9/4/14 - Fury Max: My War Gone By - (Marvel)

Now, son, this may !@#$ing surprise you to no !@#$ing end, but people always tell me that I !@#$ing remind them of Nick Fury.

Sometimes, when folks say that !@#$ to me, I just smile and say that he should !@#$ing remind them of me. But that's only if I'm in a good !@#$ing mood that has not been ruined by supervillain bull!@#$, science terrorist nonsense, and an alien invasion or two.

And, as that kind of !@#$ happens to me all the god!@#$ time, I normally just smile, pistol-whip them a few times, and make them buy me !@#$ing beer until they know !@#$ing better. And sometimes I just kick them in the god!@#$ skull, dump them face-first in the nearest garbage receptacle, and hang a sign around their feet that says "Make Mine Marvel"

It could go either !@#$ing way, son. And you do not want to !@#$ing test me on that.

I mean, of all the !@#$ing nerve! Other than us both being bad!@#$ mother!@#$ers from New York City that fought in World War II, lost an eye along the !@#$ way, became sort-of immortal, run massive super-spy organizations, and like a good stiff drink now and then, can you see a god!@#$ resemblance? Really? 

Really? Well, okay then. But I just don't see it.

However, that's not because I don't !@#$ing like Colonel Nicholas J. Fury. I happen to think very highly of the man. It's just like when people can't !@#$ing tell the difference between Denzel Washington and Samuel L Mother!@#$ing Jackson, you know? It's not like we semi-immortal superspies all look alike or anything.

And speaking of respect, my admiration of the man went up a massive !@#$ing amount after reading what is, in my not so humble opinion, probably the best !@#$ Nick Fury story in !@#$ing years. And that would be Fury Max: My War Gone By, which just dropped in hardcover.

This is not the Nick Fury you remember from the old, seriously over-the-!@#$ing-top Steranko comics, or anything that has descended from that. This is the Nick Fury that showed up in the brutally delicious (and deliciously brutal) Punisher Max series that Garth Ennis did, a few years back -- an old cold warrior, weighed down by years of dark deeds done in secret, and realities too hard for all but the blackest, most resolute of souls to bear. 

Fortunately, he does have some time-honored coping mechanisms.

Fury provides the brilliant capstone to that series, and you almost get the idea that Ennis had a lot more to tell about him? Well, happy !@#$ing Christmas, son -- you got your Kwanzaa goose early, this year. Because Fury is old, run-down, and locked in a hotel room with booze, hookers, a gun, and a tape recorder, and he's wanting to !@#$ing tell all.

What's he going to talk about? Well, I'm not one to ruin the tale, but he starts off with him drinking in a bar in Indochina, just before things get really !@#$ hairy, and we meet the principal players right off the bat. There's a new, fresh-faced kid who's there to take orders from this living legend, a mysterious woman who can hold her own in fighting and conversation (and a few other things besides) and an overly-friendly Congressman who's really wanting to get Fury on board.

Fury's not sure he should trust this guy, or even the dame, and doesn't know what to make of this new kid. But as soon as he goes into the brush, and sees the kind of people the French have to call on to keep the Commies at bay, everything we think we know goes right the !@#$ out the window, and things get hardcore, morally-grey, and brutal as !@#$ really !@#$ quickly.

Of course, he survives that !@#$, and then spends the rest of the story narrating the different stops on his personal Heart of Darkness boatride -- a journey that takes him from Indochina to Central America, Vietnam to Cuba, and other, worse places, all expertly presented by Goran Parlov, who has a genius at how to illustrate this sort of a war epic. Fury meets interesting people and !@#$ing kills them. He makes the wrong friends and the right enemies. And he eventually loses everything that really !@#$ing matters, because he's too wrapped up in the bad !@#$ to know what good smells like, anymore. 

Not this, in case you were !@#$ing wondering.

I'm just going to say it, son. If you don't buy this, you are !@#$ing missing out. Why? Let me break it down for you, SPYGOD style... 

1) The Writing

Three words, son - Garth !@#$ing Ennis. As clear back as Preacher and his definitive run on Hellblazer, he's been itching to tell you war stories -- to expose the surrealism, horror, and common nobility that ensues when two or more nations send their people out to kill one another. And if you've been reading his "Battlefields" work over at Dynamite, you know what a !@#$ amazing job he does of it when he doesn't have to sneak it in. He deftly captures the blood, mud, and carnage of battle, and the heart and soul of the fighting man and woman.

(And how about his take on the Unknown Soldier? That work should be handed off to every snot-nosed Ivy League punk who wants to go work for the other Company {as opposed to my COMPANY}. It'll blow some minds, that's for !@#$ing sure.)

Well, Garth comes through in this work -- big time. This is a !@#$ epic story, right here, filled with love, loss, sex, death, betrayal, loyalty, and the horrible understanding that comes when you realize you have done the wrong things for what you thought were the right reasons, and hitched your horse to the wrong !@#$ wagon, but are now too far down the !@#$ing wrong road to ever turn back now. It's like being kicked in the face, over and over, but you can't not read it, because you know if you do you're going to miss one hell of a story. Which brings us to...

2) The Realpolitik

One of the harsh realities of life after the War was that everything we thought we knew was quickly proven wrong. Our wartime allies were now our enemies, and actively working against us, and we couldn't just drive into Moscow and take them the !@#$ over because they'd nuke us in return. So from there on out, we'd have to fight shadow battles around the world to keep it from turning red, and some of the people we'd have to rely on to "help" were incompetent, savage, criminal, or possibly even worse than the !@#$ing commies, themselves.

Fury has a great line in this book. He repeats it twice. I won't say what it is, but you'll !@#$ing know it when you see it. And I agree 100%.

And that leaves us with... 

3) The Man

There is no SHIELD as you know it, here, in the MAX Universe. No countess, no Captain America, no protective circle of top agents and near-endless supply of disposable grunts with jetpacks, rayguns, flying cars, and bull!@#$ like that. There's just a rank, a trusted subordinate, a mission, and a gun to do it with. And when you take all that !@#$ away from him, there's just a man that's seen and done too much !@#$ to square with his conscience, and the story he has to tell will probably shake you like a bag of chicken.

But that's the story, son. He gets dumped into the !@#$, time after time, and all he can call on are his wits, his fists, and his willingness to do anything to get through another day, or at least see the mission done. This is hard as nails !@#$, son: when he lives, you breathe a sigh of relief; when he wins, you cheer; and when he loses, as he so often does in the really important things, you feel like someone pulled out your heart and !@#$ in your chest.

A lot of guys have written Fury over the years. They've made him tough, they've made him sensible, they've made him comedic relief from time to time, and sometimes he's even a hero. This is one of the few times they've made him a man, and one worth !@#$ing knowing at that.

SPYGOD'S Verdict: Three thumbs up for a brutally honest look at the Cold War, and the terrible things we've had to do to survive it, all presented by a character who's rarely been this honestly-written. Garth Ennis has delivered a brilliant story, here -- one that will hopefully inform those who write Fury from here on out.

Fury Max: My War Gone By - Get the hardcover at your local comic store!

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!