cheer, and artist Brett Booth’s cover image — Damali strikes a don’t-cross-me-pose, complete with wings and a sword — piqued my curiosity.

The good: The women in this comic book are not to be trifled with. Washboard abs aside, several of them are pregnant (including Damali, who is carrying husband Carlos’ twins), but they refuse to be sidelined when trouble arises. After getting word that a resistance group has been slaughtered, Damali rejects Carlos’ advice to sit out the action, and she and her fellow mothers-to-be bristle at the notion that they need a medic on call: “Nobody in here is disabled,” Damali shoots back.

Booth’s interior art reminds me a little of ‘90s Jim Lee, and that’s certainly not a bad thing. Damali is gorgeously drawn with flowing Nubian locs and the kind of lean, fierce look you’d expect a vampire slayer to have. The female characters’ faces are too similar, but I like Booth’s bent for exaggeration — epic afros and clothes that appear to be painted onto the characters’ bodies. Those highly stylized touches work well here.

Damali comes across as a fully realized character who fights and loves fiercely. There’s a tender opening scene between her and Carlos, and I was struck by how infrequently I’ve seen that kind of romantic interaction between two nonwhite characters in comics.

The meh: Vampire Huntress is meant to be accessible to newbies who haven’t read any of Banks’ novels, but even with a the-story-so-far introduction, I found the entry a little bumpy. The story is likely to resonate much more with readers who have followed Banks’ work and want to see these characters in a different medium. Coming in cold, I just didn’t feel a strong attachment to the players.

The bad: Dialogue can make or break a comic, and nothing hampered my enjoyment of  Vampire Huntress more than the corny lines. Look, I’m not going to pretend I’ve never called my husband “boo,” but the script was working way too hard to remind me that these young vampire hunters have mad flavor, yo. All the fist-pounding and pronouncements of “Feel me?” and “True that” suggest the consultation of  “A Guide to Urban Youth-Speak: 2001 edition.”* (On the other hand, I would pay good money to see a panel of Batman telling Wonder Woman, “I got this, boo.”)

Final verdict: Since this is a first issue with some good bits, I’m willing to give  Vampire Huntress comic a little time to find its legs. As much as I hate spoken-word poetry, I think Damali is an interesting character who represents something comics could use more of. I’m also considering checking out one of L.A. Banks’ novels, since vampires (and their enemies) are all the rage these days.

*I totally made that up.

Superman #701
Writer: J. Michael Straczynski
Artists: Eddy Barrows, Rod Reis (colors) and J.P. Mayer (ink)
Cover: John Cassaday and David Baron
Letters: John J. Hill

There’s nothing new about the similarities between Superman and a certain carpenter from Nazareth, but in some stories, the parallels are neon-sign obvious. Shortly after watching Superman Returns — in which Kal-El even rises from his hospital deathbed after a few days (three?) — my brother asked, “Are we sure this isn’t a movie about Jesus?”

Writer J. Michael Straczynski is an atheist, but he has spoken of Superman in biblical (or, depending on your point of view, mythological) terms. In JMS’ highly anticipated Superman debut, the Man of Steel comes across the way I’ve often imagined Jesus might: captivating, earnest, the tiniest bit smug. He doesn’t carry much in the way of cash or material possessions, and he walks a lot. Wherever he goes, people pepper him with questions, try his patience and practically dare him to use his powers. Sound familiar?

Literally down to Earth, Superman is on a sort of fact-finding stroll through America, telling one journalist, “I’m not flying because I’m walking.” (As a former newspaper reporter, I thought the pack of hero-chasing journalists seemed gratuitously dim, especially considering Clark Kent’s line of work. But maybe they were TMZ types.)

The best moments in this issue are the smallest, like when Superman checks the funds in his cape pocket before ordering a cheese steak sandwich, or when star-struck residents react as if a caped Zac Efron were in their presence. It’s not every day that you see a metahuman celebrity in Philly, and I was charmed by Eddy Barrows’ scenes of grinning, gobsmacked citizens.

Unfortunately, the effort to make Superman “relevant” is all too obvious at times, and the book begins to strain under the weight of its own message. There’s a deeply goofy segment involving some drug dealers who appear to have stepped right out of New Jack City, and Supes has one too many Preachy McPreachypants moments. By the end, I found myself wishing Original Batman were around to bust the guy’s chops. However, despite these stumbles and my lack of any deep investment in Superman (the character or the comic), JMS has laid out an interesting premise — one that makes me want to stick around for at least one more stop on Kal-El’s tour.

The Return of Bruce Wayne #2 (of 6)
Writer: Grant Morrison
Artist: Frazier Irving
Covers: Andy Kubert and Frazier Irving

Is there any reason DC can’t reboot the Dark Knight as a swashbuckling time-traveler with a case of amnesia? In this second installment of Grant Morrison’s series, Bruce Wayne is edgier, sexier and more mysterious in a 17th Century Puritan getup than in his modern-day cowl. The caveman-themed first issue was fine, but all of Morrison’s Weird Epic flourishes are finally in full effect here. Casting Bruce as a detective in witch trials-era Gotham City is a brilliant move, and from the very first panel, Frazier Irving’s gorgeous art gives the whole thing an appropriately cinematic feel. (Spoilers ahead.)

Known to the pre-colonial Gotham dwellers as Brother Mordecai, Bruce rankles the local witch-hunters by using logic to solve crimes instead of superstition. After a widow blames her husband’s demise on the devil, Bruce quickly concludes that the woman dispatched her spouse with a iron soup ladle. He also later blasts the locals for labeling the woman a witch, and using that as an excuse for water torture. It’s a powerful sequence, one that ends with Bruce going off on his chief critic, Brother Malleus: “I save my fire for foes who’ve earned it. Not widow-women who were most likely beaten by their good Christian husbands until they could bear no more.”

This does not go over well. It doesn’t help that Bruce is involved with Annie, a ferret-loving free spirit who is suspected of practicing witchcraft. Meanwhile, Superman, Booster Gold (feat. Skeets), Green Lantern and Rip Hunter are trying to follow Bruce’s trail through time. I’m not going to pretend that I understand anything that happens in this part of the comic, which involves an encounter with a 64th-Century “biorganic archivist” with a heck of a secret identity. He’s all “anti-entropy aegis” this and “cosmic loom” that. Whatever. I love the way Irving illustrates the four heroes, particularly his vaguely emo take on Superman. Thumbs way up, gentlemen.

Justice League: The Rise of Arsenal #3
Writer: J.T. Krul
Pencils: Geraldo Borges, Kevin Sharpe and Sergio Arino
Inks: Mario Alquiza and John Dell
Cover: Greg Horn

So much for the "rise" of Arsenal!

How do you know a book is bad? When your LCS owner — the dude who makes a living selling people comics — says, “After you read this, go ahead and send me an e-mail and tell me you’re canceling it.”

Three issues in, The Rise of Arsenal has gone from being bad in a somewhat amusing way to bad in an “I’m pissed that I spent $3.99 on this shit” way. It has taken a potentially poignant story — hero loses a child, a limb and his purpose — and turned it into a series of mind-numbing cliches. First, we see Red Arrow and Cheshire working through their anger over their daughter’s death by body-slamming each other. Despite being armed with only a stapler(!) and an extension cord, Roy manages to best his former squeeze, who is only a freaking trained assassin. No sooner than you can say, “Surely, this won’t lead to grief sex,” they’re up against a wall. Yes, for real. Only Roy can’t perform because he’s, you know, grieving.

Our hero ends up in rehab after a reunion with heroin, but I defy you to care after the onslaught of nonsense and unappealing art. Greg Horn’s cover sure is nice, but that’s all I’ve got.

Roy, I think we’re done here.

Maybe I was feeling a tad sensitive last week, but there were several comic book moments that left me all verklempt. It was also one of those rare weeks when my pull list produced nothing but hits, with two (Batman and Robin and Secret Six) in a dead heat for first place. There will be spoilers.

Batman and Robin #12: Damian Wayne has haters for days, but the more Grant Morrison delves into his character and unfortunate lineage, the more he grows on me. As the book opens, Damian’s mother, Talia al-Ghul, has literally turned him into a puppet whose movements are being remotely controlled by Deathstroke to kill Dick Grayson. But Talia has (again) underestimated Dick’s Batman-certified skills, as well as her son’s ability to resist manipulation. Once Dick and Alfred shut down the puppet show, Damian decides to confront his mother, who offers an ultimatum: Come back home, or consider yourself my enemy. No one will ever accuse the littlest Wayne of being cuddly, but when Damian asks her, “Can’t you just love me for who I am? Not what you want me to be?” we’re reminded that he is, after all, just a 10-year-old boy. As expected, Talia’s response is not the stuff of greeting cards — and it is thoroughly on. A moving story, plus the no-they-didn’t ending revealing creepy Oberon Sexton’s identity, adds up to one awesome issue. Dick wins the Best Line Award for his response to Damian’s concern that Talia will have him killed: “She can try.”

Secret Six #21: Am I the only one who hears Young Joc’s “It’s Going Down” while reading Secret Six? Because every time I think Gail Simone’s scripts can’t get any more gangster, she finds a bigger machine gun. This book almost never fails to deliver a satisfying blend of poignancy, spit-out-your-Coke-Zero humor and medieval conflict. Tom’s (Catman) early memories, dominated by his repugnant father, are gut-wrenching, thanks to J. Caliafore’s all-too-vivid illustrations. Back in the present day, the anti-hero is on a mission to punish the crew that kidnapped (and possibly killed) his infant son, and his former teammates are following the trail of corpses. The Sixers have seen just about everything, so you know it’s bad when they’re taken aback. After observing the sliced-and-diced remains of one of Catman’s victims, the usually unflappable Deadshot says, “All right. I don’t know what normal people think. This is &^%$ed up, right?” Yeah, but it’s a tea party compared to what Tom has in store for the sadist, metahuman thug, Loki. It involves back trouble, and very big cats.

Red Robin #12: I’d say any comic that shows Ra’s al-Ghul stammering in disbelief is worth $2.99, but in this issue, Tim Drake cracks Mr. al-Ghul’s face — at least metaphorically — with flair. With a little help from his super friends, my favorite Robin thwarts an elaborate plot to kill Bruce Wayne’s associates and bilk Wayne Enterprises. Ra’s throws Tim’s battered body through a skyscraper window, but Dick Grayson (in Batman mode) grabs him right on time. Call me a sap, but I really dug the moment when Dick asks Tim how he knew he’d be there to save him. “You’re my brother, Dick. You’ll always be there for me.” Sniffle! The Best Line Award goes to Damian Wayne, who goes off on his grandpa via walkie-talkie for sending rank amateurs to take him down: “Really, Grandfather? Ninja? I’m insulted.” Writer Chris Yost is moving on after this issue, but he’s ended his Red Robin run on a high note.

Brightest Day #1: Now this is more like it. Following the #0 issue that left about as much of an impression as zero suggests, Brightest Day #1 (or at least part of it) finally feels like an epic adventure with some surprises up its sleeve. I certainly appreciated the moment when Aquaman and Mera put a hurting on some child kidnappers at sea, and a pedophile’s death-by-undead-shark was a particularly awesome touch. However, the subplots are breaking down neatly into care/don’t care categories: Filed under “care” are the Aqua posse (including) scary Black Manta, Martian Manhunter, Hawkman and Hawkgirl. In my “don’t care” category are Firestorm (sorry, Shag), Boston Brand and Hal Jordan/Carol Ferris/Sinestro. I’m just a tiny bit burned out on these three lanterns in general. Nothing personal, guys.

What did you like last week?