Trying to recapture a little of the glory of

Bruce captures his glory days – and ignites them – in his autobiography Born To Run. Ever the craftsman, the lyricist, the poet, the storyteller, the everyman, Bruce Springsteen pens in his memoirs in an enlightening, entertaining way that anyone from the hardcore fan who knows every song by heart to the casual listener who thinks “Born In The U.S.A” is a patriotic foot-tapper will find enjoyable and, believe it or not, relatable.

I waited until this book was available on Audible for the sole purpose of getting the chance to listen to Bruce, to the Boss, to have him tell his story directly to me. His book is not only full of tales from his life, but his philosophy on rock music; his responsibilities to his fans, his band, and his family; how weakness can make one stronger; and how to be an inspiration. 

For over 18 hours, I got to listen to one of my heroes talk to me. I heard intimate stories, rowdy bar tales, rock’n roll hobnobbing, and the fears that most every father has. Bruce talked - to me - about all these and more for over eighteen hours. And I cannot wait to listen to it all again.

As Always

theJOE

Academy Awards - 2017

No rant this year; just a quick rundown of my guesses on how Sunday’s Academy Awards show will go. And with La La Land set to win it all – or most anyway – why bother with analysis. Right?

But, this is my digital stage and would like to point out one observation. I don’t think the rolling number of Best Picture selections is working as it was intended to do, at least for this year. The idea behind the concept was to allow more mainstream, if not, gasp and shock, critically-achieved blockbusters, into the mix allowing a more open and fun debate. This year, all nine films, with the exception of Hacksaw Ridge – and maybe Arrival – are essentially the same: art-house awards fodder or select genre niches (one western, one musical). This year lacks that Mad Max: Fury Road or Martian or American Sniper. That one dark horse contender people smile about. Then again, maybe 2016 didn’t have the chance to present such a film. Except for seeing Captain America and Iron Man go all fisticuffs on each other and a CG Princess Leia, perhaps smiles were at a minimum this past year, meaning the movie-making business on a whole is failing at its one cultural responsibility.

My entries below are who I think will win, along with a very few comments. Before that, some quick analytics based on those choices. I have La La Land set to win 9 of its 14 noms. Fences gets two, both acting. Disney family films = 3. Films set in space (Star Trek Beyond) and Iran (The Salesman) will each get one. But, alas, no Oscar gold for The Lobster, regardless how original the story.

As Always,

theJOE

PICTURE / ACTING CATEGORIES

Best Picture: La La Land

Best Director: Damien Chazelle, La La Land

Best Actor: Denzel Washington, Fences

Best Actress: Emma Stone, La La Land

Best Supporting Actor: Jeff Bridges, Hell Or High Water (Mahershala Ali, from Luke Cage, I mean, Moonlight, is the favorite to win, and very well could, but Bridges is Hollywood royalty and with La La Land set to win, I think the Academy will maintain that “awarding Hollywood” sensability)

Best Supporting Actress: Viola Davis, Fences

SCRIPTING / MUSIC CATEGORIES

Best Adapted Screenplay: Moonlight (but really, Arrival should win)

Best Original Screenplay: Manchester By The Sea

Best Original Score: La La Land

Best Original Song: “City of Stars,” from La La Land

OTHER RACES

Best Cinematography: La La Land

Best Film Editing: La La Land

Best Animated Feature: Zootopia

Best Costume Design: Jackie

Best Documentary: O.J.: Made In America

Best Foreign Film: The Salesman

Best Makeup: Star Trek Beyond

Best Production Design: La La Land

Best Sound Editing: Arrival (although La La Land could win this one)

Best Sound Mixing: La La Land (although Hacksaw Ridge could win)

Best Visual Effects: Jungle Book

Best Documentary Short Subject: Joe’s Violin

Best Animated Short: Piper

Best Live Action Short: Sing

Far Out Cosmic Fun –or– A Surfboard is way cooler than a Police Call Box

Fun.

Pure, undiluted, make-you-smile fun. How’s that for a review on Dan Slott and Mike Allred’s Silver Surfer: New Dawn graphic novel?

The Surfer has always been a personal favorite. Be it Stan “The Man” Lee and Big John Buscema’s angst-ridden late sixties run, or the Jim Starlin-Ron Marz-Ron Lim galaxy-crushing saga from the eighties/nineties. But many times, the Surfer’s stories can be heavy, both emotionally and thematically, with deep ties to back-story and cosmic ramifications involving the greater Marvel Universe. Not so here. Seen through the wide-and-accepting eyes of Dawn Greenwood, Slott’s clever scripting has the reader jump into the action with catch-up-as-you-go dialogue as Allred’s visuals hearken back to a Kirby-infused style yet retain his trademark pop-culture feel. The result is a lighthearted, fast-and-fun romp that ends much too soon.

Although Slott unabashedly steals the concept and motif for these stories from Doctor Who, the format works. The Silver Surfer, as a former herald of the world-devourer Galactus and now wielder of the power cosmic, makes for a great master with Dawn as a completely-likable and understanding companion. Yeah, his surfboard is not bigger on the inside, but it does respond to vocal commands. And Dawn? She actually makes the Surfer laugh. Which then makes me laugh.

So yeah, fun. Cosmic style.

As Always,

theJOE 

Thor: The Dark World, perhaps?

Marvel Comics in the early- to mid-eighties was undergoing a transformative time of progressive change. Frank Miller was redefining Daredevil and placing the blind hero up against ninjas. Denny O’Neil catapulted Tony Stark into the ravings of serious alcoholism forcing James Rhodes to wear the suit in Iron Man. Chris Claremont and John Byrne were deep into making the all-new, all-different X-Men become counter-culture saviors. And in Thor, Walt Simonson did away with the Donald Blake identity, replaced the title character entirely with a horse-faced alien and even briefly made the Thunder God a frog. And it was cool.

Walt Simonson’s four-year run on Marvel’s Thor is not only one of the title’s most acclaimed runs, but also one of Simonson’s most known works where not only his art and designs, but his skill as a writer, worked in exemplary union. Simonson has since written and drawn scores of projects, but Thor had always been a highlight. Having Walt Simonson return to Thor? A fanboy dream.

Ragnarok, from IDW, not Marvel, provides such a dream in a certain manner. Simonson writes and draws a different, perhaps more in line with the mythos, Thor adventure taking place in a time of a fallen Asgard, in the post-apocalyptic twilight of the Norse gods. And Simonson’s artwork is amazing. Every panel, every splash page, every call to attention, proves that he is still a master on this or on any of the Nine Realms. And for all of the effort on the art, the writing is merely pedestrian.

Within the pages of Ragnarok, which should have been titled After-Ragnarok, or Ragnarok Aftermath, or The Walking Asgardian, Thor, once presumed dead but really is just missing a lower jaw, has been awoken and begins to take account of the world around him.  For the remaining time, in what is assumed the first of a series of graphic novel collections, he doesn’t do much than get into fights. And c’mon. This is Walt Simonson drawing Thor getting into fights with spectacular, over-the-top action. But there is no intrigue. The action, and the character, simply moves from place to place, from fight to fight. Who knew Ragnarok would be so tedious?

Simonson has a proven his writing chops on multiple occasions. His short, and sometimes overlooked, run on Fantastic Four was as fresh a take on Marvel’s first family as was his time in Asgard. In Ragnarok, the plot goes no deeper than providing an incredible showcase for Simonson’s art. If this series does indeed continue, let’s all pray that reality soon fulfills our dreams.


As always,
theJOE 

The Setting Sun of High Noon

The weight of Glenn Frankel’s second book in looking at the historical Hollywood is truly outlined in High Noon’s sub-title:  The Hollywood Blacklist and the Making of an American Classic. Frankel does provide a deep-dive directorial-style narration into the making of the Gary Cooper/Grace Kelly Western classic High Noon, but this account’s true showdown occurs as Congress and HUAC play the men in black with the artist as the white hat, fading hero pressed into one more battle.

And the weight this book carries is impressive. Frankel intensely presents meticulous research into the time and era of the Red scare, its affect on the Hollywood engine, and the turmoil brought on by the ensuing witch hunts. However, such intensity often comes off with the academia stylings of a research paper that pulls away from the historical narrative of the film’s origin. For a quicker, compelling view into the times of the notorious Hollywood blacklist, one needs only to view the well-done 2015 film Trumbo.

When the eponymous film is in focus, Frankel creates compelling, compassionate characters out of writer Carl Foreman, producer Stanley Kramer, director Fred Zinnemann, editor Elmo Williams, and star Gary Cooper. Each of these men’s desires, and especially fears, are triumphantly captured and endowed with a humanizing  sense of wanting no less than to be free and create. Their stories are strong and wonderful and flawed and real with the end result, the film High Noon, becoming an enduring classic. Frankel’s read, High Noon, unfortunately, becomes so enraptured with the history, that the magic of Hollywood is forgotten for long, dry spells.

Historian purists will certain applaud Frankel’s research. Fans of film might find this book cumbersome. The lawman might finally get his hand at justice, but the sun has already set.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Bloomsbury for the chance at this advance read.

As Always,

theJOE

Video-Game Action; Direct-Release Scripting

Let’s play nice and call Spectral an homage to a heap of sci-fi films and not a mash-up of clichés from all that has come before. A mash-up, yes, but certainly a nice-looking one at that.

 

James Badge Dale, proving he had leading-man chops, as evident from HBO’s The Pacific, stars in first-time director Nic Mathieu’s sci-fi muscle film that provides more hardcore military meat than a Michael Bay Transformers film. Dale plays a scientist invested in designing protective tech for the US Army of the very-near future when he is assigned to accompany a Delta Force unit on the field in Moldova who have encountered, well, ghosts. Ghosts that can fly through walls and humans, the latter of which immediately perishes upon contact.

Mathieu’s constantly-moving camerawork and in-your-face visuals are slick and surprisingly high-quality, thanks to the use of Weta for the F/X work. The story, however, is nothing more than an outline for the big-bang shoot ‘em-ups and creepy apparitions. The Delta Force team members are mostly faceless fodder smacking of, but lacking the charisma of, the marines from Aliens; they even rescue a blonde girl who has been scavenging and hiding out safe from the ghosts in the inner workings of an old factory. Later, when Delta has the chance to regroup and restock, they are luckily holed up with enough provisions and workable gear that would make B.A. Baracus smile with glee, welding torch in hand.

The overall premise of Spectral makes for fun viewing. The film’s a fast-paced video game where the viewer doesn’t mind playing the third person role. And while the story briefly describes the HOW of the ghosts, the WHY is untouched resulting in an unfulfilled feeling as the convenient failsafe stopping the threat is thrown allowing the credits roll. The quick wrap-up makes you think that if there were a couple more available quarters to feed into the slot, the story could continue with a more satisfying ending.

As Always,

theJOE

Douglas Preston and the Raiders of the Lost City

Douglas Preston’s historical/journalistic approach recounting two successful expeditions deep into the Honduras rainforest discovering and mapping the fabled White City aka, and to promote the title, The Lost City Of The Monkey God, unfortunately comes across as a dry, step-by-step account with an added historical element providing the obligatory back story. Discoveries notwithstanding, what was missing was something as wet as the jungle itself, and the narrative suffered as a result.

Not to discount these jungle adventures, as Preston and the teams invading the Central American landscape in search of archaeological destiny face many an obstacle; bugs, parasites, infectious diseases, six-foot-long snakes, a completely hostile environment, threatening narco cartels - not top ingredients for a must-do vacation. The end result cannot be discounted either. Mapping and exploring the White City is an incredible archaeological achievement and Preston writes out every step.

However, it is that literary bite of a fer-de-lance that eludes The Lost City Of The Monkey God. The journalistic report lacks the narrative punch, which is what made David Grann’s The Lost City of Z from 2009 so excitingly successful. Preston’s listing of debates within the archaeological academia and interviews with the infectious diseases team at NIH would certainly make for compelling research papers, but not so much for those jonesing on New World exploration.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Grand Central Publishing for the advance read. A tighter, more focused narrative would have certainly upped the excitement factor for this one.

As Always,

theJOE

Not Dead Yet… and Thank God for that

As an impressionable young boy in the summer of 1985, fully discovering my personal musical tastes, I distinctly remember purchasing Genesis’ self-titled release, on cassette of course, and probably due to the fact that local-Philadelphia radio station WMMR was, as it was quite known for doing, playing the album to death. But more than the familiarity of certain songs, the opening track of “Mama” was magical. The drums’ rhythm, the hard guitar, the spooky synths. And that evil laugh. Captivating. Thirty-plus years later, I still find that laugh, and the man responsible for it, just as captivating.

Phil Collins presents in his memoir Not Dead Yet plenty of tales. Some known, such has when he became the frontman for Genesis as well as his own successful solo career, to the unknown. Three divorces and rampant alcoholism? News to me. Through it all, Phil never comes across as preaching, or bragging, or self-indulgent. Instead, he’s telling you telling tales. Maybe from across the bar at the pub. Maybe at an AA meeting. But great tales.

Yes, personally, I would have liked the addition of more Genesis details, but Phil does spend a large portion of his novel to his time with the band, as they were a large part of his life, but he has obviously done plenty outside of the band. I very much remember him flying between stadiums for Live Aid, but completely forgot, as I’m sure Phil would be thankful for, that he played second drummer in the Led Zeppelin “reunion”.

Hey. Phil was, and still is, a huge, driving force in music. His book definitely has major fan appeal, but contains enough of the personal, the human, element, that even the casual fan, who might only be familiar with Tarzan or “In The Air Tonight” to be completely accessible and enjoyable. Not Dead Yet makes Phil relatable. And you want to meet him all the more.

And for that merely casual fan, I highly recommend Genesis by Genesis. If just for that laugh.

As Always,

theJOE

A “G0d” Not Worthy of Praise

The premise – Islamic jihadists take to cyber-terrorism via an invasive worm program – is clever and, admittedly if Lynn Lipinski’s descriptions on America’s internet infrastructure is correct, scary. Unfortunately the execution in God Of The Internet is weak, and comes across more as a TV movie of the week starring Kirk Cameron and Helen Hunt as opposed to a high-end thriller.

 

For a read that is targeted as a cyber-thriller, there is a significant lack of actual hacking and computer time going on. Instead, Lipinski focuses much, arguably way too much, of the novel on the soap-opera life of Juliana Al-Dossari – abused wife and mother of two teens, one who is semi-critically ill. And Juliana? Not a hacker. In fact, she is barely Twitter-literate. She is the “everyperson” of the story whose life becomes more and more complicated as she is drawn into the worm that is slowly corrupting America’s public works and financial systems. But unlike the “everyperson” role that inhabits a good Spielberg film, Juliana, and her children, are quite boring and possess no charm worth investing in. Ken, the de facto heroic white hat hacker who is by far the most compelling of characters within, uncharacteristically takes a backseat when the action kicks. Why? Choppy narration.

God Of The Internet starts fast with a killer hook. A quick 21^st Century disaster story that derails as the humbler, personal story takes the centerpiece instead of the horror at hand with an ending that is slapdash, unfulfilling, and even unbelievable.

Just imagine what Nelson DeMille could do with this core idea.

Thanks to NetGalley and Majestic Content for the advance read.

As always,

theJOE

No Poison in this Sequel

Sometimes, sequels can be better than the starting off point, a fact that many Marvel movies can attest, as the origin-telling, that whole world building, has been set and accomplished. The sequel, if done properly, allows the protagonist to grow; to breathe and evolve. Success to Matthew FitzSimmons, then, as his second Gibson Vaughn novel, Poisonfeather, surpasses not only the story telling from The Short Drop, but also evolves Gibson as a character beyond that of a conflicted computer hacker. With Poisonfeather, FitzSimmons creates a terrifically deep tale involving a corrupt financial broker (yeah, yeah, an oxymoron. Noted.), Chinese spies, a Mexican cartel, an undercover bartender, an ex-con-turned-farmer, and an ex-con and his sister still doing the con thing – and it all works blending together into one, smooth read.  

FitzSimmons wisely sets Gibson onto a completely new path, building off The Short Drop, but not dwelling in it and, save for a few minor mentions, almost entirely ignores any of those unanswered questions from the first book. In doing so, Gibson becomes his own man and not merely a key member of a team. Gibson has faults, insecurities, and plenty of internal soul searching to do, but when set loose on a job, and for this read that  means swindling any and all money away from the aforementioned swindling broker, he comes to life; he is focused and intense. That being said, Poisonfeather’s finale comes with unexpected results, for both Gibson and the reader.

Poisonfeather definitely contains many elements familiar to both crime and noir genres – such as the obligatory shoot ‘em up and a blonde woman of mystery – but keeps up a quick pace and, during the course of the novel, makes Gibson a likable character, which does not fully happen in the first novel. Likable enough, to note, that the ending definitely begs for more Gibson Vaughn.

Thanks to NetGalley and Thomas & Mercer for the enjoyable advance read. I’m looking forward to the next installment.

As Always,
theJOE

Back To The Future?

Tom Barren, the lover-not-a-fighter, time-travelling, hesitant hero, of screenwriter Elan Matsai’s debut novel All Our Wrong Todays, comes from the future Baby Boomers were promised. That George Jetson beauty of a place with jetpacks and flying cars and voyages to the moon. Yet through a comedy of errors that are eloquently and self-effacingly pointed out all in the first person, Tom reluctantly becomes a chrononaut – a time-traveler, right? – and changes the time stream. Before you can say, “Great Scott, Doc Brown!” 2016 changes… to our present day of smartphones, Uber, Facebook, and political anxiety.

Followers of sci-fi, fantasy, and comic books will find this set up familiar - alternate timelines, parallel universes and the chronal butterfly effect – but Matsai cleverly digs into the “Space” element of the Time-Space Continuum and provides in Tom Barren an everyday hero who is more Marty McFly than Doctor Who. Tom is neither doctor nor scientist, but he is funny and normal, easily capturing the reader’s attention and interest. Matasi, through Tom, paints a delicious alternate world based on the 1950s pulp novels and comics, and equally points out the strangeness in how our present day world would appear to an outsider. He also questions what home is while proving the value in having such a place.

Matsai’s writing is smooth and approachable with a unique voice combining humor, love, and the overarching desire in striving to do what is right, all wrapped around a highly-enjoyable, time-hopping tale that many would find as the ultimate in escapist fantasies.

Many thanks to NetGalley and the Penguin Group for the chance to read this extremely enjoyable novel well before publication. I am honored to have received this advance copy and look forward to passing on my recommendation of this read.

As always,

theJOE

A Murder in Darktown most Noir

Historical fiction at its best. Thomas Mullen presents a very real, not-too distant past of post-WWII where, as more of a PR event than actual progressive behavior, the Atlanta PD recruits African-American patrolmen, but denies them any actual authority. What happens in Darktown is standard noir fare – a man out of his element, a complex murder mystery, corrupt power – but Mullen’s setting is distinct and unique, not to mention depressing in ways that pre-Civil Rights tend to be.

Mullen’s writing style is a pleasure to read. He creates fantastically-believable, yet flawed as all humans are, characters that are ripe and real, that both dream and are subdued.  For this setting in the Atlanta summertime, the sun, and its heat, is just as much of a presence as are the story’s heroes and victims. Such as officers Boggs and Smith, two of the new Atlanta patrolmen who call Darktown their beat, who must deal with racism and social inadequacies, not only from the scores of white policemen, but also the community they desperately want to protect and serve. There is a fine line in playing the role of guardian and savior, a balance Boggs and Smith must learn, especially as they begin to look into the murder of a young African-American woman.   

Mullen takes the reader both on a tour of 1950s Atlanta as well as into the justifications of Darktown’s central characters - Smith and Boggs, as well their white counterparts, Rakestraw and Dunlow – whose inner drives, and demons, are not as simple as black and white. Murder may always be a dark deed, but is justice always bright? Mullen, in a most excellent story, crafts his answer.

Give Darktown a read!

As Always.

theJOE 

After reading Stormy Weather, I guess the joke's on me

The Coen Brothers’ enjoyable Burn After Reading was given a fantastic piece of praise I have yet to forget. A critic called the film “a smart movie about stupid people”, and it is this quote that comes to mind regarding Carl Hiaasen’s Stormy Weather, albeit with an update. So how about this? Stormy Weather is a smart-ass book about reprehensible people. Although “stupid” also fits.

Hiaasen is known for his humor. I guess. Humor is always subjective and I found myself being subjected to his brand of humor for all 400 pages. Granted, there were those moments when I did laugh. Out loud even. A few times. Mostly, however, such styling was lost on me like the hurricane winds that were the title’s key plot device.

In Stormy Weather, a major hurricane hits Dade County, Florida and every worm, nightcrawler, blood sucker, and pond scum washes ashore looking to scam, steal and thieve their ways into making a fast buck from those whose lives the storm devastated. The book’s characters, save for perhaps three, range from cringe worthy to downright vile. To give Hiaasen credit, he does create a boutique of scum, formulates their rationale, how everyone relates to each other, and creates back stories, for even minor characters whose sole existence is the punchline of a joke that was built up over a few too many paragraphs; at times you need a spreadsheet and Venn diagram to categorize and track all the players within. The downfall being that none of these people are enjoyable or relatable. Perhaps everyone and their situation is supposed to be deliberately laughed at, but such seems too simple an answer.

True love wins the day, surprisingly, and most people within get their due resulting from their misconduct. To thine own self and all that, but really, to what end?

Stormy Weather will no doubt please Hiaasen fans as well as those of more common black comedies. I bet with a healthy re-write, Joel and Ethan Coen could make this a funny film. For me, I’m just glad to be finished with south Florida.

As Always,

theJOE

A Fast, Short Drop

Computer hacking, a kidnapped girl, political intrigue, torture, and guns, guns, guns. Matthew FitzSimmons packs a lot into his fast-read, debut crime novel that introduces prime character, Gibson Vaughn, who is a fun, resourceful chap, albeit with the cliché tortured past, and is just intriguing enough to gain a follow-up. Naturally, of course, The Short Drop does begin a series as there must be an answer for the pseudo-cliffhanger presented within, although that is really nothing more than an unresolved plot thread. Regardless, the show must go on.

FitzSimmons’ writing style is clean and sharp with just enough of an added procedural element to both enlighten and satisfy a general readership that contains enough basic knowledge on the functionality of a Smartphone and how to access public Wi-Fi hotspots. The pace is fast and the content lean, both elements essential for a fun thriller, which summarizes The Short Drop.

Fun although it is, The Short Drop is somewhat akin to an order of fast food with an extra helping of cheese. Totally delicious and enjoyable going down, but probably forgotten by the time the next meal comes around. Yet, Gibson Vaughn, the unwitting protagonist, is the sundae dessert, complete with sprinkles and a big-old cherry on top. You’ve had it before, but you keep coming back to it nonetheless.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Thomas & Mercer for the advanced copy, which made for an enjoyable read.

As Always,

theJOE

A Ripper of a good yarn...

Historical fiction mash-ups can be quite fun, especially when handled as a fun read, playing fast and furious with history, reality and the imaginary, and doing away with the burden of hidden codes and ancient conspiracy theories, which is an easy pitfall that is usually handled more sloppily than not. Robert Masello shoots for the fun and crafts a tale around a “What if…?” solely grounded in reality when he discovered that the play The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde opened on the same night as Jack the Ripper’s first murder. Creepy, eh? Hence, the “What if…” found in The Jekyll Revelation. What if… Robert Louis Stevenson was involved with the Jack the Ripper investigation?

The Jekyll Revelation bounces between a present day California park ranger and Stevenson’s journal from the late 19^th Century. Loaded with introductions and characterizations, from both timelines, the first third is slow build-up – and unnecessarily slow at times as the remainder of the novel accelerates to orbital velocity levels. Masello, however, does create good, recognizable characters, albeit on the cliché side for those California players. The true delight is watching the story unfold, in both centuries, through Stevenson’s journal.

Masello postulates with the time-honored literary tradition of men playing God and the results of such dealings. Stevenson takes on the unlikely role of a reluctant action hero, but he’s Scottish so it’s all cool, as does his park ranger American contemporary who must deal with the crimes of the past in the present resulting in fisticuffs and bullets all around. American storytelling at its best, eh?

An enjoyable read that gets moving after a heavy start. Most of all, this is fun. Thanks to NetGalley and 47North for the advance copy and the magic contained within.

As Always,
theJOE

CAGE needs more Power, Man

Marvel has had a successful outing on Netflix, and the latest, Luke Cage, certainly has all the makings of a another hit by the numbers. Critically speaking, this is the most disappointing of Marvel’s three series. By no means is Luke Cage  awful, rather, lacking at best and, for two episodes anyway, even downright boring.

Huge props to Mike Colter who plays the titular hero with swag, class and charm. This series has definitely shown that not only is he a good actor, but he can definitely lift the lifeblood of a show on his large, 2XL-shoulders, something that was questionable during his guest-star appearances on Jessica Jones.

What Luke Cage was lacking was an intense, and let’s face it, better-written villain. Mahershala Ali’s Cottonmouth had the potential to be something great – a Kingpin for Harlem, a character that has good intentions, but uses questionable means for execution – but was dispatched entirely too early for the inevitable rise and fall. Erik LaRay Harvey’s Diamondback was an ill-fitting substitute antagonist; a cliché comicbook villain with a one-note revenge scheme and an invisible moustache to twirl.

Marvel has been doing its best to ground these Netflix heroes, but in doing so, should have looked to past, counter to what Pops always told Luke, and instead of creating a super-powered force for the big street brawl, and maintained a Lou-Ferrigno-as-the-Hulk beat-down of goons with guns while smashing through walls. Sweet Christmas, that would have shown some power, man.

As Always,

theJOE

John Constantine, Cell-blazer

Prison is a dirty place. You know the whole “Abandon All Hope…” warning Dante immortally etched over the gates of Hell? I’m sure a lot of prisoners in the American penal system would agree that sentiment parallels their condition. After all, prison is the ultimate bogey-man – in both society and its invasion in popular culture, which contains a king’s ransom worth of prison dramas and prison breaks. So it only makes sense that the pop/counter culture king of dirty, hopeless places arrives to deal with said bogey-man and stakes a claim as his own.

Hellblazer:Hard Time has John Constantine stripped of his trademark overcoat and thrown into an American prison – for reasons not explained until deep in the ultimate chapter, and even then the reasoning is more set-up than answer – courtesy of American crime writer Brian Azzarello. And Azzarello doesn’t pull any punches showing prison life as a hard, dirty, hopeless place. Even smart-talking Constantine begins to have his grasp slip as he falls into nicotine depravity.

Richard Corben’s art is something of an acquired taste. Whereas his cartoony technique works perfectly for the likes of Hellboy, his approach is definitely a deviation from the established styles of artists from previous runs, such as Will Simpson, Sean Phillips, and Steve Dillon. Corben, however, is a master of showing, heat, dirt, sweat and oppression.

Hard Time sets up Azzarello’s successful and defining run on England’s bad luck, con artist magician that will place him firmly on American soil for a while. At times, Azzarello can be explicit and gratuitous, a style that will grow weary as his run continues, but brother, such an edge fits exceeding well for this story.

As Always,

theJOE

Jungle Action… via le Carre

The comic-industry tradition of inviting a celebrated author from outside the medium to craft and guide stories in the hopes of adding a new direction to an older, existing character and, more importantly for the business, of capturing the attention, and funding, of a new audience has met with mixed responses over the years. However, the introduction of new blood is generally viewed favorably. Judd Winick worked in pop-drama, Greg Rucka and Ed Brubaker had high-crime sensibilities, while Kevin Smith was… slow. And, sometimes that outsider’s vision must be tempered and edited to mix in with the established beat of the channel. Consumers sometimes do not get that instant gratification as the writer produces a slow burn. Here then, is Ta-Nehisi Coates’ introduction to Black Panther in A Nation Under Our Feet.

Coates goes forth and makes the Panther’s home nation of Wakanda the central character, going so far as even providing a map of the fictional locale. He questions the idea of a monarchy and postulates the beginnings of revolutions, be they philosophical or physical. He asks how a nation recovers from tragedy, and how it dreams of grandeur. Pretty lofty and exciting ideas for a mere comic book. However, in doing so, Coates nearly neglects the title character, the Black Panther himself. The result, is a slow, political read with flashes of action, like John le Carre set in Africa.

Coates’ story is tempting. How often does a superhero, and a member of the Avengers at that, have to deal with true-to-life democracy? Certainly, other established monarchs, such as Namor and DC’s Aquaman, spend much more time off the throne than actually on. The story can also be confusing with many elements and discussions occurring off-panel, the establishing of new players without full introductions. and the setup, coming off previous storylines, can especially be puzzling for new readers to the character.

However, Brian Stelfreeze’s magnificent artwork aside, the tease to the upcoming pay-off does tease well and provides insight into Coates’ long-play. Hopefully the end game will be worth it. And, maybe, we will get to see King T’Challa in the jungle action adventure he deserves.

As Always,

theJOE

The Night Manager: No Martinis, Not Enough Booms

Full disclosure here. Even though I have read other Le Carré selections, The Night Manager only came to my attention by way of AMC’s fantastic miniseries. That miniseries, which I highly recommend watching, was one of those rare instances where the adaptation slightly exceeds the source material. The miniseries edited out much of the backroom politics and verbal backstabbing, which Le Carré excels at, and was replaced with character drama, situational tension, physical action of all types, and explosions, which, cliché or not as a truth, Americans most eagerly respond to.

The Night Manager, the novel, with its grimy locales, dry dialogue, and political guesswork in hopes to obtain knighthood, probably presents a more accurate take of a modern day spy more so than England’s reigning pop-culture Superman, James Bond, as well as, you know, the alluring looks of Tom Hiddleston. A spy who crawls into deep, tight situations, conspires with uncomfortable characters, and, one would think, doesn’t rely on pithy one-liners during a bout of fisticuffs, is exactly Jonathan Pine’s role in the story; even though he does get to throw the occasional punch, as well as take one. Or a dozen. If anything, the true hero of the tale is Pine’s MI-6 contact Burr, the protagonist with a raging desire to take down, once-and-for-bloody-all, drug-runner and arms-broker Richard Roper, who has been tagged with the title “The Worst Man in the World”. As such, he fails to be awarded with a corporate beer sponsorship.

While Pine’s plight is definitely the more sexy one of the story, Burr gets a great deal of attention as he seeks to fight evil internally not only among his peers at the Riverhouse, but to do so with bureaucracy. Friends, bureaucracy ain’t sexy. And it can make for an overly-lengthy read. Burr is a fun character to get into, he’s strong and just, which gives the many overly-dry chapters that John Le Carré is known for a reason to continue. The American male side of me, however, was waiting for the explosions. Waiting for that denouement of “Ha-ha! Got you Dickie Roper!” But Le Carré doesn’t work that way, frustratingly so.

The Night Manager is a long, slow read that is probably a great representation of deep cover sting work but makes for a tiring read, with a resolution that is unfulfilled and wanting. What was missing were a few more well-placed explosions.

As Always,

theJOE