7/31/14 - Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy

As those of you !@#$ers who are lucky enough to read my semi-regular dispatches from super-spy country will know, old Uncle SPYGOD's got a more-than-!@#$ing-passing familiarity with space opera bull!@#$. Not only do I have a boyfriend who used to keep the whole !@#$ planet safe from alien invaders, big !@#$ asteroids, and weird outer-space !@#$ that'd come along and try to eat Kuala Lumpur, or something, but when he !@#$ed up and missed something too small for Deep-Ten to see coming, I got to clean up his mess on the ground.

(Made for some really !@#$ interesting pillow talk when we first hooked up, let me tell you.)

So yes, son, I know from crazy outer space !@#$. And so when I say that Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy has turned out to be some grade-A, top prime, Over The !@#$ Top and Through The Woods to Grandmother's Big !@#$ Jacuzzi crazy outer space !@#$, you should just nod, smile, and buy a ticket for everyone you can think of. 

"Ill take two large drinks and a medium popcorn, mother!@#$er."

Why? Well, let's break this !@#$er down for you, here: (Some light spoilers apply)

It's got a guy you can root for, for starters. Peter Quill -- aka Starlord -- is just your average person, provided your average person was !@#$ing kidnapped out of a hospital lawn when he wasn't even old enough to shave, yet, and put to work by a bunch of hardscrabble alien types. All he's got to remind him of Earth (Terra, as they say out in the black) is an Awesome Mix Tape of 70's tunes, and memories of his dying mother.

Of course, this guy grows up wild and a little weird. He also thinks he's a master thief, and he might be right. But when he goes to get some mysterious orb from a dead world on behalf of his kidnappers-turned-friends, and then not only deals with some unexpected resistance, and pulls a double-cross on his partners, well... before you know it, every mother!@#$er who either wants the orb, the bounty on his head, or his !@#$ on a stick decides to chase him to get it -- with interesting results. 

And this, in time, leads to Quill being tossed into the mother of all bas!@#$ space prisons with the adoptive daughter of Thanos, himself (Gamora), a cyborg rodent who looks like a Raccoon (Rocket), a green-skinned brute who really wants vengeance on a certain villain (Drax the Destroyer), and a walking tree who sounds like Vin !@#$ing Diesel (Groot). Together, they commit crimes, or at least try to band together and get their !@#$es out of jail so they can fulfill their individual goals. 

"Now we just need awesome music. How about 'In the Navy'?"

Bad news is, it won't be that !@#$ing simple. For one thing, the Nova Corps is on their !@#$. For another, they'll have to deal with the Collector, himself, who, as we all know by now, is not to be !@#$ing trusted. And for yet another thing, they'll ultimately have to face Ronan the Accuser, a dangerous Kree fanatic who wants the orb for his master, Thanos, but might have a few !@#$ed-up ideas of his own. 

And let's not forget the other adoptive daughter of Thanos, Nebula, who's got enough issues to have subscriptions, and is !@#$ happy to deal with them by bringing the pain to other folks who get in her way. 

The story of how these unlikely heroes become a team and deal with these scum!@#$s is the movie, and there's no way in !@#$ I am giving away any more than I have. But there are a few things I will tell you about why you should see this movie, other than the fact that I'll kick your !@#$ing butts black and blue if you don't.

1) It's fun, fun, fun: This is being billed as a science fiction action comedy, and they didn't just say that because it rolls off the tongue like a vodka-soaked gummi bear. There's a lot of laughs, a lot of good action, explosions, laughs, thrills, excellent effects, laughs, and stirring speeches that find a way to make this more than just a laugh, though it has a lot of big !@#$ laughs. The good guys are loveable rogues who don't always make good choices, but have good banter, and the bad guys are one-dimensional enough to not have to have a hard think about moral ambiguity or any of that !@#$ while enjoying your popcorn.

2) It's Marvel, Though You Don't Need to Know That: If you are a Marvel fan, you will not be disappointed. This movie takes its cues from the current run of Guardians of the Galaxy, but also throws in a lot of other pieces of cosmic Marvel -- both new and old, big and small. It plays right into the backstory of certain, super-powerful objects we've seen in other Marvel movies (Captain America, Avengers, and Thor II), throws in some massively amazing things we've been hoping to see as MCU canon, and develops the presence of Thanos as a big bad to watch out for.

But even if you've never read the comic, and have no idea who the !@#$ any of these people are, your ignorance is not penalized from not getting it. Whatever's essential to the plot is explained, and whatever's just an easter egg or fan service is just that -- however wonderful to see.

"I said a triple carmel macchiato with soy milk, !@#$ it."

3) We're Going to Need the Laugh:  It's true that this movie lacks the emotional depth of other Marvel movies. And that may lead you to realize that your cheering isn't as deep and full as it was for, say, Avengers, Iron Man, or Captain America: the Winter Soldier, and may lead to your leaving the theater feeling as though you aren't as satisfied as you should be. However, as has been remarked elsewhere, this is the light comedy course between two really !@#$ heavy offerings -- Winter Soldier and the upcoming Avengers 2, which is purportedly going to be one !@#$ of a big !@#$ emotional wringer. 

Past that? This movie's a great ensemble piece, which each character meshing fairly well with the others. The CGI on Rocket and Groot is nothing short of !@#$ing amazing, to the point where you can almost believe it's real, and those who listen for a certain Browncoat in an amusing cameo will not be disappointed. 

Plus, Josh Brolin's Thanos shows a lot of promise -- in the short time he's on screen you can actually feel the pure !@#$ing menace radiate over the rest of the film. We'll be seeing more of him, soon. We may not like it, though...

SPYGOD's Verdict: Two and a Half Thumbs Up for an immensely fun movie that doesn't take itself too seriously, even in the face of black villainy and possible Galactic apocalypse. Guardians of the Galaxy delivers on its promise of comedy, action, and science fiction while doing Marvel's cosmic properties proud. Take a friend who's never seen any Marvel movies, and be sure to stay alllll the way through the credits.

7/11/14 - Velvet, Vol. 1 - Before the Living End (Image)

One thing you quickly learn in any spy organization is that you never, ever piss off the !@#$ secretary.

Why? Well, maybe you think the field agents are the !@#$, and maybe they are. Maybe they juggle a nation's security as easily as most frat boys play beer pong. Maybe they overthrow regimes and ferret out counterspies before breakfast.   

Maybe they can !@#$ing kill people from across the room with their !@#$ brains. 

Or the patented Sir Christopher Lee Look Of Death.

But tell me this, son -- who cleans up their reports for the boss? Who keeps track of who's doing what, and where, and the last time they called in? Who calls up at !@#$-all-o'clock to tell Number 14  that Number 13 hasn't checked in,or inform the boss that Number 6 really wants a god!@#$ vacation? 

Who remembers all the small details? Who sees the little inconsistencies? Who notices the long-term patterns? And who makes sure the office runs smooth as silk while you're in the other room, screaming down the horn at some poor !@#$ing schmuck who lost the person he was supposed to be tailing?   

That would be your secretary, son. The person who's paid to be your outboard brain. The most dangerous person in the whole !@#$ office.

And when they go rogue, it's bad !@#$ing news for everyone.

Do NOT read this letter. It will kill you.

(This is why SPYGOD does not have secretaries, son. I have Seconds. They basically run the show for me while I'm off strapping myself to man-missiles, shooting commies, and getting my fine gay !@#$ shot at for America. And they're so !@#$ busy with all that they don't have time to get any funny ideas) 

Which brings us to the case of one Velvet Templeton: personal secretary to the Director of ARC-7 -- an agency other spy organizations think is a big !@#$ myth. Their top agents don't exist, every op is black as night, and they have more cool toys than they know what to do with.   

They've also got a major !@#$ing problem. One of their best agents was just killed in the field, and it looks like a former agent might be responsible. And while that would be very much in fitting with the bleak poetry that defines the spy game, Velvet just doesn't think he's their man. 

Unfortunately, when she goes digging, suspecting a frame-up, she gets put right at the scene of another frame -- her own.

And this is where the !@#$ hits the fan, because as it turns out, Velvet Templeton wasn't always a secretary. She was once a field agent in her own right. And while it's been years since she did anything more dangerous than take the bus to work, there's nothing like having your own Agency trying to !@#$ing kill you to get the old instincts back online.

The right wardrobe helps -- a lot.

Hunted and hounded at almost every step, she takes it on the god!@#$ lam, working to retrace the dead agent's steps. Some time ago, on a long-forgotten operation, there was a day he couldn't quite account for. Someone must know what the !@#$ happened, then, and the answers to why he was killed will hopefully follow.

But with each step she takes to unravel this puzzle, her own !@#$ past begins to unravel as well. What happened to the dead agent may have something to do with one of her own dark secrets, long buried behind the facade of "personal secretary."   

Hopefully she can stay a step ahead of her own !@#$ people long enough to find out what's really going on here. But when you're up against a group like ARC-7, and still shaking off the rust of so many years, such hopes are few and fleeting, indeed. 

What else could I say about Velvet? Plenty more, but that'd ruin a number of genuine pleasures and surprises in what turned out to be a !@#$ good spy tale. And when I'm saying something like that, well, that's saying something, son.   

Put it this way -- when Velvet says that operatives hate to follow the rules, but yet are good at following orders? That's when you know they get it.

But let me break it down a little more for you: 

1) Believable Superspy Story: Believe you me, this is hard to pull off. So many people think it's all about guns, gadgets, disguises, and !@#$ing women with names like "Quim Sundae." And while they are in here (well, not poor Ms. Sundae) the creators understand that the game is more about having contacts, using assets, remembering the little things, and being willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to get the job done.   

2) 1970's Period Piece: While it's not always evident -- and that's probably a good thing -- the fact that this is set back in the 70's makes the tale a little more intriguing to me. No cell phones to steal, no PCs to hack, no internet to get all the answers from. There are no shortcuts, only tradecraft. And that is glorious.   

3) A Great Creative Team: What else could you expect from the creators of Captain America: the Winter Soldier? Brubaker's writing is stellar, here: well-paced and taut, with an excellent understanding of when to tell and when to show. And Epting's art is excellent, able to move from the shadows to the light in all the right spots, and stay well-grounded in a gritty realism that makes the leaps into superspy mode just that much more astounding.

"It's dark, and we're wearing superspy glasses."  "Hit it."

If you loved their run on Captain America, and wanted to see how they handle a full on spy tale that doesn't have powers or costumes? This is your ticket, son. Buy the !@#$ thing and get on board.

SPYGOD'S VERDICT: Two and a half thumbs up for a solid, exciting, period spy tale with top-notch art, excellent pacing, and a main character whose past never fails to surprise. Velvet's one to catch every month, provided you can keep up with her. 

Velvet Vol. 1: Before the Living End -- get it at your local comic store!

7/7/14 - Black Science, Vol. 1: How To Fall Forever (Image)

As I was saying just the other day, son, I !@#$ing hate dimensional travel. 

I mean, it's hard enough dealing with !@#$ in our own world, let alone anyone else's. But when you go leaping from one plane of reality into another, even if you wind up on the same !@#$ing planet you're always running the risk of altered history, social errors that can get your !@#$ killed, or worse, and crazy !@#$ you'd never even think of. Like having my fine, gay !@#$ chased through Ancient Greece by god!@#$ nazi robots riding giant worms.

(And no, son, we are not talking about that. If that was any more classified I'd have to shoot God in the face.)

Plus, there's the god!@#$ landings. It's not always like that one !@#$ movie where Snake Plissken and Ultron are going through the giant Egyptian space donut, and can send a robot ahead to check it the !@#$ out. Nine times out of ten you're just through and gone, on a literal wing and a prayer, with no !@#$ing telemetry at all

So the moment you jump through the portal, and land on the other end? Well, it's like jumping from a !@#$ing moving train, son. Maybe you're lucky and you land in a conveniently located pile of hay, but it's more likely you're going to hit the dirt on top of a big !@#$ pile of rocks.

Then, once you've gotten the !@#$ up, and found out half your !@#$ party's turned into mush or been eaten by mouths in the ground, you look down the tracks and see your train going away.

And then you say "Well !@#$, how the !@#$ are we going to get back, now?"

"Wait, what do you mean we can't !@#$ing call a cab?"

So yes, son. I hate it, hate it, hate it. With the power of a thousand big !@#$ burning suns, and all that !@#$. But maybe that's why I like reading about it, if only because I can !@#$ing enjoy it by remote, and not have to worry about fending off a legion of giant, Athenian inchworms with nothing but a can of Greek fire, two empty pistols, and a god!@#$ rock.

Which brings me to the first volume of what has to be, hands-down, the best !@#$ing dimensional travel story I have read in quite some time: the first volume of Black Science -- How to Fall Forever. It's another excellent science fiction offering from Image comics, which, in case you haven't been !@#$ing paying attention, is getting far, far away from simply being an nest of infighting creators who didn't want to deal with Marvel's bull!@#$, anymore.

What's going on? Well, here's this scientist, and he's managed to do something extremely ill-considered and illegal. He's made dimensional travel actually !@#$ing work, somehow, and is intent on using that knowledge to go exploring, and bring back amazing new things to the world.

"Come on, man. There are starving kids in Africa!"

All well and good, but there's just one problem -- the first trip out wasn't supposed to have this many people on it. Something went really !@#$ing wrong, in the lab, and now there's people stuck on another world that clearly have no business being there. Most notably his !@#$hole boss, as well as his own kids who really shoudn't have come along.

Yet another problem? The controls on their device have been smashed all to !@#$. So not only are they lost, but they have no control over where they are !@#$ing going, and the time they spend on each world is totally random.

But there's an even bigger problem than that. Those controls didn't get !@#$ing smashed by accident. One of the people on this trip is a !@#$ traitor, willing to kill them all to stop this experiment.

And how can you fight for your lives in a strange and hostile alien environment when one of the group is trying to knife the rest you in the back...?

How indeed, sweet William. How indeed.

I'm not !@#$ing saying anything more about the plot, itself, because to do so would ruin a lot of the great surprises and shocks this has in store. It's enough to say that it reminds me of Sliders crossed with the original Lost in Space, with a little bit of early Doctor Who mixed in for good measure. That and a !@#$ton of fighting, heavy language, and a story that's slowly unwound from well-timed flashbacks makes this a well-paced treat.

But I will say why this series really amazed me.

1) Sheer imagination. Being able to go to different !@#$ing dimensions gives a lot of chances to show off your writing and art chops, and Remender, Scalera, and White do not disappoint. There's more ideas in a single world they encounter than there are in most big box-office films, and the artists bring them to life with a great deal of verve.

2) Great Pulp. This is some brilliant, two-fisted stuff, here. It reminds me of 70's-era Heavy Metal magazine, back before it drank a big bottle of SUCK that it still hasn't quite voided from its system. And yet, unlike that magazine's output, which always amazed yet disheartened, this series has hope and humanity in equal measure -- essential ingredients if you want to care about the people, and their fates.

3) Who's dying next. Having read a lot of science fiction, and watched it on the screen, one slowly develops a sense of fatalism about certain kinds of characters. You know who's going to live, who's going to die; who's going to sacrifice themselves bravely, and who's just going to get offed for a shock. I'm happy to report that Black Science bucks this trend with all the force of an iron bull set up to 11. You really do not see most of the important character death coming, and the results are quite spectacular, in terms of what it brings to bear on the plot.

In short, Image Comics has itself another winner, here. If you've been digging Remender's high-WTF work on Uncanny Avengers, and were floored by his Dimension Z saga in Captain America, Black Science will show you what he can do when he doesn't have Marvel telling him to play nice. And if you've liked Scalera's other work, the glory he and Dean White get up to will have you drooling in anticipation for the next issue.

And maybe a few other things, besides...

SPYGOD'S VERDICT: Three thumbs up for a great concept that's amazingly well-executed, and has left me wanting a !@#$ of a lot more. This is one you should make a monthly buy.

Black Science vol 1 - How To Fall Forever - get it at your local comic store!

7/2/14 - Three-Fisted Confession, Statement of Intent, and Invitation to Eat It

I often say confession's good for the soul -- especially when you don't have to stick a big !@#$ gun up someone's nose to get it.

So, in this day and age of this hero's 70th anniversary, and that one's 75th, and so on, I have a confession to make. It's one that you might not be entirely surprised about, given who I am and what I do. But, just in case you're wondering where I stand on so-called comic books?

Well, son, once upon a time, I really did not give two flaming bags of dog!@#$ about comic books of any kind.

I mean, sure, we had them, back when I was a kid. That was back in the 20's and 30's, when some of the original masked men books were hitting the stands, and then thugs and mad scientists. Buck Rogers, The Phantom, Flash Gordon, and Tarzan were in the !@#$ing strips, and you had Batman and Superman in their own books, along with the original Sandman, Blue Beetle, and Human Torch. !@#$, even that Namor douche was around back then, if you can believe that.

 Buck Rogers: Making men feel inadequate since 1929

Yeah, we had all kinds of crazy comic books, but I didn't !@#$ing need them.

See, while other kids were grooving to masked men and dangerous detectives, I was looking through the papers to see what my real life hero, The Owl, was up to over in Chi-Town. And while my brothers were rooting through the trash to find old newspapers and tossed-out books, and being set upon by our neighbors' man-eating doberman, who wasn't happy to have his trash messed with, I was putting clips of The Owl's exploits into a scrapbook, along with my really !@#$ty drawings of him.

And I read them over and over again, like some kids do with comics. Because The Owl was !@#$ing real, and exciting, and seemed a !@#$ of a lot better than those other morons my brothers were !@#$ing gaga over.

So, yes, son, that means I totally !@#$ing missed out on those comics that everyone wishes they had a copy of. The super-rare, uber-valuable ones that could have eventually used to buy a god!@#$ manmade island off the coast of Dubai and populate it with katoeys and cockatoos, and still have some bucks left over for a Fiat.

!@#$ son, I held a copy of the first issue of Action Comics in my !@#$ hands, and tossed it over my shoulder because I thought it was a snore. 

I did kind of get the last laugh, though. When I and my brothers went off to war, my mom threw away my brothers' comic books. But she kept my Owl Journal, because she thought it was !@#$ing cute.

(I gave it to the Owl family as a gift, decades later, as a "thank you." It burned along with the Owls Nest, sadly.)

But that was back before people thought there just might be something to this "comic book" thing, other than turning kids into gay truant scofflaws and undermining their GPA. Back before anyone thought to say that a complete story, or at least a compilation of 4 to 12 issues, might be called a "graphic novel."

And back before people were willing to say that a "graphic novel" might be a perfectly !@#$ing legitimate way to tell a story, using the unique strengths of the medium to do what ordinary prose cannot accomplish.

 "Go ahead. Dis Love and Rockets one more time, you 

snooty traditionalist. I dare you. I double dare you!"

Now, I was once one of those scoffers, son. I had nothing but scorn for those paper things my brothers couldn't !@#$ing afford, but somehow got their hands on, anyway. And every !@#$ time they went trashcan-diving for comic gold, and the doberman pounced from nowhere to bite them on their !@#$es, I laughed like a man possessed.

But one day, I had the opportunity to discover just how !@#$ing important these comic books could be.

You've heard me !@#$ing go on about dimensional travel at some length, I'm sure? Well, don't do it, kids. It's not !@#$ing fun. You wind up on the other end of a really weird!@#$ looking glass, when you're wandering around someone else's Earth, and no one !@#$ing wants you there, anyway.

It's like being a germ in someone's bloodstream, son. The whole !@#$ landscape wants you gone. Everyone acts like they do in that one movie where Howard Hughes is leading Kitty Pride around his mindscape, and all his subconscious people start walking into her.

Imagine every cop thinking you're a criminal, every bully thinking you're a victim, every victim thinking you're a bully, and every 60-year-old grandma with a sixgun in her purse thinking you're looking at her... punk.

 Slowly, Clark began to realize this was not a surprise party.

But you know how this business works, son. Accidents can and do happen. And this one time I got blown over into a world that was a near copy of ours... mostly.

I mean, the Presidents were mostly the same, mostly, except that Jack Kennedy was shot, and that worthless streak of Texas cow!@#$ he had for a Veep was the President for a while. But the countries, the history, the culture, all pretty much bang on.

However, there wasn't a single real strategic talent or super villain to be found anywhere. They weren't real, except for a few morons who wanted to dress up like !@#$ing Batman, and then get busted for public intoxication and trying to off one another for Jesus.

No, son. All the heroes you see every day, here? All the villains and criminals and vigilantes and licensed heroes? They were all in comic books.

And I had my own !@#$ing title, all to myself.

Now, I'm sure you can !@#$ing imagine what was going through my head when I walked into a friendly, local comic book store and saw myself, staring back at me. Not only did that throw me for a !@#$ing loop, but it made me want to read every !@#$ issue they had on hand.

And then it made me want to !@#$ing cry, son. Big !@#$ tears. And shoot up half the !@#$ place, too, though I held off and just did that at the !@#$py hipster bar next door, instead.

(Hipsters seem to be a cosmic constant, like Jim Morrison and Jesus Christ.)

Why, you ask? Because while it was !@#$ing me, and the things it talked about did !@#$ing happen, they got the details wayyyyyy wrong.

  Thankfully, not this !@#$ing wrong. 

Things were just... off, son. Kind of like when your parents are telling a story about something that happened during your childhood, years ago, and they're getting things !@#$ing wrong?

And there you, saying "No, mom. It wasn't Bill from up the block who got caught stealing Joe's sister's underwear off the line. It was Roger from two streets over. And he wasn't my friend, he used to give me wedgies and steal my lunch money. Remember?"

And your mom's just shaking her head, and saying "No, it was Bill. I told you not to play with Bill, and that's why."

And there's no point arguing with mom, now is there? Even when she's wrong, she's right.

Well, I think my mom wrote those issues of SPYGOD: THE DRUNKEN GUNS OF LIBERTY. The details were shaky, the dialogue was !@#$ing shot to Hell.

And then art... oh son, don't even !@#$ing get me started on the art. My !@#$ing cat does better likenesses in his litter pan after a hefty, steaming, vodka-infused !@#$.

I managed to make it out of that crazy, heroless nightmare of a world without Talia Al'Ghul tying me to a !@#$ing train track, and I brought home one of those issues of my comic book. I put it up behind glass, and hung it down the hallway with all the heads. And when visitors to The B.U.I.L.D.I.N.G. came by and asked, I'd just smile and say "!@#$ you, you don't want to know."

Because they really didn't.

But that made me respect the art and craft of the comic book a whole lot more, right there. Just knowing that there was some real art and craft to it. That the choice of a word, or the tilt of a panel, or making sure not to use the person you're currently !@#$ing as your artist (unless they really are that good) can make the difference between some piece of !@#$ and a modern epic.

In that vein, I've decided that, since time is short and money is tight for most of my fans, it might be a nice thing for me to review comics for you. After all, I am uniquely qualified, having been a god!@#$ cartoon character most of my adult life. I've been places that four colors can't take you, done things you won't see in flashbacks panels, and broken down the fourth wall enough times to know that there's even a !@#$ fifth wall, out there.

I've seen it and done it, son. And now I've read it, and want to pass my judgment onto you.

So here we are: you, me, and a whole bunch of comics, graphic novels, maybe even a real book or two. We'll laugh, we'll learn, we'll get drunk and read like mother!@#$ers.

And maybe we'll all be happier in the end, for having brought out the good in the medium, and avoided the bad. Especially when the bad looks like !@#$ing cat !@#$ with guns, an eyepatch, and a smile.

Don't like it? Eat it. But this train's heading out, drunken guns and all.

You're welcome