There's a few changes happening this time around. The first being that I'm just going to skip Marvel and DC. There's a few reasons for this, the first being that I'm lazy, of course. Secondly, you've already seen the solicitations from the big two and have made up your mind. That's fine, I understand.

There's also the fact that Marvel and DC offer a slog through No Fun Central that, frankly, leaves me a bit discouraged for everything else. Suffice it to say there's a few trades worth getting (Invasion! and Ellis and Edginton's Counter-X material,) a couple of hardcovers (Heavy Liquid and Annihilation: Conquest Book 2,) and even a new Kathryn Immonen-written miniseries from Marvel with Hellcat, a character I have a strange, almost scans_dailian affection for.

With that out of the way, let's just dive into Dark Horse Comics, OK?

Holy shit there is enough Hellboy product here to choke the mythical whale that Jonah took an around-the-block trip in. T-shirts, making-of books, novelizations, magnets, superdeformed toys, undeformed toys, and even the occasional goddamn comic book. Frankly, good on Dark Horse and Mignola for managing to capitalize so well on the character and maintain control and creativity over their property, especially in light of the complete brute-force, idiotic defanging that is being applied to (the admittedly dunderheaded as it is, but still...) Wanted.

But back to the whole reason for this post. In Dark Horse's case, outside of the usual manga suspects, I'm only really interested in the webcomics they're putting into print. The Great Outdoor Fight (96 pages, hardcover, $14.95) is certainly the finest material produced yet by Chris Onstad, and the presentation is goddamn gorgeous. While Achewood is generally a strip that I find is best to leave alone for a few months and then wallow in like the proverbial pig; its rhythm and language are best enjoyed in doses of twenty strips or higher (it's only then that Onstad's surreal banter and outre plots make any real sense,) this is a very easily-accessible storyline and will hopefully propel more of the strip into the direct market instead of being confined to online venues and the occasional merchant willing to order directly from the creator.

More conventional in some ways is Jesse Reklaw's dream-interpretation strip Slow Wave, even if the content is more psychotropic. The Night Of Your Life (256 pages, hardcover, $15.95) collects a mess of his delightfully deadpan four-panel strips at a price that I can't imagine even the most miserly regular reader of his work turning down.

Even though I've not read Mitch Clem's Nothing Nice To Say (128 pages, softcover, $9.95) in aaaaages, I remember it being funny enough to recommend to others. I could recheck the archives, but a ten-buck softcover fits in my courier bag so much more nicely.

All of these, though, frankly pale in comparison to The Perry Bible Fellowship Almanack (272 pages, hardcover, $24.95.) Nicholas Gurewitch's hip-check to the rest of the online (and quickly enough, newspaper) comics world deserves every bit of lavish praise I can muster for it and while he's ended it prematurely, it's good to see that it's going to be given the proper treatment. I'm eagerly anticipating his next step. My only complaint is that this book, I think, reproduces material found in The Trial of Colonel Sweeto and Other Stories, but that's certainly a minor bit of whining at this juncture, as an omnibus format benefits the readership much more.

Finally, if you're a retailer reading this, please make sure you order at least three or four copies of the Fray paperback as the character's appearing in the Buffy comic and those fans, even if you've told them that the future slayer comic has existed a half-dozen times before, they're going to suddenly decide that they must have it as it's real now because Joss told them in a dream or some shit. Just take their money and be happy.

Image Comics
It's largely business as usual for me and the house that Jim, Jim, Rob, Erik, Todd, Whilce, and Marc built: a little Jack Staff here, some Madman (with what will likely be my last issue, but more on that in a couple of lines) there. GØDLAND's Adam Archer shoes up in The Savage Dragon, but that'd involve me reading The Savage Dragon, so no.

If you want, you could check out the (largely disappointing) first few issues of Allred's slow decline into sophomoric philosophy with Madman Atomic Comics Volume 1 (208 pages, softcover, $19.99), but even the most rabid Allred fan of yore would be turned off by the Morrison-light psychobabble that inhabits this title since the relaunch. Good on Allred for following his muse, I suppose, but it's coming out as pure drivel, sort of like if Beach Blanket Bingo had suddenly turned into a sweded version of 8½. Sure, Madman has had its darker elements - Frank's mysterious past, the infamous eyeball-eating scene from very early in the series - but this is just drivel.

The biggest Image-related news is the prodigal son of comics reprint projects: American Flagg Volume 1 (440 pages, hardcover, $49.95,) a book that was originally solicited for November of 2004 from Dynamic Forces. Image is releasing this volume "in conjunction with" the people who offer slabbed variant covers of the latest hot books, which makes me suspect that someone got fed up and crept over in the dead of night, stole all the files, and left a note saying "Will give credit + $" in their place.

American Flagg, from the six or seven issues I've read, is a goddamn treasure of the medium, even if I'm certain that modern audiences are going to find certain sociological ruminations as arcane as extispicy. Chaykin's at the top of his game, creating a subversive, deeply funny world that pokes at everything that made America what it was in the 80s. The price tag is steep (Amazon offers a very steep pre-order discount), but the end product is near invaluable.

Tomorrow, we'll catch up with other companies that put out the funnybooks, including Avatar, Top Shelf, and Picturebox.

...Birdie's got a summer cold or something that's made him practically Dickensian in his wretchedness. He says he'll be able to draw tonight, so we'll find out if the bloodletting and tinctures has done its job. You could always visit the archives if you're trying to avoid work!

From Page 52 of the May 2008 Previews.
Shocking, isn't it? It's shocking that Diamond, a company that refused to let the solicitation for Cover Girl read "This chick, right? She's fucking awesome and she shoots shit and this guy, he's sort of a boob, but that's all right because he's a really fucking nice guy and you'll want to see them interact and crap. It's fucking awesome, so just fucking buy it, shitheads!" lets Scott McCloud spew such filth. The scales have fallen from my eyes and I now see that you have to be a multiple Eisner-winner who has done an awful lot to elevate comics into academic circles to get by with cursing in Diamond's precious catalog, something that nobody under 18 has touched in the last decade. Add in the fact that the third comic featured in the ad also features rampant foul language, and you've got a case of big publishers throwing their weight around and pushing their filth into the catalog while other companies are forced to bend to the yoke of censorship.

Alternately, somebody let this slip through without throwing asterisks in the right places. Either/or, really.

It has nothing to do with the holiday, but I just updated my Muxtape to highlight some classic race/acid house/ohjustcallitdance tunes from the 80s and 90s. Leftfield, Underworld, Utah Saints, Mr Fingers, Orbital, Eon, etc, etc are in this one, so have a little cubicle dance on Monday.

(Jokes about "Hur hur do I need glowsticks" are unnecessary. Thank you.)

I'm fairly sure that regular readers here know how I feel about David Mamet's work. Even with all of his obvious quirks (the elliptical dialogue technique "borrowed" by Brian Michael Bendis,) and faults (the remarkable inability to create a female character that's believable,) Mamet consistently does more to make the writer-portions of my brain sing than any other writer-slash-director working. I'll champion movies like the underappreciated Spartan as if I were their father and when his material disappoints me, such as in the loathsome and excruciating Edmond, I take it as a personal affront.

In other words, it's very, very weird for me to walk out of one of his films with something like mixed feelings for the work, but that's exactly what happened this afternoon when I saw Redbelt.

The brief version of the plot: Chiwetel Ejiofor plays Mike Terry, an honor-bound, financially-strapped jujitsu trainer that finds himself involved in a typically Mametian plot. It begins with an accidentally-fired gun and a Hollywood star involved in a nightclub fight, passes through a flirtation with the film industry, works in getting screwed by completely unprincipled fight promoters, and ends with a well-handled fight for not only Terry's honor, but that of the martial arts he holds so dear.

Everyone in this film - with the notable exception of Rebecca Pidgeon (whose sole purpose seems to be appearances in films made by her husband) does an impressive job with the material they're handed. Mamet's emblematic dialogue, particularly when he's directing, is not easy on actors: repetitive and stripped to the point where the absence of nuance becomes its own trope, but the cast, including Emily Mortimer and Tim Allen (who I'm glad to see actually acting versus being a Disney Corporate Puppet) alongside mainstays like David Paymer and Ricky Jay, holds up their end of things with nary a grumble. The centerpiece, however, belongs to Chiwetel Ejiofor, who's the sort of actor I love, able to convey emotion and thought without opening his mouth or making exaggerated facial expressions, it's easy to see why Mamet picked him as Mike Terry.

So, what's the problem? That's the bugaboo - I can't really go into it without spoiling the film's ending and I loathe spoilers, spoiler-devoted websites, people who issue them, and the DC Comics character of the same name (albeit for an entirely different reason.) Suffice it to say that where Mamet normally goes for the unconventional and clever, the resolution to Terry's travails is far too simple for the amount of buildup the viewer experiences, particularly after its revealed how deep the plot against him goes. For a good 90% of the film's running time, I was very pleased with what was being unfolded in front of me. The unlikely, near-random turn of events in the dojo that occur very early in the picture and the amount of coincidence and good fortune that comes Terry's way may have been scented with incredulity, but I accepted it as I accepted The Spanish Prisoner and House of Cards and their unlikely setups because the end result, the final knife-twist in those pictures, it brings everything together.

But this time, it...doesn't, but it does. It provides the kind of finale that Mamet's never done before, one that's closer to The Karate Kid than Heist and even if it feels as if Mamet thinks he's done the work, it's strangely unsatisfying. A stretched metaphor would be if you took a first-class flight to Paris, got a luxurious limousine ride to your hotel, checked into an opulent room, and were then informed that the only food you'd be allowed to eat was McDonald's. While it's not quite the final-act disaster that movies like Sunshine have become known for, it's still disappointing.

Even with all of that said, there's an awful lot to like about the final product. Mamet shows signs of directorial growth in several scenes, opting for quiet over chatter in a few key moments, thereby letting his actors tell the story with their bodies and faces with unheard dialogue, and giving the audience a break from his rat-a-tat wordplay. Perhaps even more surprising is Emily Mortimer's portrayal of an attorney who finds herself being taught by Terry - she comes mighty close to being the first female character in a Mamet film that I like, which can be nothing but a good sign as far as I'm concerned.

Brigid Alverson's Good Comics For Kids launched very quietly recently, and deserves some notice. As a mother of two and a smart cookie, the Mangablog editor brings a keener-than-usual insight into why certain comics are good picks for the younger kids. The only thing I could wish for is getting a superhero-friendly writer on board so kids that enjoy the Spider-Man and Batman cartoons can get their hands on the goods friendiest to them. (Ultimate Spider-Man is a 13+ title in my mind, as is material like Batman: Year One.)

Go, check it out, and point others towards it. I like Brigid's work a lot, even if she likes MS Comics Sans.

New strip! Read it at http://www.therackcomic.com.

Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

The Boys #18
OK, officially, the hamster joke is done. Still, the parallel trajectories of Starlight and Hughie is the sort of thing that Garth Ennis does that I absolutely love, and Robertson is as strong as ever.

The Invincible Iron Man #1
I wrote 700-something words about it over at Comic Book Resources. Short version is that I enjoyed it, feel it has a lot of potential, and want to stick my middle finger in the air at the mouth-breathing twits who inhabit their forums that think I'm a "graphic novel snob" because I thought Secret Invasion's first issue was lousy. (Dear Trogolodytes: It's not that I don't like Marvel comics; it's that I don't like crappy Marvel comics. Calling me a snob for this only lets me know that you haven't quite mastered that whole chewing-gum-and-walking thing.)

Anyhow, I'm sure somebody'll find a reason to complain about a three-and-a-half-star review, but I feel that five stars should be reserved for something truly sublime and defining, not a well-executed comic featuring a corporate character, so it'll be a long, long time before Marvel or DC gets that golden ring from me.

Jack Staff #16
Let's say I found Paul Grist in the sub-basement of a nursery school throwing toddler-sized bundles into a furnace and muttering about how baby blood is the toughest kind to get out. The conversation might go a little something like this:

Kevin: Paul, hello! What are you up to? This is quite a mess you have here! Ha ha!
Paul: Just doing a bit of the old child slaughter before going back to work on a Tom Tom The Robot Man page!
Kevin: Oh, right then. Carry on. Can't wait to see the next issue!

That is how much I love Tom Tom The Robot Man, so there's never any reason to expect anything like actual criticism from me when talking about any issue in which the character shows up on one or more pages.

Justice League Unlimited #45
On paper, a story about Gorilla Grodd stripping Superman, Mary Marvel, Green Lantern, and The Flash of their powers during a high-stress situation and the group needing to work without their usual abilities is something I'd enjoy. In fact, however, Alexander Gradet's script switches storytelling gears too many times and has an ending that I'd call a deus ex machina if it wasn't so clumsily foreshadowed early on. Nice art by Scott Cohn, however, with an on-model look that still manages to be individual.

Madman #8
Please tell me there's a plan here, somewhere, as I'm an old-school fan (who even bought the damned Gargantua) who's being left so very, very cold by this title's college freshman metaphysics. Some points were earned for the cute little backup (is it still a "backup" if it takes up half the issue?) by Mike Allred's brother J.L. with layouts by Nick Dragotta and finishes from Allred himself, as it managed to maintain some of the original spark that brought me to the series and include a mention of the Superman/Madman Hullabaloo, one of my favorite cross-universal crossovers.

Midnighter #19
So, the cover's pretty misleading (the events depicted happened last issue,) and I'm literally just reading this so I know how the series ends (an annoying, fannish habit I'm ashamed of) but at one point, The Midnighter shoves a squirt bottle of mustard up Assassin8's (blergh!) nose and squeezes. That sound you just heard was Chris Sims's head whipping around at hypersonic speed.

Rex Libris #11
Who knew a comic book about a librarian who collects overdue books and their attendant fees would feature an enthralling, high-energy parody of every Michael Bay military cliché ever and C'thulhu? Not me, and I've been reading the title for the last two years.

What did you get? Did you enjoy it?

I may review comics later. I dunno.

Milk and Cheese in "The Fur Suit of Crappiness."

1.
Ross Campbell's Water Baby desperately tries to be something unique. You can feel it wanting your approval with its dogpile of quirky characters and an opening hook (attractive, bisexual, booger-eating surfer girl Brody loses her leg to a shark) straight out of a very sincere indie film. In fact, by the time you get to the slacker ex-boyfriend puking all over himself, prompting a road trip you've got the next Diablo Cody screenplay.

2.
I'm not a prude, but it seems to be established fairly early in the book that the leads are minors ("You don't even have a license and I can't drive after 10!") and there's more cleavage and sideboob on display here than in entire seasons of Baywatch. I'm not quite sure if that's actually what the Minx target audience wants to look at, really. It's a shame, as Campbell's a very accomplished cartoonist with a nice handling of body language and storytelling, but the skeeve factor creeped into Dead@17 levels for me.

3.
Campbell does very, very little to establish the people around whom Water Baby is centered as anything more than the most plastic of mannequins that spew only-occasionally-interesting dialogue, making it hard to care about what happens to whom or why. It's telling that the most interesting character to me was Louisa, Brody's best friend cum former lover, who's down to earth, funny, and unfortunately given very little to do besides be Brody's best friend cum former lover.

4.
The ending of this book is the most disappointing denouement I've encountered in some time, with Campell apparently trying to sprinkle on some of that old time Clowesian disaffection for storytelling conventions and instead looking like he simple stopped typing when he hit the 156-page mark. There's no emotional or thematic resolution, just a dangling plot that made me wonder if this was part one in a series and nobody bothered to tell the readers.

5.
Yes, just like they did with The Plain Janes.

Alfredo, you will be missed.

Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life (John 8:12). If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free (John 8:32-33).

Respondeth John, You were the Chosen One: it was said that You would destroy the Sith, not join them. It was You who would bring balance to the Force, not leave it in Darkness. (John 8:34-38)

This week's staff picks are available in the usual spot.

The first installment of Smorgasbord, my food column for The City Desk, is up.

...about one guy's amazing reaction to the latest Blue Beetle over at Get Off The Internet. The fact that this ad was displayed when I went to check on comments amuses me to no end.

Sometimes, the support we need in times of trouble comes from the least-expected place.