Welcome to another Weekly Emanata, the MEGATONik review of comics. As these are a combination of readerly reaction and critical examination, expect spoilers. I’m going to write as if you, the reader, has some passing knowledge of comics, but feel free to post questions in the comments and I’ll do my best to answer.

Batman #686
written by Neil Gaiman
pencilled by Andy Kubert

Well, here’s a Neil Gaiman story. There are a few things to talk about, I guess. First of all, Adam Kubert is brought front-and-center again, and he certainly has great moments, but he also has very boring moments, and I’ve never understood why he’s been so highly regarded. He tells a clean story, sure, which is a skill that a lot of “hot” artists lack, but I find a lot of his stuff… boring.

On to Neil Gaiman. In high school, I would have sworn off any word that was not written by Neil Gaiman. At some point, I drifted away, probably after American Gods. This issue is part one of two, the opening of “Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader?” The title is an obvious reference to Alan Moore’s quote-unquote last Superman story, “Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?” which chronicled the final days of the Silver Age Superman. Gaiman smartly avoids trying to do the same thing and starts in after Batman is already dead (or is he?!) with Batman and an as-yet-unnamed female narrator witness his funeral.

Everyone’s in attendance from all the various Bat-universes, from the ’40s to the camp TV show to the truly great animated series from the ’90s, and each character tells a different version of Batman’s death. Is this commentary on how prevalent Batman has become, how many different things he means to different people? Do all these Batmen have something in common, some essential Bat-quintessence? While the short stories told at the funeral were fun, the issue doesn’t stand on its own very well. We’ll see how Gaiman wraps everything up.

7 Brothers
written by Garth Ennis
pencilled by Jeevan Kang

Here’s a little story by failed Virgin Comics. That’s Virgin as in Richard Branson megastores and airplanes and, for a couple years, comics. The full title of this comic, I guess, is John Woo’s Seven Brothers; part of the Virgin Comics gameplan was to get big names like Guy Ritchie, Nicolas Cage, and Mr. Woo to come up with ideas and then hire actual comic writers to develop those ideas into books. I suppose the idea was to draw in TV and film fans with the stars while pulling the writers’ audience along as well. It seems like a decent idea on paper, but I’m assuming the people that liked Face/Off a) probably don’t know who John Woo is anyway and b) don’t want to spend fifteen dollars on a comic when they can just Netflix the movie for what feels like free.

As for the comic itself? Well, it’s alright. The digital coloring is muddy and poorly done, completely obscuring the penciller’s work (which is actually pretty good; there are uncolored sketchbook pages in the back of the volume that are much nicer than the final product). The plot is a Chinese myth wrapped around a trite anti-racist message smattered with Ennis’s trademark violence and dirty language. I guess my biggest problem is that, of the titular characters, six of the brothers start with cool yet limited powers. The seventh is a worthless worm, a pimp, with apparently no special abilities. Then, in the final act, he turns out to be the most powerful of them all for no real reason at all. While this does result in the funniest line in the whole comic (”I’m a mothafuckin’ dragon, bitch!”), it is pretty devoid of any sense of plot or craft.

R.E.B.E.L.S #1
written by Tony Bedard
art by Andy Clarke

Through some strange, perhaps hypnotic, ability, Bedard convinced DC that it would be a good idea to restart a space opera that ran from 1989 to 1996 and has been only sparsely referred to since. It was a strange series, with all sorts of writers and artists getting their hands on it through its tenure, yet it managed to keep a consistent voice and thrust for at least five years (up until some editorially-mandated “big events” started rubbing up against it). For the most part, I liked the book; there are at least sixty issues of it sitting in my longboxes.

This first issue begins by distancing itself from the previous volume. The status quo is broken and only a single protagonist from the old cast, the ultra-devious and merely superficially “good guy” Vril Dox, is present. It’s a decent setup, but it’s purely setup. A lot of what is going on is left in the dark, which might normally annoy me except for Clarke’s unique artistic stylings. His figures are strong and his details are given in thin lines backed by a stippling effect that I don’t know that I’ve seen anywhere else short of maybe Tony DeZuniga.

I’m interested in this series based on the strength of the talent, not by much that happened in the first issue. Although there is a giant faceless alien that shoots lightning out of its brain.

The Spirit #26
written by Michael Uslan & FJ DeSanto
pencilled by Justiniano

When this volume of Will Eisner’s classic character started, Darwyn Cooke was producing some of the best monthly comics aorund. After twelve issues, Sergio Aragones & Mark Evanier took over, and the book quickly became stale, lacking in humor, starved or originality. This issue is the first of three from Uslan and DeSanto were producers or something on the Spirit movie that I probably won’t see until it’s on TV at my mom’s house on a Sunday afternoon or something. Anyway, the idea for these issues is to provide origins for some of Eisner’s classic femme fatales; this issue stars Silken Floss, and it started out really poorly. The writers spend three pages in a coffee shop, riffing on how weird the names of cafe drinks are. I know, right? I almost closed the book right there. Hasn’t this been done enough? Is there someone in America who doesn’t realize that the names and sizes at the local Starbucks are dumb and long? Does it require three pages? Hey, maybe they could make fun of how dumb George Bush is while they’re at it.

What kept me going was Justiniano’s art. My familiarity with his work comes from two previous DC series, The Human Race and Day of Vengeance. Both comics were filled with an exaggerated, almost rubbery anatomy and craggy faces with great expressions. While his “actors” are always energetic and clear in action and feeling, I often felt like there were too many lines; a lot of characters looked old simply due to the abundance of little crosshatches on their faces. However, in this issue, the art comes off as some sort of P. Craig Russell/Seth Fisher/Bruce Timm amalgamation. The linework is much more sparse, made up for by an increase of spotted blacks, but all of the energy and expressiveness that I’ve come to expect and enjoy is still there. At first I assumed this was because Justiniano had found a new inker, but, no, it’s still Walden Wong, longtime compatriot. My conclusion, then, is that he’s just plain getting better.

So I kept reading. And the story improved. The humor softened, came more naturally, and the characters started to shine. It didn’t feel like an Eisner story, but neither did Cooke’s stuff, and that didn’t keep me from loving it. While I won’t say I loved this issue, I definitely enjoyed the entire thing past those first three pages. I’d be curious in seeing the team continue on the book after this little mini-run is over. Hopefully the writers are over their initial stage fright and are now stuck in their quick, graceful story groove.

Crecy
written by Warren Ellis
art by Raulo Caceres

This is the most entertaining comic I read this week. One of Ellis’s series of “graphic novelettes,” this one is about the battle between English and French forces in Crecy, France, in the fourteenth century. The story is told through an English longbowman who narrates events peppered with historical facts straight to the reader. It’s full of dirty language, but it’s the visual language that makes it such a fun read. There are a lot of “talking head” shots with the narrator marching through the rain, complaining, while chatting with the readers, but this is backed with all sorts of maps, excerpts from tapestries, flashbacks to people dying from red hot pokers in their rectums, and, once the battle actually starts, horrible death scenes.

Ellis manages to tell a good war story, talk about England and English culture, educate the reader, and relate to modern times in 64 pages. Highly recommended.