10/28/14 - Moon Knight - From the Dead (Marvel)

What do I think about vigilantes, son? Well, how about we say I hate vigilantism but love a vigilante, to twist a !@#$ing phrase?

What, that's not !@#$ing good enough? Jesus, son. Make me get all !@#$ing technical, here.

Well, how about this, then: I'm !@#$ing conflicted. Vigilantes are as American as apple pie, and a !@#$ vital part of our culture. But, as the person who's got to !@#$ing oversee our nation's superheroes (and, yes, take them out on occasion), they're a big !@#$ !@#$ing pain in my !@#$.

You see, people say they love superheroes, and most of the time they do. Especially when they !@#$ing save your town, your house, your !@#$, or just get your kitty cat out of a !@#$ing tree.

But when they have to trash your town in order to !@#$ing put down a bank robber who can pick up vaults with his pinky finger? People get a little less appreciative.

Yeah, next time? Just call 911. We'll all be better off. Really.

No !@#$, son. On good days I joke that half the !@#$ing job is phone calls, the other half is logistics, and another half is public relations. But on bad days, when I got every !@#$stick politico looking for an issue, muckraking reporter in search of an expose, and maybe even the !@#$ President himself calling me to complain that Captain Wizz-Bang flattened !@#$ing Arch in St. Louis while punching it up with Dr. Fisticuffs?

Well, let's just say I don't !@#$ing feel like making jokes, son. I feel like shooting things at people. Especially Captain !@#$ing Wizz-Bang and his tendency to punch first and look where he's aiming people second. (!@#$hole.)

So if that's the kind of nightmare I have with people I can visit at 2 in the !@#$ing AM, and take to god!@#$ task for demolishing national monuments, or half of !@#$ing Denver, imagine what it's like to take the heat for people I can't.

"Badges? I don't need no stinkin' badges!"

Now, some !@#$hole wants to run around long island in his long-johns with a mask on his face and smack muggers with a a god!@#$ baseball bat? I can live with that. But when he's packing guns even the !@#$ cops can't carry? Bringing sophisticated combat machinery and technohoziwhatzits into an urban environment? Leaving crooks and human trash broken and bleeding all over the streets?

Well, theoretically I'm supposed to go visit that son of a !@#$, lock him the !@#$ down, and drag him in for a laundry list of crimes perpetrated in the pursuit of whatever they might call "justice." I'm also theoretically supposed to be having my own heroes !@#$ing watching for such people, so they can bust their !@#$es before it gets to that point. 

Theoretically.

But then I remember that one of the best, most decent heroes I ever worked with, The Owl, was a vigilante, too, technically. So were his friends and allies, some of whom were real stars in their day. And I also have to remember that the Black Card (Gods rest his soul), while he was a !@#$ing maniac butcher, was the best weapon I had against the East Coast mafia for decades.

And I have to remember that, while we're all !@#$ing wrapped up with rules, and officials, and PR, and the !@#$ing President calling to complain about having to apologize to the mayor of St. Louis, again, that sometimes we forget that it's all about taking direct action to fix a problem before it gets any worse than it already !@#$ing is.

And I have to remember that even a vigilante has a place in our orderly world. 

And I ain't !@#$ing arguing with this !@#$ sexy hunk of man.

So yeah. I get wind someone new's on the scene? I have one of my capes go pay him or her a visit, see if they're !@#$ing cracked in the head (or more cracked than usual). Tell them to mind how they !@#$ing go. Check in with them, every once in a while. Give them a number to call, be a friend, and give them a good !@#$ing example to follow.

They want to go pro? They can !@#$ing call me. But otherwise, they don't want to see me. Because that means bad !@#$ing news for everyone involved.

And that's the story, son. Technically, I !@#$ing hate it when someone takes the law into their own !@#$ hands, but yet I love the people who do.  Especially when they're so !@#$ing messed up that beating the !@#$ out of skels and crooks is the only way they can make sense of their personal situation. And while that's a major !@#$ing red flag for my line of work, it makes for some !@#$ interesting reading, to say the least.

And that's why I love people like Marc Spector, better known as Moon Knight.

Moon Knight is one of those !@#$ characters that rarely seems to get a fair !@#$ing shake. And part of that's because he's a big !@#$ bag of weird (he started out as a foil for Werewolf by Night, for !@#$'s sake). And part of it's because, given that he is a big !@#$ bag of weird, no one seems to really know what the !@#$ to do with him except (1) ignore the last series and (2) start all over again.

True, some characters and situations keep coming around, as you might !@#$ing expect. But it seems like every new creative team gets told "don't make us cancel him," so they go an entirely different direction to avoid it. Which is all well and good, at least until they stumble the !@#$ all over themselves trying to do that big !@#$ new thing, lose readers like fingers at a leper disco, and then get the book !@#$ing shut down, anyway.

Which leaves me !@#$ happy to see a new series, very hopeful this team's got the moxie to stick around for more than a couple years, and then crying big !@#$ tears every time I get the sense it's about to come crashing the !@#$ down, again.

So what do you do when you have a weird-!@#$ but interesting character that no one knows what the !@#$ to do with? You hand it over to someone who's handled him before, and has a knack for taking Marvel characters on a short, sharp, science-fictiony ride somewhere really !@#$ weird and interesting.

"Shut up and review the !@#$ing book, already, SPYGOD."

And that would be Warren Ellis, who you may remember as being the man whose 12-issue run on Thunderbolts, just after the end of Marvel's Civil War, helped define the aftermath whole !@#$ing storyline like you would not believe. Also the same man who took Secret Avengers for a spin none of us will ever !@#$ing forget, and had us !@#$ing cheering on Monica Rambeau and Aaron Stack for the first time in decades in Nextwave.

(And don't even get me started on Doom 2099, son. Just... don't. Please.)

During his run on Secret Avengers, Ellis had Moon Knight on the ticket. At times he seemed to be the resident loony (and the butt of some of Beast's techno-jokes) but he proved himself a !@#$ good member of the team. However, you kind of got the sense that Ellis wanted to do more with him? Well, here's his chance.

So this is the deal: after hanging out on the !@#$ing West Coast, supposedly with a number of other heroes in tow, but in reality just !@#$ing talking to himself, again, Marc Spector is back in the Big Apple, kicking !@#$ and taking names in a white suit. He's even got a decent working relationship with the cops, which is not something to !@#$ing sneeze at in this day and age.

But now he knows something he didn't know before, courtesy of a shrink he hired in a rare moment of lucidity. It turns out that he doesn't have dissociative identity disorder after all, and can't really be called crazy, as we understand it, which is supposedly "good news." But what it does mean is that, when he died in Egypt, all those years ago, some "otherterrestrial" entity !@#$ed with his head and gave him !@#$ing brain damage.

"Smile" the shrink tells him. Well !@#$ you, too, lady.

Needless to say, this is not good news. But it does explain a few things -- most notably, any number of people and allies he's !@#$ing hallucinated in the past. And so, armed with (possibly) accurate information, our weird and interesting hero wanders into the dark of New York City, and takes on some really !@#$ing weird and !@#$ interesting cases.

If you think I'm going to tell you exactly what he gets up to in these six issues, you are out of your !@#$ing mind. All I can say is that, if you love Warren Ellis, Moon Knight, stories of cracked urban vigilantes, or comics that are fun and creepy at the same time, you need to pick up From The Dead as soon as possible.

Why? Well, let me break it down for you, SPYGOD Style

1) Warren !@#$ing Ellis

Normally we call this "The Writing," but, as anyone knows by now, Ellis is one of those writers whose work you should snatch up on general !@#$ing principle. See his name on the cover? Pick it the !@#$ up. I can't give a higher bit of praise than that.

That said? Ellis is not perfect. He has !@#$ great ideas, but sometimes they're so great that he doesn't mind !@#$ing repeating them a few times, only with different people saying the same things. When he's on form, you don't mind so much, and when he's not, well, you feel like it's deja vu all over again.

From the Dead is very much on form, son. 

So, yes, what you will read will sound (and, yes, look) a little !@#$ familiar in places. But what he does with that familiar ground will be astounding, because these six, stand-alone stories have been honed to razor-sharp perfection.

About this sharp, in case you were !@#$ing wondering.

There's clever misdirection, here. There's little details that you miss the first !@#$ time around and then realize why they look familiar later. There's the brilliant notion of having the whole thing set up in the three panels on the title page, and only knowing what they meant when you get to the last page. And there's some really !@#$ing amazing nods to things gone by, like the resurrection of the old, Bill Sienkiewicz-era SHIELD logo for a logical use, as well as old characters from the previous series, used sparingly and well, and a villain that, unlike Moon Knight, you won't see coming from out of the dark.

In other words, this is Warren Ellis taking a fun character and having fun, and you're invited. But such a party would be incomplete without...

2) The Art

... And what a great artist combo we have here! Thanks to Declan (Deadpool) Shalvey's excellent drafting, and the well-considered color wheel of Jordie (Pretty Deadly) Bellaire, Moon Knight looks truly amazing. The work's well-grounded in a plain, noir realism that makes the deviations from the every day really stand out.

And what deviations we have, here.

Today, Moon Knight punches ghosts. Film at 11.

Some of the !@#$ they threw up at me was so stunning that I felt like I'd accidentally dosed myself with something from the bag Hunter S Thompson left behind, the last time he !@#$ing visited. And the bastard still has my !@#$ing guns, and now that he'd dead I can't shoot him for it. (!@#$hole)

But! Take that as challenge to be amazed. And while you're being amazed by the !@#$ Moon Knight gets up to, you should also take this !@#$ing opportunity to appreciate... 

3) Moon Knight, !@#$ it. 

 

You couldn't pay someone a million !@#$ing dollars and get a better synopsis of a character that has apparently baffled too many creative teams to name. Even Brian Michael Bendis couldn't do more with him than have him be a !@#$ing hero comedy with occasional bits of pathos thrown in. 

But this? This is Moon Knight the way he should be written. 

He's weird, but how much of it is an act is questionable. He's commanding, but that may also be part of the act. He's strong, but he's also all too human. He's smart, but makes some dumb-!@#$ mistakes now and again. He's cunning, but that can also backfire at times.  

And !@#$ but does he have some neat !@#$ing toys.  

And he does what he does because he has to do it, and can't get around it. A vigilante in the purest sense of the word, though his big !@#$ crusade is more about making up for all the !@#$ing red in his ledger, rather than avenging the day they killed his wife, his child, and his !@#$ yappy dog all in one go. That, coupled with the fact that an "otherterrestrial" stuck its !@#$ in his brain and took him for a big !@#$ joyride, makes Moon Knight who and what he is. 

And Ellis takes what he's given and makes it sing -- on key and really !@#$ing loud. His faceted (not fractured) personality allows him to do one issue where he uses weird !@#$ to beat down on weird !@#$, but then another one where he fights his way though less weird !@#$ in a brutal, highly-methodical fashion, and still another one where he handles some weird !@#$ in a weird but ruthless fashion, and...

"You want ruthless and brutal? I'll give you ruthless and brutal!"

Well, I'm telling too much. But yes, there are big !@#$ personality shifts at work, here. But because he's Moon Knight, they work. And because it's Warren Ellis, he makes it work.

The bad news is that, as per Ellis' tendency with Marvel, he only did these six issues, and then handed it on to another team to continue. The good news is that they're building off of what he did, and seem to be off to a good !@#$ start so far.

But even if that crashes and burns like an out of control drone shaped like a !@#$ing crescent moon, we've got this to chew on. Savor it, son. This is about as good as it !@#$ing gets.

The Verdict: Three happy thumbs up for what is, hands down, probably the best tackling of a complex character who's been sadly under-realized throughout most of his life. From the Dead's clever, brutal, and playfully dark script is coupled with masterful art, and the combination makes for a perfect (re)starting point for this vigilante. If anyone tries to spoil it - kill them with fire.

Moon Knight: From the Dead - get the Trade Paperback at your local comic store!

9/29/14 - Sugar Skull (Pantheon)

Now son, as you may well know by now, SPYGOD deals with a lot of strange and crazy !@#$.

I've had to handle weird !@#$ing science, more parallel worlds and alternate timelines than you want to !@#$ing know about, spontaneous apotheosis, sideways reincarnation, rogue pantheons, nasty concepts made flesh, angry angels, bad evil Jesii, two-headed space zebras, and super-tenacious mother!@#$ers who want to force me to answer the !@#$ census.

(I even !@#$ing suckerpunched "Bob," once, if you can !@#$ing believe that. !@#$er had it coming.)

And I bet you can guess where I crammed that !@#$ pipe, too.

But none of that !@#$ can even hold a candle to John. 

Who's John? Well, that's a !@#$ good question, son. I never really knew. No one did. He was el hombre invisible, as he liked to !@#$ing say. There but not, here but gone.

A shadow walking, not even worthy of a real name.

See, John was an Operator. A Grey Man. The sort of person who could take time and space and mix them the !@#$ up like the contents of a drink. Past and future, life and death, he could see them for what they were, hold them in his !@#ing hands, cut them up like paper dolls, and put them back together any which way but !@#$ing lose.

And he said he didn't !@#$ing fear death because he'd already seen it from day one. And it was just the punchline to the joke we tell while we live our life.

He also said he could kill us with his !@#$ typewriter, and I believed him.

Now, is that deep or just !@#$ing clever? I got no !@#$ing idea. He was always saying cryptic, circular !@#$ like that. Talking with John was like doing crosswords while being !@#$ed up on mescaline, drunk on white lightning, and running for your @#$ life.

I met him under strange and dangerous as !@#$ circumstances, worked with him a couple dozen times over the years, and maybe earned the right to call him friend. But then he just sort of !@#$ing vanished one time, leaving a grey hole in our lives.

And as far as we could tell, he'd never !@#$ing been there at all...

Spooky? Son, you got no !@#$ing idea. But every so often I remember just what it was like to get all caught up in crazy, bent reality hi-jinx, and I really !@#$ing miss that warbling, grey-suited, hard-drinking !@#$hole with his echoing telephone line of a voice.

Which is probably why I've been loving the !@#$ing !@#$ out of Charles Burns' latest work, which just concluded with Sugar Skull. This series has been one dark headtrip from start to !@#$ing finish (X'ed Out, The Hive, Sugar Skull) and manages to be a tragically broken love story, a time-looped chronicle of a mental breakdown, a travelogue of a truly alien landscape, and a weird homage to William S Burroughs, bad romance comics, and Herge's Tintin at the same time.

Trust me on this, son -- no one is !@#$ing ready for this kind of !@#$.

I mean, !@#$, son -- I read Black Hole and El Borbah, so I thought I knew what I was !@#$ing in for. But this series threw me for a big !@#$ loop, all the same. It reminds me of Grant Morrison's early "Word and Picture Salad" work on such things as Doom Patrol and The Invisibles, except that Charles Burns is twice as !@#$ing hardcore. And it also reminds of me of Daniel Clowes' earlier, pre-Ghost World work, only twice as hard-hitting.

What's going on? Well... *cough*

See, here's the thing. I can't say too much about what happens in Sugar Skull, because then I'd have to !@#$ing kill you. Or you'd !@#$ing kill me for ruining the surprise. And trust me, son, there are some surprises, here.

But let's go over what we know so far. There's a guy named Doug, who fancies himself an artiste, and has clearly been through the mother of all !@#$ing traumatic breakups with another artiste named Sarah -- involving some kind of nasty injury. But Doug is also Johnny 23, who's a weird-!@#$ Tintin stand-in, trapped in a strange and grisly world where he's trying to get with the new Queen of the hive, but not doing too well in that !@#$ing regard, and having to rely on some creepy, malformed dwarf who's clearly scamming his greenhorn !@#$.

Who's dreaming who? That's hard to tell, sometimes. Everything's all !@#$ing jumbled up like one of those creepy plates of eggs the dwarf wants him to pay for. His dead dad shows up both places, and aspects of Sarah's art keeps coming back to !@#$ing bite him in the !@#$ every time he turns around.

Truer words were never !@#$ing spoken. I'll be over here, drinking to forget.

See, it's clear as !@#$ing glass that something happened, beyond the obvious answer of "boy got his !@#$ handed to him." But because Doug's not ready to !@#$ing face it, yet, we're not quite sure what it is. And Doug and Johnny are doing everything possible to tiptoe around that big !@#$ uncomfortable truth, like a drunk who just can't face up to the fact that he drinks to forget what drove him to !@#$ing drink in the first place...

Got all that, son?

Well, this is where we find out what the !@#$ actually happened, in all respects. And it's a credit to Charles Burns' work that, even if you figured out some of what was !@#$ing going on, either right from the get-go in X'ed Out, or after reading The Hive, the ending smacks you upside the !@#$ skull like a punch you just can't duck, and you're flat on the !@#$ floor not long thereafter.

"He saw death, and death was a psycho with a terrifying haircut."

What I can tell you, however, is why I'm giving this installment of the series three big !@#$ thumbs up, SPYGOD style.

1) The Art

Charles Burns' art has always been astonishingly good. Even when it just looked like crazy weird !@#$ for the sake of being crazy weird !@#$, it was amazing crazy weird !@#$ -- well-suited to the crazy weird-as-!@#$ stories he wanted to tell. (Look at El Borbah if you don't !@#$ing believe me.)

Well, as time's gone on, he's gotten even !@#$ing better. His work's more refined, more defined. Tighter, even. And in a story like this, where we're going back and !@#$ing forth between Normalsville and Whatthe!@#$ Town? It makes the sliding and sudden transitions all the more jarring.

"The way... is shut."

But -- and this is a big !@#$ but, here -- this trilogy has revealed just how good color can make his art. Normally, I haven't minded its absence, because he's one of those artists whose stuff looks !@#$ing great in spite of being black and white (and maybe because of it, sometimes -- I can't really imagine Black Hole being as stark and spooky if it was in color). But the use of a pallete in these three books has really opened up a new world for him. Hopefully he sticks with it (where artistically appropriate, of course!)

2) The Story

Like I said before, this is some heavy !@#$. It takes a number of really odd images, thoughts, and occurrences, and re-assembles them together into a new and darkly-amazing form -- creating a surreal blend of events that have been carefully constructed to make you feel utter, soul-crushing dread sneaking the !@#$ up behind you like a crazy-faced, midget bouncer in a doomed leather bar full of !@#$-gobbling mutants that are one bad 80's song away from using your head as a big !@#$ suppository. 

But you know what? None of that would mean a !@#$ if it wasn't for those two words: "carefully constructed." It's clear to me that there was a big !@#$ plan at work, here -- one that took time and expertise to plan, craft, and then execute. He wasn't just winging this !@#$ on a bender while dodging !@#$ty drivers on those crazy, Pennsylvania hills.

No, son. This was Poe at his desk, writing The Raven. This was Alan Moore writing Watchmen. I would love to have been a !@#$ing fly on the wall while he was scribbling notes and demanding booze. I might have !@#$ing learned something. As for the rest of us, we get the end result, and what a long, strange trip it's been.

Because...

3) The Mercilessness

Here's a thing you may not yet !@#$ing know, son. Fate is a !@#$. You can duck and cover, run and hide. But sooner or later you are going to have to !@#$ing pay for what you've done, or at least face up to it. And on that day, there will be no hiding place.

Especially from yourself.

"Every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advantage."

Well, this is proof positive, son. You know how all of Burns' works have a sense that your !@#$-ups are going to come back and !@#$ you in the !@#$ with your own !@#$ shoe? This trilogy has it in spades. And when you finally figure out what's going on... well, we already talked about being laid out on the !@#$ floor, didn't we?

But here's the big !@#$ brilliance of this work -- you can't !@#$ing look away. You know the !@#$ is going to hit the fan but you can't duck to save your life, any more than you could get your !@#$ car off the tracks before the train hits. You are trapped in the merciless machinery of a clock you wound up yourself, thanks to what you've done and left undone.

And here you are, smiling like a pipe-smoking !@#$hole as the pendulum swings to take your head off at the neck...

Brilliant stuff, son. It'll make you think. It'll make you drink. And after you've taken a shower or two to wash off the bad feeling, you'll go and read all three volumes again, just to see what you !@#$ing missed the first time around, or to make sure that one girl is who you think she is. And there's no higher complement you can give someone like Charles Burns than that.

Other than maybe buying his !@#$ books.

SPYGOD'S Verdict: Three thumbs up for a haunting and merciless conclusion to a well-crafted story that's been dragging us through all kinds of brutal but beautiful strangeness for the last four years. Sugar Skull both clears up the confusion, punches us in the gut several times, and deftly showcases Charles Burns' ability to present a vision of suburban life as dark and surreal wasteland, where fate and brutality conspire to make certain no sin is left unspoken for. 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Speaking of which? You may notice that I end these reviews with a call to go get them at your local comic store? There's a reason for that, son.

You see, big box book stores and the like might sell things like Sugar Skull, or any of the other hardcovers or trade paperbacks that high-rolling publishers and mainstream comics producers might !@#$ out on a regular basis. But only your local comic store is going to carry so-called "underground" and truly independent comics magazines.

And that's mostly because they're the only ones willing to realize that just because something's chronically late, perpetually delayed, and subject to weird adventures in publication and distribution, it's not an unreliable POS, but is, in fact, something wonderful and unpredictable, and worthy of carrying when it actually !@#$ing comes in.

So if if hadn't been for things like, say, Raw, which didn't see the light of day in snooty, big box book emporiums, (Or even Little Professor) but rather decorated the shelves of the sorts of places where skeedy, one-eyed men with rats in their beards got into knife-wielding arguments over whether Miracleman was genius or !@#$, and if Robert Crumb actually had sold out or not, Charles Burns would not have gotten his start, and we wouldn't have something like Sugar Skull to !@#$ up our heads.

You're !@#$ing welcome. Now go get some !@#$ comics, son. And tell Crazy Mike at the Broken Unicorn to feed that !@#$ rat before it eats his other ear, too.

8/29/14 - Trillium - (DC/Vertigo)

Now son, you've heard me !@#$ing go on about dimensional travel, before, and how much I !@#$ing hate that !@#$? Walking through a big !@#$ space donut, landing !@#$ knows where, and discovering you're on a parallel Earth run by !@#$ing McDonalds, or some such? Having to survive in places where Hitler never lost, Rome never fell, and no one ever !@#$ing invented toilet paper? 

Well, let me tell you, there's one thing I !@#$ing hate more than space donuts, and that's !@#$ing time machines. Time travel makes me want to shoot things in the face, repeatedly. Every !@#$ time I go back I have to have a legion of people watching my every !@#$ move, just to make sure I don't !@#$ something up and create a parallel world of my own. 

And the complications are... well, let's just say there's a reason I get kind of misty when I think about President McKinley. And that's all I'm going to !@#$ing say about that. 

 

See if you can find me in this photo.

But, as with dimensional travel, even if you don't !@#$ing want to do it eve !@#$ing again, it's still fun to read about. And same with time travel, too. There's reasons SPYGOD makes time on Saturday nights to sit down and watch a certain BBC show. And there's reasons I force people to !@#$ing watch it with me at gunpoint. Because it's good for them, and I really !@#$ing care. A lot.

Which brings me to Trillium, the new graphic novel by Jeff Lemire -- a truly weird and mind-blowing dance of time, space, language, identity, and the far-reaching cosmic connections that bind us the !@#$ together.

So it's 3797, and the !@#$ has hit the fan. Humanity has mostly succumbed to a god!@#$ sentient virus called The Caul, and is down to about 4000 people - period. And this !@#$ing plague with a plan is creeping its !@#$ way from system to system, intent on stomping humanity underfoot and wiping us off its !@#$ing shoe.

"Wibbley Wobbly Timey Wimey" my bony !@#$! Get me out of here!

And here's the thing, son -- the only !@#$ing thing standing in its way is a bunch of white flowers, being watched over by a bunch of blue aliens with a !@#$ weird language. And some poor Xeniologist is trying to communicate with them so her people can take them and live, and do this before her superiors decide to go all "manifest destiny" and take them, hurt feelings or broken bodies be !@#$ed.

Thing is, it's also 1921, and a former soldier is trudging through the Amazon with a small expedition, trying to find the big !@#$ lost temple of the Incas. He had a really !@#$ing bad go of it during the Great War, and life in England since just hasn't done a !@#$ thing for him. So here he is, looking for something that may not exist, and then having his !@#$ handed to him by the locals, who aren't !@#$ing happy to have nosy white people walking on their !@#$ lawn.

One big !@#$ weird coincidence later, these two people come face to face in his time. They can't !@#$ing understand each other, and they're both confused as !@#$. But there's one word they both have in common: Trillium.

And that's when things get really !@#$ing weird...

Now, let me tell you something, son: Jeff Lemire is a !@#$ing treasure. Canada should insure his !@#$ hands and his head for a couple million dollars apiece. !@#$ knows, they'll do it for much less worthy individuals, some of who I wish they'd !@#$ing frog-march back across the border in chains and throw to the !@#$ bears. 

"SPYGOD, I'm taking away your gay card..."

 But if you were !@#$ing astounded by his work on Animal Man, and were incredibly grateful that he managed to not only salvage the !@#$-tastic mess they made of the Green Arrow reboot, but also knock it out of the !@#$ing park and all the way to the moon, you haven't seen anything until you see what he does when he writes and illustrates his own work. That's when the chains come off and he goes !@#$ wild. I'm thinking of things like Essex County, The Underwater Welder, and his last major work for Vertigo, the post-apocalyptic epic Sweet Tooth. They're trippy, heartfelt, and never less than outright !@#$ing astounding.

(Yes, son, I used that word twice. I'm !@#$ing allowed)

So why should you get the collected edition of Trillium? Let me break it the !@#$ down for you, SPYGOD style. 

1) The Story

I get really !@#$ing bored when someone wants to tell me a science fiction story, these days. I've been there, seen it, gotten the !@#$ t-shirt, and been orally serviced by some weird thing out behind the toilets while waiting for them to call my number and send me the !@#$ home. 

"I can make a film and make you my star /
You'll be a natural the way you are"

So when I say that this science fiction story is something that takes all the time travel tropes we've had shoved on us by !@#$ movies and lazy !@#$ novels, turns them upside down, and gives us something new and interesting? That's !@#$ing saying something.

This is an epic in every sense of the word. This some fierce !@#$ing imagining. There's one big !@#$ story masquerading as two, and yet the underscore of decency and humanity floats alongside it to bring you back to the !@#$ing ground in spite of the wonder. And that is an achievement.

2) The Art

 Yes, his art looks a little !@#$ing weird at times. He's got some !@#$ good drafting and style techniques, but the people all look like they've come off a big !@#$ bad drunk, and sometimes they all look the same from work to work.

But you know what, son? It !@#$ing works. The downbeat human presentation only serves to aid in his presenting creaky, old spaceships that are the last hope of the human race, or possibly its doom, or ancient temples that could be human and alien at the same time (maybe !@#$ing both), or whatever. His sense of realism underscores the fantastic, and makes it truly stand the !@#$ out.

That'll wake you the !@#$ up in the morning, alright.

3) The Audacity

When SPYGOD went to his friendly local comic shop, and bought the first issue, he was amazed to see that they'd played around with the format. The first part of that first issue was one way, covering one time period, and then met the second part halfway... from the back forward, for the other time period. You had to flip it upside !@#$ing down to read the whole thing, and see how they came together in the middle.

"A cheap gimmick," you say? Well !@#$ you. It works perfectly with the story, itself, and they mirrored that in future issues when they got separated in time (and yet still together, sort of) -- having you read the tops of the pages one way, and then read the bottom half the other. There were upside down panels interspersed with the normal ones. All kinds of visual tricks to disorient you, and yet bring you closer to the feeling you'd get when you have to wrap your !@#$ brain around this kind of !@#$.

Which was, if I'm not !@#$ing mistaken, kind of the idea all along.  And if so, well done.  

SPYGOD'S Verdict: Three thumbs up for a trippy, intricate, and truly weird tale that takes us to the far reaches of time and identity, but never loses its humanity along the way. Lemire's excellent storytelling is top notch, and his already-formidable art and design hits a new benchmark, here.

Trillium - get the trade paperback at your local comic store!