The Color (And Black And White) Out Of Space : Henry Crane’s “Late In The Years”

Posted on April 5, 2022 by Ryan C. (fourcolorapocalypse)

Like a bolt out of the blue, multimedia artist Henry Crane’s first (and, to his credit, first self-published) comic, the generously and gorgeously oversized Late In The Years, hit toward the tail end of 2021 — and proceeded to sit on my monstrously-proportioned “to be read” pile until just a couple of weeks ago. Which is my loss, really, because this isn’t just a good comic, or a great comic — it’s a fucking tour de force, which is not a term I invoke lightly or, for that matter, particularly often. To my (admittedly dubious) credit, however, I’ve since made up for my tardiness by reading the thing six times.

All of which, I suppose, is my way of saying don’t be like me — when you get this comic, read it right away. But then, uhhm, go ahead and be like me and read it a whole lot, over and over (and over) again.

What Crane has created here is, at its core, essentially a Lovecraftian horror tale about a couple that becomes understandably (at first) obsessed with a dark plume of smoke that appears overhead in the sky, but it diverges significantly from HPL in that explores relationship dynamics to a significant degree as things go from plenty goddamn bad to a whole lot worse. Curiosity is one thing, after all, but there’s more than one way to lose your life to it, and as this cautionary fable amply demonstrates, a quick and accidental kill is probably preferable to the slow-burn process of becoming subsumed by one’s own unhealthy fixation.

Still, that’s only the barest of bare-bones synopses, but given that this comic only clocks in at 16 pages it’s entirely fair to say that saying more would, by definition, be saying too much. What I will give away, though, is the general character of the story, which is one of intense foreboding narratively and visually, with Crane succeeding wildly at creating a hermetically-sealed and woodcut-styled world where perils both seen and less so aren’t just lurking around every corner, but literally surrounding our protagonists in all ways at all times. The near-painfully intricate detail he brings to every panel is something to behold and then some, and reflects perfectly the tonal atmosphere of seductively dark immersion that permeates all we see, read and, most crucially, feel in these pages. Which would give the book plenty of reason to recommend it if Crane stopped right there, but then he pulls a maneuver that is just downright gutsy — and absolutely makes his “make or break” moment.

Again, I’m loathe to say too much — or even to say much of anything — but insofar as a short-form (but, again, physically huge) comic can be said to have “acts,” Crane’s third rips things right open as he transitions into color artwork and delivers and accompanying narrative shift that not only complements, but magnifies, the visual one. By the time you’re done, you’ll be in an entirely different mental space than you were when you started out, and your first instinct will probably be to go right back to the beginning just to make sure you really did experience what you just experienced.

You did, of course. But you can be forgiven for needing confirmation simply because this, while echoing the work of others to a certain degree (I’m thinking not only of HPL here but of Charles Burns, Jess Johnson, Penny Moran Van Horn, and certainly Thomas Ott), is quite unlike anything you’ve experienced before. A powerful new voice in cartooning has arrived, fully-formed, at 25 years old. Where Crane goes next is anyone’s guess, but you can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll be along for the ride.

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Late In The Years is available for $20 from Austin English’s Domino Books distro at http://dominobooks.org/lateintheyears.html

Also, this review is “brought to you” by my Patreon site, where I serve up exclusive thrice-weekly rants and ramblings on the worlds of comics, films, television, literature, and politics for as little as a dollar a month. Subscribing is the best way to support my continuing work, so I’d be very appreciative if you’d take a moment to give it a look by directing your kind attention to https://www.patreon.com/fourcolorapocalypse

Heart To Heartless : Vickie Smalls’ “Queen Of Knives”

Posted on March 31, 2022 by Ryan C. (fourcolorapocalypse)

It’s not too terribly often that I come across a comic that I don’t necessarily feel all that qualified to opine on, but I may have found one here — or, rather, one my have found me, given that cartoonist Vickie Smalls submitted the new nightmarish (a term I use with precision) horror mini Queen Of Knives, released under the auspices of his own Nowhere Comix imprint, himself, probably knowing full well that it falls well outside my usual stylistic wheelhouse. Points, then, for bravery on Smalls’ part on the one hand, and for giving this critic a good, solid nudge outside the old comfort zone on the other. They do say, don’t they, that steps outside the nest are good for a person from time to time? With that in mind, then, let’s get down to brass tacks as I attempt to define what’s different about this book —

If forced to put my finger on it, I’d say it all boils down to methodology : I’m a bit of a relic, stuck in the old pencil/brush/pen way of doing things, while Smalls is very much an artist of the here and the now, utilizing things like computerized lettering fonts and digitally-inserted background patterning that, if I’m being honest, tend to take me out of a comic to one degree or another. Which doesn’t mean this is a poorly-done example of the type of comic it is by any means, only that the type of comic it is really doesn’t conform to my individual sensibilities as a reader. Not that it’s obligated to, mind you — it’s not art’s job to meet you on your level, but to sufficiently light a fire under your ass so that you feel compelled to meet it on its level. And in that respect, this is a work that makes some of the necessary moves in that direction.

Transcribed both narratively and visually from one of Smalls’ recurring nightmares, which sees him assume the role of a little girl stuck in a haunted castle whose heart is about to be eaten by a Cruella De Ville-esque wicked queen (of knives), the requisite otherworldly quality necessary to pull something such as this off is certainly present and accounted for — events proceed in vaguely linear fashion, and are “easy” (if that’s the term we want to use) enough to follow, but nothing on offer is at all logical, despite the fact that it makes plenty of internally-coherent “sense.” It seems to me that this is a pretty fair approximation of how dreams — both good and bad — operate, and certainly no one would argue that this is a “dull” comic. Hell, it’s downright interesting in the way that being exposed to the flotsam and jetsam of another person’s subconscious frequently is : far-out place to visit, wouldn’t want to stay and all that. Throw in a pleasing middle-finger-to-conformity vibe that runs throughout, and all in all I can’t you you won’t have a pleasant enough time being exposed to all this unrepentant unpleasantness.

But it does look and feel more than a bit inorganic, mechanical, and for me that’s just a hump I have a tough time getting over/beyond/past/whatever. Again, this really isn’t a reflection on the work itself, which for all I know could be a top-notch representation of this particular type of comics creation — it’s just a matter of personal preference and, since this is my blog, a point of personal privilege. What I do feel confident enough to say is that if this kind of “new school” approach is to your liking, then this is a comic that you’ll probably like quite a bit.

And the story, in case I’m not being clear enough about this, grabbed me just fine. The bones I have to pick (maybe not the best choice of words when it comes to a comic that flirts with cannibalistic themes and imagery?) here are purely aesthetic and, of course, entirely subjective. The art samples included with this review should be more than enough to let you form an opinion as to whether or not this looks like your kind of thing, and if it is, then I really can’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t buy it. A fair amount of heart went into making it, that much is obvious, even if our erstwhile heroine is without one by the time all is said and done.

Anyway, what the hell do I know? I guess the answer to that depends on who you ask. I’m glad Smalls asked me for my opinion — I just wish that I had a firmer grasp on what that opinion was after I finished reading this comic.

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Queen Of Knives is available for $5.00 from the Nowhere Comix Etsy shop at https://www.etsy.com/shop/Nowherecomix?ref=simple-shop-header-name&listing_id=1192067017

Also, this review is “brought to you” by my Patreon site, where I serve up exclusive thrice-weekly rants and ramblings on the worlds of comics, films, television, literature, and politics for as little as a dollar a month. Subscribing is the best way to support my continuing work, so I’d be very appreciative indeed if you’d take a moment to give it a look by directing your kind attention to https://www.patreon.com/fourcolorapocalypse

The Stars We Are : Charles Glaubitz’ “Once Upon A Time In Tijuana” #1

Posted on March 30, 2022 by Ryan C. (fourcolorapocalypse)

There’s a very certain thing that Charles Glaubitz does that’s utterly unique to his work, which is to say : he picks up the “New Seed” or “Children Of The Monolith” concept introduced by Jack Kirby in the pages of his ***2001 : A Space Odyssey*** series, filters it through a decidedly Mexican cultural lens, adds in plenty of inspired touches of his own creation, then goes all-out to make sure it’s printed and presented in the highest quality manner possible. The end result? Comics that are — quite literally — out of this world.

If there’s one potential “knock” against Glaubitz, though, I suppose it could be that his work tends to tread fairly similar thematic and conceptual ground, but sheesh — who are we kidding? The cosmos is this guy’s playground, and last I checked, that’s a pretty big place that contains within it any number of stories to be told, and one of those stories — perhaps the most remarkable in Glaubitz’ ouevre to date — is currently playing out in the pages of his self-published series Once Upon A Time In Tijuana. And it’s my distinct pleasure to report to you that this is both a more personal take on the artist’s well-established concerns/concepts and the culmination of everything he’s been working toward these past several years all in one go.

Admittedly, I’ve only read the first issue, and apparently three of them are now available, so I don’t have a full “sample size” to base my review/reaction upon, but holy shit if #1 didn’t blow me away sufficiently to sit down and write about it just on its own merits. Needless to say it’s gorgeous, with each generously-proportioned page filled to bursting and beyond with art that is by turns hyper-realistic, intuitively literate, and altogether visionary in both approach and execution — calling it “neo-psychedelic” seems fair enough in a pinch, but at the same time still far too limited. This is a Cinco De Mayo celebration splashed out across the heavens as seen and recorded by somebody who’s ingested a downright heroic quantity of hallucinogens before doing their best to commemorate their impressions on paper. Birth, death, rebirth — even absent words, the art in this comic alone would be enough to tell you that we’re grappling with the entire spectrum of all of existence (and non-existence) here.

So, like, what’s it really about — as in, specifically? Well, again we have to start with the “New Seed” or “Star Seed” premise, only this one’s time may have come and gone — or could very well be in the process of starting over. As a child falls from the sky ( keep in mind, please, that up and down are more metaphorical than physical in this comic) he reflects back on his life, even his embryonic pre-life, in somewhat linear fashion, but given that linearity is out the window (I mean, how do you explain a kid who’s apparently led a lengthy existence?), I’m probably just equating the idea of a reasonably straight line with the concept of chronological “order” because I’m a simple, three-dimensional being and Glaubitz’ imagination extends at least into the fourth dimension, but anyway — yeah, this is a reminiscence, rooted in visual metaphor borrowed from the animal kingdom, the end result being “realistic” text and “surrealistic” imagery working in juxtaposition to create something both undeniably true and altogether fantastic. And it’s a journey that takes us, by issue’s end, to Tijuana. Almost.

Don’t anchor yourself too firmly to dull consensus “reality” if you want to get the most from this book, obviously, but hey — that’s just good advice in general, is it not? In the same way that “don’t pass on a Charles Glaubitz” comic is, I suppose. After all, where else are you really gonna find stuff like this? Scale and scope usually go hand in hand, to the point that the intellectually lazy use the terms interchangeably, but here we have an individual story that’s small in scale with a scope that’s nearly infinite — and, at the risk of sounding too grandiose for my own good, that strikes me as a pretty accurate representation of human life in general. I mean, each of us does contain universes within ourselves, right?

Wiser minds than I have certainly said that for ages now, so who am I to argue? I don’t know a ton about matters metaphysical, anyway — but I like to think that I do know comics. And this is an inarguably inspired one indeed.

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All three issues of Once Upon A Time In Tijuana are available for $15.00 each from Rat Nest Sticker Co. at https://www.ratneststickerco.com/shop

Visible Links : Andrew Alexander’s “Screened In Exile”

Posted on March 29, 2022 by Ryan C. (fourcolorapocalypse)

And so, dear friends, I return — and what a ‘zine to end the my little hiatus with! Brooklyn-based cartoonist Andrew Alexander has been impressing your host/critic with his self-published diary comics for the last couple/few years, but as unlikely-at-first-glance as it may seem, his latest Cram Books-published collection of charcoal drawings depicting scenes from various movies and TV shows on heavy construction-type paper, Screened In Exile, is, if anything, even more personal in nature than his memoir-oriented work. That’s because these aren’t “just” drawings — they’re drawings with a story behind them and a purpose to them.

Which, I suppose, is my cue to elaborate a bit more, but why listen to me blather on when the artist himself explains things far better than I ever could? And so we now, unbeknownst to him, turn the floor over to Mr. Alexander —

What’s equally remarkable to the compelling backstory that informs this collection, though, is the degree to which Alexander captures not only the essential character of, but his own emotive responses to, memorable instances from Jackie Brown, Cool Hand Luke, The Long Goodbye, Mean Streets — hell, even such generally-more-middling fare as Justified and Mad Men. Alexander’s perspective, and the circumstances behind it, result in a truly immersive experience for readers, one informed by factors both within and without the content being delineated and communicating something very much like what it means to watch a film or TV program from someone else’s vantage point. Simply put, you’ll recognize most of what’s in here, but you’ve never seen it like this before.

Which brings us, in a very real sense, to a language barrier of sorts — not that this ‘zine is printed in French or Spanish or something, mind you, no : this barrier is both more subtle and more impenetrable. I guess what’s I’m struggling to say is that Alexander’s drawings don’t evoke feelings that are easily translated into words so much as they just evoke, well, feelings themselves — sensory memories that are sifted through the prism of someone else entirely and reflected back in ways as utterly new as they are utterly familiar. Again, the best method of demonstration is probably for me to just shut up for a second and provide a sample page —

Droll details can’t capture the sheer intent that literally seethes from these pages, as anyone who’s ever spent time looking at strictly photo-referenced illustrations can tell you. I’d be curious, in fact, to know how many of these were drawn from sheer memory alone and how many relied on the aid of a remote control “pause” button, but maybe it doesn’t matter all that much in the final analysis : after all, honesty and exactitude are hardly one and the same thing. Alexander’s representations of media occupy a space all their own, his space, and in that space, artistic methodologies and artistic outcomes are intertwined in ways that transcend the simple equation of “well, I did this in order to produce that.” Am eloquent explication of what those ways are again leads me to a linguistic impasse, but I’m okay with that : after all, a good magician never reveals his or her tricks, and I’d be lying through my teeth if I said there wasn’t something very akin to magic going on in this book.

As a critic, then, am I inadequate to the task of telling you why this is such a special collection — one that I freely admit to having spent several hours poring over? Well, perhaps, but I guess we all meet our match at some point. And while closing this review by paraphrasing Jack Kirby’s famous “Don’t Ask — Just Buy It!” tag line is arguably less than a work this wholly remarkable deserves, it also seems oddly appropriate, because asking too many questions ruins the spell Alexander casts here, and you really do need to buy it.

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Screened In Exile is available for $10.00 from the Cram Books website at https://www.cram-books.com/product/screened-in-exile

Also, this review is “brought to you” by my Patreon site, where I serve up exclusive thrice-weekly rants and ramblings on the worlds of comics, films, television, literature, and politics for as little as a dollar a month. And yes, I always keep it updated, even when I’m taking a break from this site. Subscribing is the best way to support my continuing work, so I’d be very appreciative indeed if you’d take a moment to check it out by directing your kind attention to https://www.patreon.com/fourcolorapocalypse

Everybody Loves A Happy Ending : Corinne Halbert’s “Acid Nun” #3

Posted on March 3, 2022 by Ryan C. (fourcolorapocalypse)

In the immortal (at least by my admittedly inexpert estimation) words of the just-recently-reemerged Roland Orzabal, “Don’t you just love a happy ending? Yeah, well so do I.” And if I may add a caveat of my own to that lyric : I especially love them when they’re earned.

And if there’s anyone who has earned one, it’s our titular Acid Nun herself, Annie, who’s travelled through every level of cosmic hell and then some in her search for reunification with cohorts/lovers Elinore and (yes, that) Baphomet, and in many ways the worst is yet to come in the pages of the newly-self-published Acid Nun #3 — but so, thankfully, is delicious comeuppance and joyous homecoming. I know, I know — sic the spoiler police on me.

Still, in my defense, I’ll say that I’m deliberately treading lightly here in terms of specific plot details, and really the plot’s never been a complex affair in Halbert’s now-concluded trilogy anyway — its themes, however, certainly are, given that they revolve around abuse, alienation, longing, self-acceptance and self-love, and even (to the consternation of some, I’m sure) the “big two” of sex and death. Primarily, though, I think Halbet’s principal concern — one filtered through her own utterly unique view of various pagan and pagan-adjacent magickal traditions (most especially, this time out, the tarot) and genuinely decadent blend of the sexual and the psychedelic — is exploring what it really means to be your own, authentic self, and to make your metaphorical home within that inviolable sphere that you create.

Talking of home — they do say that’s where the heart is, and in Halbert’s case that means it’s right here in these pages. She mentions in her afterword (by the way, the “bonus” material here also includes stunning pin-up artwork by Haleigh Buck, Katie Skelly, and Dead Meat Design) that she put her all into this project, but with all due respect, there was no need to say so : the proof was there in every layout, ever line, every design, and certainly in every color choice. This has been one of the most visually arresting comics in recent memory from the outset, and the degree to which Halbert has seen each sumptuously-rendered page as a challenge to herself to keeping upping the creative ante is equal parts obvious and awe-inspiring. Flipping back through the first two issues in preparation for reading this finale was literally a process of charting and mapping one artist’s growth (both in terms of technique and, more importantly, confidence) right in plain sight.

I know, I know, I’m gushing like a fanboy, but my goodness, just look at the pages included with this review that I lazily (but legally) purloined from Halbert’s own website — is there any reason why I shouldn’t be? The care and craft that went into creating these images, these characters, this universe is really something to behold, as well as something to treasure. Sure, there is plenty on offer both in this issue specifically and in this series as a whole that will challenge and perhaps upset (before ultimately rewarding, I promise) survivors of awful shit and send the prudish and uptight to the medicine cabinet for a suppository, but most worthwhile art prods, protests, and provokes as a matter of course. Halbert has plenty to say about patriarchy, repression, subjugation, intolerance, and other oppressive forces — but in the end, she beats them all with love. For her story, for her characters, for her art, for her readers (yes, that means you) and, above all, for herself.

“And all your love will shine for everyone” seems the apropos thing to say at this juncture, just to bring things back to where we started this review. Halbert’s love is shining for everyone in this comic, so go on and be good to yourself. Buy it, read it, and love it right back.

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Acid Nun #3 is available for $12 directly from Corinne Halbert at https://corinnehalbert.bigcartel.com/product/acid-nun-no-3

A “Vessel” For Experimentation, Innovation, Inspiration

Posted on March 1, 2022 by Ryan C. (fourcolorapocalypse)

It’s interesting how things work out sometimes. Earlier today, I was having a “conversation” via twitter about the necessity of people who are generally thought of as being “outside” comics coming into our hopefully-happy little medium, making some sort of statement with it via their art for however long a period of time they wish, and then deciding whether or not they want to stick around, or go on to do other things. By my thinking, it’s always good to have a fresh set of eyes approach comics with no preconceived notions of what they “should” or “shouldn’t,” “can” or “can’t” do, if for no other reason than to shake up the sensibilities of those who have very definite ideas in regards to these subjects and others. Words and pictures in juxtaposition can do, be, or express anything, as I think we all know on some level — sometimes it just requires a comics novice, or even a temporary comics tourist, to remind us of that.

Enter the husband-and-wife team of Lily Thu Fierro and Generoso Fierro and their gorgeous, emotive, formally experimental new self-published ‘zine Vessel, a feast for the eyes and mind that weaves together dream, memory, and medicine into a beautiful but frightening quasi-hallucinatory tapestry that references no particular artistic influences outside of itself and doesn’t so much discard the rulebook as remain blissfully unaware of its existence. This is a comic that exists in a category all its own, which is to say : it really can’t — and shouldn’t — be categorized at all.

The division of labor on this obvious labor of love is in no way clear — I couldn’t tell you who drew it, who wrote it, or if they both did some of each — but in a way that makes a kind of thematic and artistic sense, as the demarcations between the “real” and “unreal” in this work are fluid, transitory, amorphous — a thickening cardiovascular wall is a recurring theme that grounds the work in linear time, but beyond that it’s fair to say all bets are off as past, present, and pure imagination dance around each other via a series of lushly-shaded colored pencil illustrations accompanied by a minimalist, economic interior monologue. There is a sense of our narrator/protagonist, Kim, existing apart from, outside, maybe even above her own body, of being both participant and observer of the vaguely-defined research study she’s participating in, and yet she never feels disconnected from either herself or events — there is intimacy in this alienation, and alienation in this intimacy.

As a result, what we have here is a unique approach to the art of the visual narrative, one that isn’t necessarily mysterious by definition, but plenty open to interpretation regardless — my one word of caution would be against trying to assemble this in start-to-finish order of occurrence on first reading and just letting this work take you where you feel it’s taking you. Trust me when I say you won’t be in the least bit confused by it, even while you have a tricky time describing it. As evidenced, I should think, by this review itself, which I’ve gotta admit is a slow-going thing on my end as I try my level best to communicate not so much the particulars of this work, but the sensations engendered by it.

Hell, I’m halfway tempted to ask “how’m I doing at that so far?,” but that would rather defeat the purpose. This is, you see, a comic that takes you places, and the most exciting thing about it is that they’re largely places you haven’t been before, and therefore lack a proper frame of reference for trying to express in purely verbal terms. Initially, I’d be inclined to say that means I’ve met my match here, but I prefer to think of it as having found a work (okay, been sent a work) that has done what very few others have : left me utterly speechless. I’m not sure if I should be grateful for that — but I can tell you in no uncertain terms that I am.

I don’t know much about these creators, other than what I’ve been able to piece together from their website. I take it they host a weekly radio show largely specializing in old-school ska and that Lily has a passing interest in comics, at least according to one of the posts they have up on there. What I do know for certain is this : even if they never make another comic themselves, they’ve given this medium a gift that can probably never be fully repaid.

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Vessel is available for $18 from Austin English’s Domino Books distro at http://dominobooks.org/vessel.html

Check out Lily and Generoso’s website at https://lilyandgeneroso4ever.com/about/

How ‘Bout Them “Apples”?

Posted on February 24, 2022 by Ryan C. (fourcolorapocalypse)

Desmond Reed is a New England cartoonist whose work I’d been borderline fascinated with since first coming across his self-published debut, Those Dark New Hampshire Woods, some years ago, but it was his later ‘zine The Funnies that pushed that fascination over the border — in fact, it’s fair to say the short-form adventures of his eminently-flexible coterie of lovable goofballs positively hooked me, and so I was gratified to see their return in his latest (also self-published) mini, Apples, which builds on the strengths of its predecessor without in any way appreciably upsetting the — errrrmmmm — apple cart. Sorry.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for breaking with formula and tradition, but when you’ve got a good thing going, seriously — what’s the point? And so our fictitious friends Wallace T.J., Mona Gertrude, Ralph Jonathan, Gil Christopher, and Henrietta Susan are back, and doing what they do best, which is to say, serving as lovable comedic ciphers to the shit we all went through at one point in our lives — or may still be going through, if you’re fortunate enough to be a couple of decades younger than your curmudgeonly critic here.

Nominal personal growth appears to have occurred among our cast since their last go-’round, but it’s kinda hard to tell, and not especially relevant either way — which sounds like a “diss” (or whatever) but isn’t, given that it’s their relatable reactions to exaggerated situations and/or exaggerated reactions to relatable situations that give this comic its charm aplenty, so “character arcs” of any sort are rather surplus to requirements here. Quick-fire vignettes about popular themes like drug use, depression, co-habitation, shit jobs, and everyday life’s little highs and lows are the order of the day, then, and while that may not sound terribly ambitious, few do them better than does Reed, so seriously — check your coolness at the door and just relax and have fun.

Ah, yes — that dread word. Some time back certain quarters of the comics community (those who take it upon themselves to police the medium’s general trajectory for reasons known only to themselves) decided that “fun” was an outmoded concept and that cartoonists should be aiming their sights “higher,” but I’ve never gotten on board with myself that since fun is, ya know, fun. I’m pleased to report Reed appears to have ignored this unspoken dictate as well, and has instead honed his comedic chops and gently acerbic sense of timing to its full potential and is now ready to stand as one of the more unique funnybook-makers in the contemporary scene. The self-appointed “intelligentsia” may consider that to be a truly trivial pursuit, but who the hell cares? Around these parts, we ain’t ashamed to admit that good times are a good thing.

Which isn’t to say this comic doesn’t skirt around the edges of “heavier” material, but it does so in a way that’s still designed, ultimately, to be more reflective of the struggles of its readership (and perhaps even its creator) than it is downright exploratory, to offer sympathy and reassurance via commonality of experience rather than to take deep dives into deep issues and deep problems. This is a comic that knows who you are, or were, and is here to meet you on the home turf you share with it. There’s a time and place for taxing and challenging work, absolutely, but when you need a break from all that but still don’t care to be condescended to? You can’t do a whole lot better than this.

It’s no exaggeration to say I’m flat-out enamored with Reed’s squiggly world and hope to have a chance to visit again soon — until then, though, I’m content to re-read this comic whenever I could use a pick-me-up. Even knowing all the gags, punchlines, and twists of fate, a visit with old friends is still, and always will be, well worth a person’s time.

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Apples is available for $5.00 from J.T. Yost’s Birdcage Bottom Books distro at https://birdcagebottombooks.com/products/apples?variant=41000348811440

Also, this review is “brought to you” by my Patreon site, where I serve up exclusive thrice-weekly rants and ramblings on the worlds of comics, films, television, literature, and politics for as little as a dollar a month. Subscribing is the best way to support my continuing work, so I’d be very appreciative if you took a moment to give it a look by directing your kind attention to : https://www.patreon.com/fourcolorapocalypse

To Boldly Go — : Alexander Laird’s “Oubliette”

Posted on February 23, 2022 by Ryan C. (fourcolorapocalypse)

Purely as physical objects, Alexander Laird’s self-published comics are things of exquisite beauty : lovingly riso-printed, uniquely formatted, conceptualized to a degree that’s flat-out exacting, they stand as a testament to both dedication and determination in equal measure, their execution representing an inherently harmonious marriage with the singular creative vision behind them. I honestly don’t know of any cartoonist who works as hard at holistically integrating the creative with the technical, whose inner artist is so “in tune” with their outer artisan. Each of Laird’s books has the look and feel of an object carefully made by hand.

That being said, anything that is presented this well needs, by default, to feature content that lives up to its presentation, and that can be tough when you’re pulling out all the stops as far as production values go. Laird’s latest, Burg Land 1 : Sleemore Gank, certainly earned high marks across the board from me, but his earlier effort, Oubliette, leaves perhaps a bit to be desired on that score — but is still plenty fascinating as a prima facie example of a legit autuer finding their footing as they go along and developing the themes that would come to be regarded as central concerns in their work.

Stated less pretentiously, this feels like a “warm-up exercise” for ideas and approaches that would eventually end up becoming fleshed out more fully later. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that — in fact, it’s crystal clear that Laird’s been in firm possession of a vision for what he wants to achieve in this medium from the outset, it’s simply that this largely-wordless tale of explorer/academic Jest The Scholar venturing through the ruins of a thought-lost civilization and having to survive a monstrous onslaught of, well, monsters is, all told, a less-thoroughly-realized version of what this same cartoonist would do next.

Which, I admit, makes this review something of an unfair exercise on its face — after all, if I’d read this first, I might very well have been blown away by it, rather than “merely” being mightily impressed. On the plus side, though, there’s no question that I did still find it mightily impressive, so if Laird happens to read this at some point, trust me when I say : a win is a win. I still found this to be a remarkable work in the truest sense. And while I may not recommend it as highly as Burg Land 1: Sleemore Gank, I think its status as a kind of blueprint for that comic means that it could very well especially be of interest to those who, like myself, read the latter first.

Or am I wrong about that? I mean, if you’re a Laird “newbie,” this is certainly a great place to start and it gives you a flavor for his utterly unique methodologies and sensibilities. By turns frightening and fun, and drawn in a style that both reflects and magnifies the ultimately-optimistic outlook of its insatiably curious protagonist, it’s a comic about learning and exploration that learns and explores the medium’s formalities and, more importantly, its possibilities in unison with its narrative. I invoked the term “holistic” earlier, and there’s absolutely no doubt that this is a breathtaking working example of that principle writ — and drawn — large.

Lest there be any misunderstanding, then : this is not a recommendation tempered by any sort of caution — it’s an enthusiastic and unreserved one. Sure, I liked Burg Land 1 : Sleemore Gank a bit more, but so what? I liked that more than just about anything I’ve read recently, and the list of “stuff I didn’t like quite as much” includes a lot of damn fine comics. This is one of them and, furthermore, one of the better ones at that.

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Oubliette is available for $12.00 from Alexander Laird’s website at https://sensitiveathletes.bigcartel.com/product/oubliette

Also, this review is “brought to you” by my Patreon site, where I serve up exclusive thrice-weekly rants and ramblings on the worlds of comics , films, television, literature, and politics for as little as a dollar a month. Subscribing is the best way to support my continuing work, so I’ve be very appreciative indeed if you’d take a moment to give it a look by directing your kind attention to https://www.patreon.com/fourcolorapocalypse

The Otherside Of Madness : Andrew Zakolodny’s “Deadnauts”

Posted on February 22, 2022 by Ryan C. (fourcolorapocalypse)

I’ve seen some wild shit in my time as a comics critic, but for sheer conceptual bravado, few things can match Ukrainian cartoonist Andrew Zakolodny’s new Strangers-published surreal mindfuck Deadnauts, a combustible admixture of high-concept science fiction, drug-addled paranoia, black humor, militaristic uber-violence, and gross-out body horror — among other things. If you’re even remotely squeamish, this is a book you want less than zero to do with. But, hey, if you’re not —

Well, if you’re not, one of the first things you’ll learn is that the curious term “otherside” in this review’s title is no misprint — it’s a place beyond death, or maybe that should be the place beyond death, and serves as the extra-dimensional battlefield which much of Zakolodny’s story takes place in. We’ve all heard of suicide bombers who believe they’ll live eternally after death, but the terrorists in this yarn know it because they actually go there — or part of them does, at any rate. They’re in possession, you see, of some sort of largely-unexplained (probably because it’s flat-out inexplicable) occult technology that allows them to project their consciousness over to this “otherside” in hopes of affecting some kind of takeover of the place, which sounds to me like it’d be a pretty tough thing to organize any kind of opposition or resistance to — unless, ya know, people are willing to die to go over there and stop them. Good luck getting volunteers for that.

Still, this is comics — since when does logic apply? So, yeah — if you’re getting the idea that “death is just the beginning” here, you’re getting the right idea. Because the otherside is so fucked up that it’s actually enough to make a person — or any sort of life form — wish they were alive again. Yes, even the members of the special forces (or whatever) team that goes over to stop the dastardly terrorists — a team full of individuals who are all technically suicidal by definition. I told you this book was effing crazy.

What I’ll also tell you is that it’s crazy in the best possible way — you’ll never know what’s coming next because you can barely figure out what’s going on right now, and even when you do get something resembling a kind of metaphorical footing, you’ll find it’s ripped out from under you pretty quickly. Zakolodny is a master at not just keep you off-balance, but keeping you off your rocker — if he were a prize fighter, his first punch would be a TKO and he’d pummel you repeatedly after the bell just to make good and sure you didn’t get up off the mat. Your job, then, as a reader, is to learn to enjoy the beating.

Which, believe it or not, isn’t actually all that tough a task. The art in this comic is arresting and addictive, all inky blacks and squiggly lines and imaginative forms and even more imaginative locations — it looks and feels like your worst-ever acid trip committed to paper, only cool. There’s a lot to decipher — both narratively and, especially, visually — but doing so doesn’t feel like work by any stretch, even if it is exceptionally goddamn challenging. I know my readers, though (at least, I like to think I do), and so I know that if you’re not up for a challenge, chances are you’re not paying any attention to this blog in the first place. I mean, who are we kidding? Getting through one of my reviews can sometimes be challenging enough in and of itself.

Is this a qualified recommendation, then? You bet it is. Most are. There are a lot of perfectly rational, nice, fair-minded people who will take one look at Zakolodny’s ‘zine and give it a hard pass. But for those who revel in the refined pleasures of the heretical, the extreme, the foreboding and forbidden — for those who consider “beyond the pale” to be the starting line rather than the off-ramp — this isn’t just memorable, visceral, mind-bending stuff : it’s the kind of comic you live for. Or should that be the kind of comic you die for?

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Deadnauts is available for $7.00 from Strangers at https://strangerspublishing.com/products/deadnauts-by-andrew-zakolodny

Also, this review is “brought to you” by my Patreon site, where I serve up exclusive thrice-weekly rants and ramblings on the worlds of comics, films, television, literature, and politics for as little as a dollar a month. Subscribing is the best way to support my continuing work, so I’d be very appreciative indeed if you’d take a moment to give it a look by directing your kind attention to https://www.patreon.com/fourcolorapocalypse

Comics As Unresolved Labyrinth : Bruce Zeines’ “Life Out Of Sequence”

Posted on February 17, 2022 by Ryan C. (fourcolorapocalypse)

Confession time : the title of this review isn’t mine. But it sure is good, so I appropriated it — fortunately, from the very book we’re here to take a look at, so I needn’t feel too terribly guilty. And, in truth, the notion of graphic sequential storytelling as an “unresolved labyrinth” is only one of many that stuck with me long after I closed the covers of cartoonist Bruce Zeines’ 2021 self-published opus on the nature of very medium he’s utilizing, Life Out Of Sequence. Time, spatiality, the unique properties and possibilities that a blank page to be populated by juxtaposed words and images offers — Zeines is equally haunted and fascinated by all these things, and so the subtitle of this, the second volume in his “Musings” series, is very apropos indeed : “A Personal Exploration Of Sequential Art.”

I’m tempted to be glib here and say that Zeines accomplishes more in a standard-format (and standard-length) comic book than Scott McCloud did in a “doorstop” graphic novel, but in truth this is no “primer” on the medium a la Understanding Comics, nor is it a de facto “how-to” guide for aspiring cartoonists to take their cues from. The word “Personal” in that subtitle looms large here, as this is Zeines feeling his own way forward through his creative process, and commenting upon it as he does so — not so much a lecture, then, as it is a mapping out of territory that is ever fresh, ever new, ever confounding, ever expansive. Did I just say it was a map? Maybe more like an atlas — but a decidedly theoretical one.

What’s not at all theoretical but is, rather, concrete reality is the power of Zeines’ intensely-rendered and almost obsessively-detailed illustration : he fills every scintilla of space with imaginatively-conveyed visual information that somehow establishes, and subsequently sustains, an incredible naturalistic fluidity in spite of its admittedly crowded-at-first-glance appearance : it’s a lot to take in, sure, but the act of doing so is thrilling, immersive, and never less than consequential. Zeines doesn’t waste a line or a brush stroke any more than he wastes a conceptual thread or a thematic beat — this is story and art both with a purpose and related for a purpose, and while those may seem like they should always be one and the same thing, a masterfully-articulated work such as this makes you realize how often one or the other is either serving a subservient role or, even worse, absent altogether. Not so here — this is a cartoonist at the absolute height of his powers grappling with how to most effectively use them. And, for the record, succeeding marvelously at doing so.

What’s perhaps most remarkable about all of this, though, is the welcoming, accessible, and downright conversational tone that Zeines maintains throughout — these are some heavy issues he’s tackling for those of us with a personal investment in the comics medium, and he’s approaching them with the near-reverential respect they deserve, without ever crossing the line into pretentious gibberish or faux-erudition. Somebody who’s never picked up a comic could enjoy this quite easily, then, but for those of us who pick up hundreds, if not thousands, of them per year? Well, this is the kind of thing that sends us over the damn moon — a dissertation on the form we love, communicated through the form we love, that deepens our admiration of the form we love.

I realize I’m preaching to the choir here, but there’s nothing a person can’t do with words and pictures — as Zeines himself knows full well. Given that, then, the next thing to figure out is how to use words and pictures to their utmost as a storytelling tool. I think it’s something all comics creators and readers grapple with — sometimes consciously, more often unconsciously — and to see it dealt with from a fresh perspective many actually haven’t considered at all is an unexpected joy. I hope I’m not giving away too much here, but Zines’ central thesis is that life itself — and certainly memory — doesn’t actually have a sequential flow, so arranging a visual story in a way that does? Well, it’s a bigger challenge than it would at first appear.

I’ll tell you what, though : this is an artist who’s more than up to that challenge, and probably any other that you can throw his way. And so I’ll close this review with a challenge to you, the reader : find me a flaw in this comic. Anywhere. Because I sure as hell can’t.

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Life Out Of Sequence is available for $15.00 from Austin English’s Domino Books distro at http://dominobooks.org/lifesequence.html

Also, be sure to check out Bruce Zeines’ website at https://www.theartofbrucezeines.com/