The
Masked Bookwyrm's Graphic Novel (& TPB) Reviews
Miscellaneous Superhero Graphic Novel and TPB Reviews ~ K - L
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The
Kingdom 2000 (SC TPB) 232 pgs.
Written by Mark Waid. Illustrated by Ariel Olivetti, Mike
Zeck, Jerry Ordway, Brian Apthorp, Matt Haley, Frank Quitely, Mark Pajarillo,
Barry Kitson. Inks: various.
Colours/letters: various
Reprinting: Gog #1 (New Year's Evil) (1998 one-shot) and the seven part 1999 Kingdom mini-series comprised of The Kingdom #1, 2, The Kingdom: Son of the Bat, The Kingdom: Nightstar, The Kingdom: Offspring, The Kingdom: Kid Flash, The Kingdom: Planet Krypton
Rating: * * * 1/2 (out of 5)
Number of readings: 2
Published by DC Comics
In this semi-sequel to Kingdom
Come -- the critically acclaimed series that postulated the future
for DC's heroes -- young and old heroes, from both the future and the present,
team up against a menace that threatens the very nature of time and space.
Beginning years after Kingdom Come, a deranged,
superpowered individual, Gog, convinced Superman is the anti-Christ, travels
backward through time, killing Superman again and again and creating a
time paradox that could threaten reality. Eventually Gog kidnaps the newborn
baby of Superman and Wonder Woman (just shortly after Kingdom Come),
causing the middle-aged Superman, Wonder Woman and Batman to pursue him
through time (courtesy of Rip Hunter, Time Master) to 1998 where they join
their younger selves, while Hunter mutters about protecting a secret of
time-space that even his time travelling co-workers, the Linear Men, or
the god-like Quintessence (comprised of various DC demi-gods like Shazam
and Highfather) don't know.
Meanwhile, time has been so messed around with that the
reality of Kingdom Come might disappear in a puff of paradoxes.
A handful of second generation heroes, most seen in bit parts in KC, decide
they want to preserve their reality, and they get their chance...thanks,
again, to Hunter.
Got that? There'll be a test later.
The Kingdom is essentially two series. It's a time traveling
tale about Gog and the familiar heroes that ask big questions and, literally,
redefines the nature of DC Comics' reality (more on that later) told in
the Gog one-shot and the two double-sized issues of The Kingdom.
On the other hand, it's thoughtful, introspective pieces focusing on unfamiliar
characters sandwiched between the two issues of The Kingdom. Ironically,
it's the main story that's problematic, while the "filler" stories are
the pieces that really make this worthwhile.
Focusing on characters in the 2020s, Kid Flash (daughter
of the Flash), Nightstar (daughter of Nightwing -- the 1st Robin -- and
Starfire), Ibn al Xu'ffasch (son of Batman, but protege of the nefarious
Ra's Al Ghul) and Offspring (not seen in Kingdom Come, but the son
of Plastic Man) and a non-powered waitress in the 1998-era Planet Krypton
restaurant, these are nicely told tales. Faced with the imminent dissolution
of their reality, each of the 2020 heroes tries to make their last hours
productive while reflecting on their lives, with Waid showing four different
perspectives on parent-child relationships. It's a mark of his ability
that he can tackle the same idea four times and find four different ways
to do it. Each of the stories effectively juggles the dichotomy of super-powered
adventure with introspection, making them thoughtful, but not turgid. The
Planet Krypton issue focuses on a troubled waitress who discovers something
eerie at her place of employ -- it's a haunting mix of human drama and
larger-than-life fantasy. All five of these inbetween stories are worth
the read -- very well-drawn and nicely told. Although Mark Waid is considered
one of the industry's top writers, and I loved Kingdom Come, a lot
of his work has struck me as uneven, but these stories make me think he
deserves some of the accolades.
In the main story, however, the character stuff is less
well-realized. Waid has trouble juggling the plot while remembering to
keep a human face on it. As well, there's a problem with his approach to
the main heroes. Kingdom Come was about the dangers of superheroes
losing touch with their humanity, but while his Kid Flash, Offspring, etc.,
are people with powers, his Superman and company are a little too iconic,
lacking some of the sense that they are, after all, people.
The plotting is uneven (don't worry, no spoilers yet --
I'll let ya know before that happens). That's because this seems intended
less as a story that happens to impact on DC Comics' reality than that
Waid and company decided to re-shape DC's Universe (the company that seems
to redefine itself every few years, each time claiming this is the big
one, kids, no changes after this) and hastily cobbled together this to
explain it. Motivation is confusing (the Quintessence gave Gog his powers,
but their reasons seem shakey at best), the logic of how and why things
happen is iffy, and much of the story is taken up with monlogues that seem
more like lectures than dialogue -- heck, if Mark Waid himself was written into the comic addressing the reader, explaining his intent behind the series, it couldn't have been more obvious or contrived. As well, the action-adventure aspect
is just uninspired fisticuffs. The art in the two main issues (by Ariel
Olivetti and Mike Zeck), though not bad, isn't as striking as in the other
stories. Zeck inparticular has an effective sense of composition, but marred
by a more cartoony style than any of the other artists.
The Kingdom lacks the epic grandeur of Kingdom Come.
That's partly due to the absence of Alex Ross' painted art (Ross either
declined to be part of the this, or wasn't invited -- either way I'm not
sure it was an amicable split) but also because of the writing. This is more comicbooky,
and less of a story unto itsef. Thus there's an irony. It'll be disappointing
for fans expecting Kingdom Come Part II, but might be confusing in spots
if you haven't read that story: relationships aren't always articulated,
nor characters identified (Magog, from KC, appears in a bar...dressed just
like Gog, but nowhere is Magog identified as being someone other
than Gog).
O.K. SPOILER TIME. How does this re-shape the DCU?
By introducing Hyper Time (better known to older readers as alternate realities).
DC used to have them, like Earth 1 (Silver Age heroes) and Earth 2 (Golden
Age heroes), but supposedly it was confusing, so in 1985 DC published Crisis
on Infinite Earths which eliminated the multi-verse concept, killing
off a lot of beloved characters and ideas, and leaving a lot of fans with
their noses out of joint even as other fans welcomed it as necessary house
cleaning. Crisis wasn't quite the fix-all it was supposed to be, subsequently
followed by patch ups like Zero Hour which were meant to clean up
messes left by Crisis, and DC almost immediately introduced its "Elseworld"
line of, yup, alternate reality stories, but the official line was that
DC was now one Universe, indivisible under God. The Kingdom changes that.
Some fans have howled, complaining that Mark Waid's wrecked everything
by turning back the clock by 15 years, while other fans smiled smugly,
feeling DC has finally owed up to the fact that their "one universe" concept
was a bone-headed idea and disrespectful to generations of fans, creators,
and characters (and as Waid asserts in the story -- at least through his characters -- it was creatively limiting).
What the immediate fall out has been, I'm not sure (or rather: was ~ I first posted this review in 2000, and am simply doing minor edits now...in 2013!) I
don't think DC fell all over itself to release Earth 2 Justice Society
stories (in fact the earth 2 name was recently appropriated for another
reality entirely in JLA: Earth 2) or Superboy-when-Superman-was-a-teenager
stories. Quite probably, it never will. In a way, The Kingdom could be
seen, not as bringing back old characters and ideas, but as a way of giving
them a more respectful send off (such as the Golden Age Superman who appears
at the beginning and end of the series), allowing the characters to continue
to have adventures and triumphs in their own little universes, even if
we never read about them. And as a way of opening up possibilities for
DC's writers.
The five inbetween issues are well written and well
drawn, though the main storyline is maybe of more interest for its impact
on continuity than as a story unto itself (a significance, naturally, lessened as the years go by).
Cover price: $__ CDN./$14.95 USA.
Kingdom Come
go here for a review
Lady Rawhide: It Can't Happen Here 1999 (SC TPB) 120 pgs.
Written
by Don McGregor. Pencils by Mike Mayhew. Inks by Jimmy Palmiotti.
Black & White. Letters: Michael Delepine, Kenny Lopez. Editor:
Renee Witterstaetter, others.
Reprinting the first Lady Rawhide mini-series (#1-5) from 1995-1996 (which was originally published by Topps in colour)
Rating: * * * (out of 5)
Number of readings: 1
Published by Image Comics
First introduced in the pages of Topps Comics' 1990s Zorro
comics (and long before TV's "Queen of Swords"), Lady Rawhide is a masked,
sword wielding heroine existing in the same period: early 19th Century
Spanish-held California. This, her first solo story, has her visting San
Francisco, then a tiny port town rather than the modern metropolis. She
rescues a Russian sailor from a mob who thinks he's a murderer of young
women, then she investigates the killings, suspecting the killer might
be connected to the wealthy family with whom she is staying.
It Can't Happen Here is oddly structured, spanning a day
and two nights -- a kind of modest timeframe (particularly as, when originally
published as a bi-monthly mini-series, it was stretched over 9 months!).
The plot is mayhap a bit slight, but still entertaining. Don McGregor brings
his usual penchant for talky characters and introspective captions, spiced
with odd humour, giving the thing a well-rounded feel, even if the cliched
serial killer plot seems beneath his talents. To his credit, there are
only a couple of murders over the course of the story, and McGregor is
one of the few writers who actually takes the time to contemplate the repercussions
of such violence (without seeming to be exploiting or trivializing grief).
The art by Mike Mayhew and inker Jimmy Palmiotti is attractive
and pleasantly restrained, though there are a few spots where panels are
confusingly arranged.
The thing starts well on a foggy night, with Lady Rawhide
and her rescued sailor running from the mob for two issues -- action and
atmosphere. Granted, read as single issues, there's not a lot of progression,
but in a collected volume they make good chapters. As the story progresses,
things occasionally bog down in over long scenes and wordy conversations
that contribute to the period milieu and the characterization more than
to the plot. And there's a flaw with a story that's supposed to be a mystery
but doesn't introduce us to suspects until halfway through!
Perhaps the most talked about aspect of Lady Rawhide is
the sexploitation angle, with some critics dismissing the character out
of hand as tawdry tripe. Ironically, that's what McGregor and the gang
was going for, hyping Lady Rawhide as a sexual "bad girl".
Both McGregor and his critics may be exaggerating, at
least somewhat.
Sure, Lady Rawhide is dressed scandalously, but not really
moreso than your average comicbook heroine (she wears less than Wonder
Woman, but more than Vampirella). She's certainly no "bad girl", a designation
applied to the comics sub-genre featuring underclad, buxom babes given
to snarling and brutal violence. Lady Rawhide is a level-headed, likeable
character, lacking a vicious streak...and her physical dimensions are rather
modest when compared to other heroines.
The main "sex" aspect is in the writing, occasional use
of words like "cleavage", or in the way characters comment on her appearance,
asking how come her "breasts don't come popping out" of her skimpy costume
-- dialogue that can be inappropriate in some scenes, motivation-wise,
and seem more like the stuff of sophomoric school boys ("wink, wink, nudge,
nudge, say no more," as Monty Python would put it). But all McGregor's
doing is drawing attention to the conventions of superheroines in general,
rather than anything extreme about his own creation. In the entire book,
there's only one scene that seems like it maybe strays a little outside
of what you'd expect to see in, say, a Wonder Woman comic. And, admittedly,
Lady Rawhide is depicted in a few blatant "cheesecake" poses, bending over
for no discernable reason.
Don't misunderstand: there's certainly a sexy element
to the book, but nothing extreme.
Hardly a ground-breaking plot, and a bit slow in spots,
but it benefits from the atmosphere, the unusual (for a superhero comic)
historical setting, McGregor's usual thoughtful, literary prose (when he's
not indulging in snickering innuendo) and nice art. The mini-series was
originally published in colour by Topps, and it's a shame Image was cheap
and reprinted it in black & white, particularly given the price tag.
This led to a follow up comic by McGregor and artist Esteban
Maroto that has, I believe, suffered from an erratic publishing history
(and jumping from Topps to Image).
In deference to the salacious hype, I could give the book
a "mature readers" caution, but more for the way the characters talk
about sex than for any depiction of same. Ironically, there's a bit of
gore in a scene involving some dead animals that makes me more cautious.
Ultimately a modest but appealing read. Nice ambience,
moderately sexy and intelligent (when it's not being sophomoric), but a
tad slow. Attractively illustrated...in more ways than one (wink, wink,
nudge, nudge)
This is a review of the story as it was originally
serialized in Lady Rawhide comics.
Cover price: $__CDN./ $16.95 USA.
The Last Days of Animal Man
see review here
Legends:
The Collection 1991 (SC TPB) 150
pgs.
Plot by John Ostrander. Script by Len Wein. Pencils by
John Byrne. Inks by Karl Kesel, with Dennis Janke.
Colours: Tom Ziuko, Carl Gafford. Letters: Steve Haynie. Editor: Mike
Gold.
Reprinting: Legends #1-6 (1986 mini-series) plus gallery of covers from the crossover issues of other titles
Rating: * 1/2 (out of 5)
Number of readings: 2
Re-reviewed July 22, 2009
Published by DC Comics
Darkseid, DC Comics' resident super-villain's super-villain,
plots to conquer earth by having one of his minions, Glorious Godfrey,
stir up anti-superhero sentiment, turning humanity against their living
legends.
Legends features an assemblage of respectable comic professionals
working on an intriguing premise featuring a number of DC's heroes. There's
a baseline of competence to the thing that can't be shrugged off.
So why does the word "awful" keep echoing in my head?
For starters, I never got the sense anyone working on
this actually...cared. The behind the scenes story was that DC wanted a
follow-up -- though not a direct sequel -- to the Crisis
on Infinite Earths mini-series. This time, instead of dramatically altering things as had the Crisis,
they wanted to kick start things, re-introducing characters and spinning
them off into new series (like the
Suicide Squad and a new version of the Justice League). So a V.P. calls an editor who calls a plotter who calls
a scripter, an artist is hired who suggests some plot elements, then the
whole thing is run by the editorial community at DC to make sure it gels
with what's going on in other titles -- things are switched around, characters
that were intended to be used are dropped, or their parts cut drastically because their participation would clash with what was happening in their own series
(like Wonder Woman), others added. The result seems a corporate-driven,
rather than creative-driven, product. Oh, I'm sure everyone was happy to
collect their pay cheques.
I just don't believe they cared.
It's a loose mess, with scenes that don't really go anywhere,
fights for the sake of fights, and precious little characterization, or
even participation, of most of the characters. When we get to the end -- it doesn't really seem like a particularly dramatic climax.
To make matters worse, this was one of those "cross-over"
sagas. Y'know, once companies realized that, even as they're losing casual
readers, they can milk extra dollars from hardcore fans with mini-series
that spill over into the regular monthly series, forcing readers to buy a lot of
comics they wouldn't normally? This may've been billed as "six part"s, and the basic elements of the story are contained herein, but characters utter
lines that make no sense, fly off back to their own series never to be seen again here, or one chapter has Darkseid vowing to battle Superman...and
then the next issue contains only a passing reference by Superman indicating
the fight had taken place in his own comics. Though ironically, that story, serialized over Superman (2nd series) #3, Adventures of Superman #426, and Action Comics #586, was a decent enough tale set on Apokalips!
Here -- the original Captain Marvel is given the most dramatically
charged storyline. Darkseid causes him to believe his powers killed someone,
leading his alter ego, Billy Batson, to vow never to become Captain Marvel
again. Except, the same hand-wringing scene is repeated every issue,
with no real progess or embellishmnt, until Billy finally decides, oh heck,
he might as well become Captain Marvel after all. Adding to the irony is that as this follows on DC's re-booting of its "universe", Captain Marvel is supposed to be a brand new hero -- so why does Darkseid act as if he is already a "legend"?
And what's missing is a point.
The story has the public turning against their heroes.
Various metaphors pop into mind, from racism (with the superheroes representing
a presecuted minority) to comics themselves, the latter a pretty blatant interpretation with kids remaining true to
their heroes even as the adult world rejects them. But none of those fully
fit.
Instead one is left with an uncomfortable feeling that
the series is really an attack on egalitarianism. The heroes are "better"
than "normal" people -- literally
the ubermensch -- and Godfrey's harangues harp on a need to bring
equality back to the world. Godrey is a villain, the public are mindless
sheep, while only the master race of superheroes deserves our undying worship
and devotion. Hopefully I'm misinterpreting. After all, with talk of the "heroic ideal" certainly an aspect to this is the notion of the mob denouncing the idea of characters who strive to live up to by higher ideals -- but in order for that to work, Ostrander and Wein needed to better explore the notion of nobility. Instead, it rings a bit hollow (what with Guy Gardner or the anti-hero team The Suicide Squad among the "heroes", and particularly as this was on the cusp of the "dark n' gritty" movement in comics anyway). The
problem is what I initially suggest...no one knew what it was about, so
it ended up this odd, unfocusd mess.
Or, at least, that the project itself was too rushed, both in terms of pre-production, and page count, so that the creators didn't really have time to properly develop the potentially interesting ideas.
Wein's handling of the characters is uneven, which is
odd since he'd written for many of these characters in the past. While
Byrne's art is a little too uniform. He and Kesel are great at depicting
Darkseid's planet of Apokolips, but overall, everything looks the same.
But in a story mixing such disparate characters as Captain Marvel, Superman,
Batman, the Phantom Stranger, Dr. Fate and others, an artist needs to evoke
the different characters' milieus, and blend them seamlessly.
A side point: There's been a war in the last few decades in comicdom as to whether comics
should be written for a new reader (with dialogue and panels reiterating
common knowledge information) or just for the fan with his insider knowledge. Ironically, Legends wastes an enormous amount of page space recapping previous issues, as if the creators are just padding. But in other ways, the hardcore fanboys are winning out, making comics increasingly incoherent
for casual readers. Presumably the reader was already supposed to know that Glorious Godfrey had the super power to mass brainwash people. If you didn't (as I did not when I first read this) much of the story, involving
the escalating anti-superhero mood, just seems implausible. Another curious sidepoint is when the comic throws in a joke villain meant to be a riff on Marvel's Star Brand character. Why they decided to do that, I don't know. Maybe it was meant as all in fun (after all, Byrne himself had worked on a few issues of Star Brand) but it seems as though meant as a pretty snide swipe at the character -- ironic if you compare my opinion of the inhereht artistic quality of Legends with Star Brand
Ultimately, Legends was a marketing ploy more than an
artistic statement -- at times feeling like those comic book inserts used to advertise a line of toys (or those old Hostess Cupcake one-pagers!). It led to various spin-off titles, some of which were
successful (the new Flash comic), many which, at least in the long run,
were not.
This is a review of the story as it was originally
serialized in the Legends mini-series.
Cover price: $__ CDN./$9.95 USA
Marvel Masterworks: Luke Cage, Hero for Hire, vol. 1 (2015) 338 pgs.
Written by Archie Goodwin, Steve Englehart, with Tony Isabella, others. Pencils by George Tuska, with Billy Graham. Inks by Billy Graham, others.
Colours/letters: various
Reprinting: Hero for Hire #1-16 (1972-1973)
Additional notes: intro by Englehart; covers; early promo page; some interesting unedited black & white pages (I think a disfigured character may've been deemed too unsettling originally)
Rating: * * * * 1/2 (out of 5)
Number of readings: 1
Review posted: Oct. 2024
Published by Marvel Comics
Luke Cage wasn't the "first" Black superhero (another Marvel character, the Black Panther, I think holds that distinction, and a few others had come along inbetween); but he was the first given his own series -- indeed, was created for his series (as opposed to having been tested as a guest star elsewhere).
The result can hold a slightly mixed place in comicdom. That race-breaking first remains nothing to sneeze at. What's more -- he was also the most successful, enjoying a longer run than any other Black title character at the time, running almost 50 solo issues (first as Luke Cage, Hero for Hire then Luke Cage, Power Man, then just Power Man) before pairing up with the white Martial Artist, Iron Fist, and continuing the issue numbering into Power Man & Iron Fist which itself proved an unusually successful rarity in comics -- a buddy/partner series.
At the same time, one can quibble about the minutia of a mostly white creative team (with the notable exception of inker, sometimes penciller, Billy Graham) writing not just a Black hero, but one deliberately set in Harlem talking in AAVE (or as they would no doubt have labelled it: jive talk). And, yeah, that can be a bit cringey at times. But, then, superhero comics often have their own approach to idiosyncratic dialogue -- even the middle class white characters. Plus some argue Luke's origin as a ex-con was a bit too racially stereotypical (Luke's escaped con status serving as a plot thread, especially when a nosy reporter starts looking into his background).
But what's suprising is how solid and sure-footed these original issues are. This collection represents the entire run before the -- minor -- title change to Luke Cage, Power Man -- and equally surprising, comes together as a kind of graphic novel, linking and concluding disparate threads in this collection's epic three-part finale.
I say this having recently been reading other comics from that period (via other Marvel Masterworks and assorted collections). New comic book series often go through a teething period as they figure out what works and what doesn't, often suffering from a creative shuffling of the writers and artists. This was especially true in the early 1970s when both Marvel and DC were expanding their lines and often rushing comics into production based on barely a glimmer of an idea.
But Luke Cage seems remarkably sure of itself and what it's trying to be. The creative team remains fairly consistent, Archie Goodwin writing the first four issues, getting the pieces on the board, and Steve Englehart assuming the reins and sticking around for a solid run. With George Tuska the primary penciller, inked by Billy Graham, and Graham pencilling when Tuska wasn't. Indeed, this may be one of the most consistent runs I've seen from Tuska, an artist I generally liked but often seemed to be a pinch hitter, or would draw a couple of issues then move on. Iron Man being one of the few other series I can recall him being a mainstay of.
And the creative consistency is reflected on the page. Supporting characters stick around (love interest Claire, affable white buddy, DW), environments remain unchanged (Luke's signature office over a movie theatre), sub-plots get threaded along, and the tone/themes seem (mostly) consistent. There's none of that creative whiplash that often mars early issues where barely has a supporting character been introduced than they're written out by the new writer or plotlines are forgotten. (Although Cage's signature exclamation -- "Sweet Christmas!" -- is still being workshopped; in these issues he tends to exclaim "Christmas!" or "Sweet Sister!")
Maybe it helps that they had a clear vision of what they were trying to create: a comic book version of the so-called Blaxploitation movies popular at the time, with Luke Cage essentially a super powered version of the private eye, Shaft. They may have been (mostly) white creators writing about a milieu they were outside, but they had a window on that world -- at least, a cinematic window.
The comic instantly develops its own identity, the sense of the street level exploits, the kind of villains Cage goes up against (the fact that a deliberately change-of-pace two-parter involving robots and Dr. Doom irked some readers further suggests the fans had developed a sense of the sort of foes Cage should -- and shouldn't -- be facing). The comic is, in ways, a bit darker, grittier than a lot of comics at the time, in terms both of the violence, and the inner city milieu, and social themes (racism is touched on, albeit often more subtly than overt, and a villain is a prison guard -- an authority figure! Kind of subversive for the times.) Cage's powers come from participating in a prison experiment -- but the comic never really addresses the ethics of that, with the doctor who oversaw the experiment becoming a sort-of friend to Cage!
But by adopting the private eye format of Luke as a "hero for hire" it immediately creates two interesting distinctions from a lot of other superhero comics:
No "secret identity" (other than his hidden background) or need to create a parallel civilian life for the character (writers often have trouble juggling the civilian/superhero ratio) and secondly it establishes a detective format, with Cage investigating cases, not just tracking super villains to their lairs. This is probably even more pronounced in the early Goodwin issues; Englehart maybe relies on bigger fight scenes, but he still retains a detective/investigation approach. The fourth issue, with a mysterious Phantom of the Opera theme, is one of the best examples of a "mystery" plot.
You're reading actual stories, not just padding between fight scenes. I want to harp on that (particularly having read another review that dismissed these early issues): it's rare to read super hero comics like these where the plots aren't formulaic. The stories often zig when you thought they'd zag, and wander off on unexpected tangets. Is it always smooth or seamless? No. But it keeps you in the moment and turning pages.
An interesting aside (thinking of Goodwin): he also wrote Batman stories around this time, but pulled off the detective/mystery theme less effectively there (albeit he was working with fewer pages). Another bit of trivia: the plot in #3 -- in which mercenaries try to trigger a city wide gang war to cover for a robbery -- Goodwin recycled for what would be his last written effort some three decades later: the Batman Legends of the Dark Knight saga "Siege."
Cage himself quickly emerges as a strong personality. Again, it's sort of weird to say: middle class white guys writing an -- arguably -- stereotyped Black ghetto hero. Yet somehow Cage emerges a nuanced, relateable, and real person. It's a personality that did him in good stead in years to come, even when dropped into team comics like the Fantastic Four or the Defenders where Cage often seemed the most "normal" and, also, the smartest guy in the room. Indeed, one of the interesting paradoxes with Cage is how he's not comic book cliche "smart" -- he's not a big brain scientist, and he talks in slang -- but he conveys a savvy intelligence. In one scene, while ensnared in a death trap, he specifically muses how he's "not" a thinker -- even as he escapes by using his brain as much as his brawn.
There's an irony that when they did the Luke Cage Netflix series -- by Black creators -- they made him blander. I understand the socio-political impulses at work: the TV series wanted a Black Superman, an invulnerable paragon. But comic book Luke Cage's strengths was his nuance and vulnerability, both emotionally and physically (where victories were often achieved only with struggle).
The art is effective and compelling, too. Tuska is one of those artists who is often described as unsung or underappreciated. Implying that, okay -- a lot of people don't think much of him one way or the other. But I've always been a fan, flaws accepted. At worst his style is serviceable, conveying what needs conveying; but usually spiced up with some dynamic composition and angles, or interesting use of poses and body language (how a character sits in a chair, or nets his fingers behind his head casually in the background). Likewise, Billy Graham (as a penciller) was uneven, but sparks with interesting visual nuance (like a panel where working class Luke is staying at a fancy mansion and we see his single shirt hanging in an otherwise empty walk-in closest).
And as a combo (Graham inking Tuska's pencils) they soon start to meld well, Graham adding contour and mood to Tuska's pencils. In fact their teaming is some of the best work -- or at least most consistently good -- I've seen from both men. Whether they were inspired by the material, or the subject matter was just easier to draw, I don't know. (I'd mentioned in my review of Tuska's art on The Champions that he might have been struggling just getting all the characters in a panel).
It's worth mentioning the atmospheric colours which tend to lean towards subdued and earth tones (without being dull) evoking a palpable sense of '70s era inner city New York and the frequent evening settings for Cage's adventures.
Sure, there's a lot you can quibble about or mock in these issues. The aforementioned stabs at African-Amercanisms; despite the consistent supporting cast it isn't like they develop much (Cage has a girl friend, Dr. Claire Skinner -- but it's not like it's a well defined relationship). There's a weird tendency for Cage to lose his shirt/clothes in early issues; I say "weird" because I've read a few things about the exploitation of Black (male) bodies in media. Not sure what the root of it is, but it couldn't help popping into my mind in a comic where the Black male protagonist seems to be depicted underclad more consistently than I think a white male hero would've been in compareable comics.
But -- honestly -- compared to a lot of comics, especially from the era, I was genuinely surprised at how sure-footed and entertaining and -- yes -- ambitious these issues are. The plots get you turning the pages, genuinely curious to see how it'll play out; there's often an attempt to throw in deeper themes, ironic or bittersweet denouements, and character nuances. Even when it misses it's nice that they are pitching.
It genuinely feels like everyone -- Goodwin, Englehart, Tuska, Graham (and Tony Isabella toward the end) -- are putting in some effort, not just collecting a pay check. I didn't know what to expect but closing the book after 16 issues, these early Luke Cage issues are both pretty good and with a unique style when compared to many contemporaneous comics.
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