Conan the Barbarian #1 by Brian Wood and Becky Cloonan

I’ve never been much into Conan the Barbarian. I’ve read one previous Conan comic, and have seen about fifteen minutes of one of the Arnold Schwarzenegger films. I’ve never read a single Robert E. Howard story either, even though I have a soft spot for pulp. What I’m saying here is that I went into this new Conan series with no real knowledge of the character beyond the fact that he is a muscle bound man with a questionable seen of morals, (in my opinion), and he likes to yell “Crom!” and variations thereon. The reason that I went out of my way to pick up this book at my local comic book shop was because of the artist attached: Becky Cloonan. I’m a big fan of her work, and try to pick up the vast majority of the books she does. She was the reason that I braved my first comic convention, (though I feel it best to use the loose definition of convention when talking about the Toronto Comic Arts Festival since it’s not one of those events full of cosplay and memorabilia, but simply a place to meet artists).  Cloonan is an artist I enjoy for her range of styles both thematically and stylistically. She employs a number of different brush and pen techniques to depict everything from anime inspired action sequences to alt-punk cityscapes to creatures of horrifying macabre. As an added benefit, Brian Wood does the writing duties, and while I usually trade wait (the act of waiting to buy a comic until after the issues are collected into a book) his work, he is pretty high up there on my list of writers I trust explicitly to give me a strong story.

Conan the Barbarian #1 is the first part of the Queen of the Black Coast, which was an original Conan story written by Robert E. Howard, here adapted by Wood and Cloonan. In it we meet Conan, who having caused a disturbance in the city, flees by boat in order to get away (even though Conan later seems shocked when a character mentions that they should run away from a different situation, albeit one with slightly better odds). While on the boat, Conan learns of a pirate queen named Bêlit, who is the scourge of the sea. Conan decides he must fight her to alleviate the danger she poses to those on the sea, although he may have also been smitten by the idea of her (or the fact that she wears very little in the clothing department, this being a Conan story and all). To continue the story we will have to wait for issue two, although there are some details I’ve left out so not to spoil any more of the story if you have a mind to read it.

The whole thing sounds like a straight up little story, and because of the source material I’m sure it’s quite restrained, though I don’t know enough about the stories to know if there is going to be something deeper than what has already been presented. I’m betting on not, but that isn’t really a deal breaker either. Brian Wood is known for his many creator-owned series, including Northlanders, which featured straight up Viking action with a bit of intellect behind it, and while reading this issue of Conan, I get a similar vibe. I’m happy with where the story is going, and I’m looking forward to the next issue. It pretty much delivered exactly what I was expecting plot wise, and thus, I am content.

Art wise, this book is pretty good. It has all of the violent grace that Cloonan can deliver, and every panel flows quite well. The treat is that this story is set mostly on the sea, and for me, my favourite thing for Cloonan to draw is water. Her waves have an icy, dark look to them that oozes atmosphere and really sets the feel for the book. This is definitely the story to start a new Conan series with when you have Becky Cloonan on art duties. The only other artists that come close to drawing water this good are the brothers Fábio Moon and Gabriel Bá, but I’d still take Cloonan over them.

What took me by surprise in this book was the lettering. Richard Starkings, (with his Comicraft fonts), managed to create a noticeably unique reading experience by evoking a distinctive voice for Conan, and kept the pulpy feel that the book needs to have as an underpinning. The narrative textboxes all use a typewriter font, feeling like Howard was plucking away at this desk while telling the story, and Conan’s speech bubbles have a jagged edge that speak to the character both vocally and emotionally (rough and raw). Conan’s speech bubbles were subtle enough that I didn’t notice it the first time through, but my brain still subconsciously recognized that Conan sounded gruffer and more hard edged when compared to everyone else he spoke with.

This is the first time I have been confronted with a Conan story -that while not perfect, was exceptionally close- which makes me want to continue to read more. The choice of creative team is right up my alley and I can’t wait to see what they have in store for me next month.

Wallace and Gromit in A Close Shave

I was first introduced to Wallace and Gromit through the Wallace and Gromit’s Grand Adventures episodic adventure games made by Telltale Games a few years back. I fell in love with the designs and characters, and found the inventions and occupations of Wallace delightfully funny. Eventually, I saw the Wallace and Gromit 20^th Anniversary Collection in a store for a good price and I picked it up. I’ve very slowly worked my way through the first two shorts, (A Grand Day Out and The Wrong Trousers), and finally have taken the time to sit down and watch this third one, A Close Shave.

A Close Shave follows the adventures of Wallace and his dog Gromit –now working as window cleaners- as they slowly become entangled in malicious sheep kidnappings. As with each of the previous Wallace and Gromit shorts, (all directed by Nick Park, the creator of the character), the premise is simple and the payoff is huge. We get sight gags every few minutes, beautiful stop motion animation that boggles the mind, and a tight, quick moving story. It’s pure entertainment, and I can’t imagine anyone not enjoying it unless they are against having fun (or if they hate stop animation, I guess). The fact that it won an Academy Award at least suggests it has some merit, even to the grumblers.

As I already mentioned, the animation is great. The facial expressions and animations are suburb, but that is pretty much expected from a high quality stop motion film. The way that the little things are done is what got me when I watched this. The way oatmeal pours out of a hole in the box wowed me. The animator’s ability to show resigned acceptance in Gromit’s face whenever Wallace does something ridiculous always makes me smile. The funny and foreshadowing headlines in the many, many newspapers being read add a layer of storytelling that would otherwise slow the pace down with exposition, although younger kids will just have to accept the leaps in narrative if the whole family isn’t watching together, (though I get the impression that for many, Wallace and Gromit is a family affair).

My favourite sequences seem always to involve Gromit in these shorts, and this time is no exception. There is one sequence where Gromit is doing a massive, 5000 piece puzzle, and we see him finishing the last few pieces. He is simply staring glumly off into space, while one paw is mechanically picking up each piece and placing it perfectly into the puzzle. It’s both wonderfully absurd and yet it shows just how morose Gromit is. Everyone can at least subconsciously relate to being so deeply sad that each thing they do is just a mechanical action, where no practical thought goes into performing the daily routine while a troubling event is mulled over. Here Gromit does just that, humoring the audience while at the same time taping into that emotional state, which we project back onto Gromit. Subtly brilliant stuff.

A Close Shave is a great little short. With A Grand Day Out, by the end I was ready for it to be finished, and it came very close to overstaying its welcome. I felt that The Wrong Trousers was just the right length, and I could see how this short would spark such a love for the character that people seem to have. With A Close Shave, it felt over all too quick, leaving me with a desire for more, and if that isn’t a good way to judge whether something is good or not, I don’t know what is.

Black Swan directed by Darren Aronofsky

After many, many people telling me that they thought Black Swan is my type of movie, I have finally sat down and watched it. I watched it properly too; this kind of film is meant to be watched alone, in the dark, and ideally, with a good sound set up. Somehow, I got lucky and managed this. Neither the in-the-dark part, nor the alone part for that matter, was difficult to pull off. The surround sound was just me being fortunate to have a friend with a nice home theater system and me being left to my own devices in said friend’s home for an evening. Here is where I open up; I have always loved the music for Swan Lake, and thus the reason why I felt the necessity of a good sound system. It’s not for the wonderfully haunting whispers of things just off screen that pull the eye, (and camera), to things previously lurking unnoticed, though that is a plus. It’s the score that made this film for me. Beautiful orchestration for some of the key movements of Swan Lake, as well as the companion pieces chosen to round out the soundtrack, made the film an auditory pleasure.

 In fact, so much of this film is a pleasure, it would be impossible to sum up everything I loved. The pacing of the film was tight and fluid, and the story itself was enjoyable. It features a young ballerina named Nina, (played by Natalie Portman), who wants desperately to land the role of the Swan Queen in her company’s production of Swan Lake. The role, along with her relationship with a new addition to the company and her need for perfection slowly consumes her right up until the film’s end credits. 

Along with the story itself, the striking swan transformation special effects were mesmerizing and the symbolism was thick and heavy -I’ve never seen so many mirrors in a movie before- but yet didn’t feel like I was being hit with the obvious stick overly often. The cinematography complemented -and helped create- the tone of each scene, and we got to see Natalie Portman actually act again. This is a key point for me. I think Portman can be a fantastic actress, but so many films just don’t seem to use her for much more than an object for other actors to say lines at. Other times her range feels choked or she is limited to being the girl who gets sad or laughs a lot. With this film I felt run through the paces along with her character. Her whole performance spoke to the character’s desperation, fear, entrapment, inner lust for freedom, as well as her desire to be noticed and needed. Portman as an actress became invisible to me, and she became Nina. When an actor or actress can embody a role so completely that I no longer think of them as anything but the character, they have succeed in their portrayal.

A film like this screams for multiple viewings. The symbolism and foreshadowing would be even more of treat knowing where the film is going to end, (and trust me, I’d totally write a thousand words about them and my interpretation of them if I was feeling pretentious), and the cinematography made each scene its own little set piece in my mind, prepping me for a second view. The actors and actresses in the film were all wonderful to watch, with Portman giving a breathtaking performance.

Oh, and the score. Did I mention the score? That alone makes me want to watch the whole thing over again right now.

Horns by Joe Hill

“When it comes to revenge, the devil is in the details” 

 – from the novel’s dust jacket.

Joe Hill is an author that I have followed very closely since first discovering his comic series Locke and Key. He has this brilliant way of creating a narrative set inside a world that is so close to our reality that you intrinsically understand the workings of it. He then introduces a small twist of the fantastical, creating a visceral feeling of horror or delight, depending on the story. Usually, it’s horror.

Horns is Hill’s second novel, following behind Heart-shaped Box, which is a novel that sits very high on my list of favourite books. This fact, tied with my love for Locke and Key, meant that my expectations were set high, and because of this, I came away a touch sad. The book is still a delight to read, but it didn’t compare to the expectations I had. It took me a few hours after I finished the book to come to terms with the fact that this book is very good, and that my problem was that it was different from what I expected. In fact, when I look at Horns, it’s a much more layered, nuanced story than Heart-shaped Box, and there is no reason I shouldn’t view it as better. From a technical standpoint it’s a step above earlier works, (minus a telegraphed event or two, though perhaps they were intentional), and it still pulled me in like very few books manage to do in the past few years. I guess I expected a fluid story like his previous book, and instead I got an almost patchwork tale that had me feel slightly disconnected from the protagonist’s plight.

The protagonist in this case is Ignatius Perrish, (Ig for short), who wakes up one morning after a night of debauchery to discover he has horns growing from his head. Thus starts our adventure with Ig as he tries to piece together how this happened and what the consequences of this will be for him. Of course, with Joe Hill, no matter how simple of an idea his story stems from, it will always reach far beyond where you expected such a collection of circumstances could possibly lead. To tell more about the plot would of course ruin the wonder that the book will create but suffice to say, at its heart, the book is about love and loss just as much as it is about horror and revenge.

Perhaps the reason why I don’t love this book the way I do his other works, is that this book says a lot to me about love and loss when those are topics that strike a chord with me right now. For each idea it put forth that was a solace, it said something else to reopen a wound. The book should be read for this reason alone I feel, but it’s also a hard thing to suggest at the same time.

Now, here is where the book failed for me. Even though Hill had his hooks in me for the above reason, I did not feel a connection with Ig. He existed within the pages, but he felt distant and untouchable. Ig bares his soul in the book, and yet I still felt like there was a divide between us for the entirety of the novel. This may be in part because we as the reader never stay along one linear path with Ig. We jump back in time to experience Ig’s childhood, and we experience events through the eyes of other characters as well, diluting our connection with the Ig we are meant to follow throughout the course of the novel. I do get the impression there is meant to be a slight disconnect between the reader and Ig, but it does make it hard to feel invested, (and I really wanted to feel invested in Ig, goshdarnit). That being said, my favourite part of the book is part way through as we experience events through the eyes of Ig’s brother Terry, and had there been no other point of view beyond Ig’s we never would have had those wonderfully written pages to enjoy.

Overall, this wouldn’t be the first book of Hill’s I would suggest someone read, (that honour would be given to Heart-shaped Box), but it has its merits, and is definitely a book I’m glad to have in my collection. It’s layered enough that I know it deserves another read over, and I know reading it in a few years I will take away something completely different to mull over.

Fell Volume 1: Feral City by Warren Ellis and Ben Templesmith

Before I begin to talk about this book, I have to be honest; I love almost everything written by Warren Ellis, and I find Ben Templesmith’s art absorbingly brilliant. You can quite safely assume then, that I really liked Fell Volume 1: Feral City (containing Fell issues #1-8). You would be spot on in this assumption.

Fell follows the life of Detective Richard Fell as he works the miserable streets of Snowtown, dealing with the frequent homicides that plague the area. He meets the scum of the earth within the pages of each story, but true to Ellis form, there are always lots of broken, yet honest and human characters intermingled to lighten the bleakness. Detective Fell himself, who clearly has some skeletons in his closet, casts a ray of hope into otherwise bleak situations, doing his damnedest to correct the few wrongs of the city that he can. He is supported by Mayko, a bartender, and his “its complicated” girlfriend, who understands the pulse of Snowtown but seems to have kept herself above the worst of it. Ellis has this ability to create characters that seem deep and complex (or at least bizarre), and even side characters that he paints with broad strokes seem to have more to them, be it a secretary whose husband left her for a (literal) bitch, a Lieutenant who takes a pharmacopeia of pills to get by the day, or an eerily silent nun wearing a Nixon mask.

Throwing Ellis characters into any bleak situation, you can pretty much expect a good story. Something to raise the spirits, or send you crashing into a morose state, and always leaving you with something to dwell on after you have closed the book. The issues of Fell are no exception, and reading any of the first eight issues will give you a solid story that will leave you impressed. From the first introductory tales that depict the absolute apathy of the majority of Snowtown’s residents, straight on to issue eight’s “a night in the life of” you are rewarded with stories that show society’s darkness and those that stand against it. My favourite Ellis stories are those that depict the absolutely bleak inhumanity of the world and the depravity of the human condition, coupled with tales of individuals who, while not perfect, believe they can make some sort of difference.  Fell is this kind of book.

There is one story that I feel stands out above the others -which is hard in a collection this good- and really demonstrates what Fell is all about. If you only wanted to read one issue, issue seven would be the one I’d point you towards. It’s a fairly straight tale, but with an Ellis bent to it. Detective Fell interviews an alleged murderer and the events are recapped throughout the issue. Straight up stuff, right? And it is. Or would be if it didn’t feature hallucinogenic drugs and Warren Ellis writing. This issue also shows Templesmith at his best. His use of colours to create the mood and atmosphere is spot on, and in line with the best of Templeton’s other works. And while Templesmith likes to work in grid-like panels in Fell, the way he keeps most of the dialogue heavy interview sequences constricted this way creates a wonderful dichotomy when he opens up the page a bit for the event driven sequences. I should also add that my favourite Templeton images always feature his unique blend of greens, yellows and reds in the background, which we get here for two fantastic pages. The art synchs up so well with Ellis’ writing in this story, it makes for a great issue. From cool and subdued beginning, to a fantastic and emotionally wrenching final few pages, issue seven made the book for me.

I find it hard not to just hand a copy of Fell Volume 1 to everyone I know, it’s just that good. You have to be okay with somewhat disturbing subject matter of course, and not everyone loves Templesmith’s art, (crazy as that may sound to me),  but if you can get beyond that ,(or have the refined tastes of someone like myself), this book must be added to your backlog. Or hell, bump it up to the top spot and get reading.