Night of the Lepus (1972, William F. Claxton)

Night of the Lepus is about giant bunny rabbits. The movie’s got lousy special effects. The composite shots of regular-sized bunny rabbits blown up to giant-ish size are bad, but the life-size giant killer bunny rabbit arms and body parts—only used for rapid-cut action sequences—are worse. When they have the bunny rabbits run around on model train sets and pretend they’re big, it’s the best (of the film’s options) because you get to see the bunny rabbits. They’re adorable.

With these special effects, Lepus doesn’t have a chance. It doesn’t have a chance for many reasons, but the special effects are the most obvious (and adorable). Otherwise, all the failings are boring and mundane. Director Claxton barely keeps the eighty-eight-minute movie running. Someone—Claxton, maybe producer A.C. Lyles (who, shockingly, is not an Australian who made Lepus to say “yes, bunnies are too dangerous” to his doubting Hollywood chums)—decided to let editor John McSweeney Jr. do rapid-fire cutting to cover: bad special effects, lousy acting, reused footage of the actors, reused special effects footage, boring scenes, nonsensical scenes, and stock footage. Lots of stock footage in Lepus.

The film only always uses the rapid cutting for action scenes. It’s predictable. But then, towards the third act, they start using it everywhere and anywhere. It’s an assault on the senses. And the cuts are way too fast to see the cute widdle bunny wabbits.

Then there’s the script, which manages to be joyless in its stupidity. It’s just bad writing, poorly adapted for its cast. The first actor we see is Rory Calhoun. He’s a man’s man rancher who intentionally rides his horse through a bunny rabbit burrow, breaking the horse’s leg, so he kills it and doesn’t even care. Manly.

Calhoun’s bad, but he’s so much better than eventual lead Stuart Whitman; he’ll eventually be a welcome sight. Whitman’s a bug scientist who wants to kill them off without using chemicals. Instead, he wants to do it naturally, like causing a bat plague or something. See, Calhoun goes to the local university to see DeForest Kelley (who, despite a happening wardrobe and a very seventies mustache, looks embarrassed much sooner than anyone else). Calhoun wants someone to kill off the bunny rabbits but without poison. Kelley suggests anti-poison Whitman, who travels around in a camper with wife Janet Leigh and daughter Melanie Fullerton.

Even Fullerton can tell acting off Whitman is pointless. Even in the scenes where Whitman is doing science exposition, he can’t carry the scene. It becomes about the people listening to him, waiting for him to stop talking so they can get on with it.

Leigh doesn’t embarrass herself, which is almost more embarrassing. She can weather stepping in giant bunny rabbit turds without it phasing her. It’s a compliment to her professionalism, but damn sad.

There are a bunch of other characters. They’re mostly bad, but what are you going to do about acting when it’s pretending there are giant killer bunny rabbits who eat Brussels sprouts like they’re heads of lettuce and cherry tomatoes like they’re… giant tomatoes, I guess.

Paul Fix plays the sheriff. He’s the best performance in the movie. Paul Fix isn’t going to let this Lepus nonsense get in the way of his performance, not even when he’s waiting for the other actors to remember their lines and getting visibly frustrated with them.

Ted Voigtlander’s photography is surprisingly competent. Not with the effects shots but the other times. Terrible sound design—the bunnies do phone perv heavy breathing to show they’re mean—and a weird, lousy score from Jimmie Haskell.

Lepus is the pits. But it is a movie about giant adorable bunny rabbits, so it’s at least a fun time at the pits.

Liza with a Z (1972, Bob Fosse)

“Liza with a Z” closes with a Cabaret medley, including Liza Minnelli playing the Emcee for a couple songs. She starts in the audience, a la the “Cabaret” Broadway revival (only twenty-six years before), and quickly works her way onto the stage, joined by dancers, and does a whirlwind ten-minute set. The opening titles tell us “Z” is a “concert for television,” and it’s fascinating to watch how Fosse presents that concert.

“Z” is a spotlight for Minnelli as a singer, dancer, actor, and personality. The special’s title comes from Say Liza (Liza with a “Z”), a half colloquial memoir song where Minnelli describes her frustration at people calling her “Lisa.” It’s a hilarious, personable number and showcases Minnelli’s ability to toggle between tones. She can go from soulful to goofy to sweet to sexy (pretty sure she, Fosse, and her costume designer created go go sultry in “Z”) in less than a breath.

The medley is the first time the special directly references Cabaret, though “Z” is very much an offshoot from the film and its success. Some costumes occasionally feel a little Cabaret, but the special doesn’t open with it. Minnelli never addresses the audience as an audience, never telling them eight cameras are filming this evening’s production. At the beginning of “Z,” Fosse and cinematographer Owen Roizman shoot Minnelli as subject. It’s not about the audience; they just happen to be there for Minnelli’s performance.

For a couple numbers, Minnelli looks up towards the balcony (but also the cameras), not out at the audience below her. Fosse looks back down at her. But then, very deftly, the camera starts watching Minnelli looking up to the overhead cameras; we watch Minnelli sing from the wrong camera, only to quickly discover there’s no wrong camera. Every different shot’s going to reveal something else about Minnelli’s performance.

Once the stage fills with dancers, Minnelli starts directly addressing the audience, sometimes to set up the next song, sometimes to take a bow; there’s a spectacular Son of a Preacher Man number, ending with Fosse doing some incredible sleight of hand with the dancers. “Z” might be a filmed live performance, but Fosse and Minnelli are packaging it for the television audience. Or, frankly, theatrical. Fosse and Roizman shoot Minnelli as the only visible figure surrounded by darkness a few times, and it’d be devastating on the big screen.

There are some bumps, of course. Preacher Man is the last great number until the medley; after its commercial break, there’s a cute song about New Yawkers in love, including Minnelli and the dancers acting out a bunch of it. But it’s not a showstopper; it’s just more examples of Minnelli’s remarkable abilities.

The real problems are the last two songs before the medley sprint.

First is You’ve Let Yourself Go, which could be the anthem for the “Are the Straights Okay?” meme about a wife sick of her husband getting bald and chubby. Then comes My Mammy, a song Minnelli would regularly perform as a standard, all about how your slave mammy always loves you. I guess it’d be worse if it were a white dude singing it (as they often did), but yikes. Thank goodness Fosse and Minnelli weren’t pitching a musical Gone With the Wind… someone might’ve said yes.

Fosse tries with Let Yourself Go, using some of the spotlighting techniques he’d already iterated, but Mammy’s just a simple “it’s a variety special” number. Thank goodness. Hopefully, the blandness will make it forgettable.

The medley saves the day; the commercial, cross-promotional medley to remind people they really liked the super-depressing pre-Holocaust movie (or to encourage people with peppy dance numbers to see said film) is one hell of a way to save the day. But it works because it’s Fosse and Minnelli.

Like its star, director, cast, and crew, “Liza with a Z” is phenomenal.

This post is part of the Fifth Broadway Bound Blogathon hosted by Rebecca of Taking Up Room.

Blacula (1972, William Crain)

Blacula gets by on novelty and hero Thalmus Rasulala’s effortless charm. Rasulala is a medical examiner with the LAPD; the movie’s got a hilariously silly name for the job and department; it just means he gets to go around and flash an ID card and get things done. He’s also the only Black cop in the movie; all the rest of them, including the numerous extras, are white.

While there’s a “romance” in Blacula, Rasulala’s investigation is the main plot. Even though Vonetta McGee, as Rasulala’s girlfriend’s sister, brings Rasulala into the story, she’s going to get less and less as the film goes on. Conversely, the sister—played by Denise Nicholas—will get to go along with Rasulala on most of his vampire hunting. Including when Nicholas has a panic attack upon her first vampiric encounter, something cop Gordon Pinsent will also suffer. Only Rasulala is cool enough not to have a panic attack. Oh, and McGee. She’s fine with vampires.

William Marshall plays the title character; in the eighteenth century, African prince Marshall goes to Europe to ask Count Dracula (a bad but effective Charles Macaulay) to pledge to ending the slave trade. Macaulay responds by turning Marshall into a vampire and locking him in a coffin (where’d Macaulay get African soil? Don’t ask; barely any vampire rules here). Then Macaulay locks Marshall’s wife, also played by McGee, in a room with the coffin so she can starve to death, listening to him starve in undeath. Really, really shitty thing to do. And even though the film’s got direction problems from the start, it also gets Marshall and McGee some fast, deep sympathy.

Only when Marshall wakes up in L.A. he’s an entirely different character. I mean, he’s still in love with McGee, but he doesn’t seem phased by the two-hundred-year time difference or the reincarnated wife or being a blood-sucking vampire, killing people left and right. Plus, one of Blacula’s few vampire rules has them changing immediately, so Marshall’s putting together an undead army.

So he’s not sympathetic. Maybe if he and McGee had some great chemistry, but she’s flat in all her scenes. When she’s vaguely brainwashed, it’s okay; when she’s trying to endear her character, not so much.

McGee is a trooper, though. Director Crain shoots the film in lengthy medium shots, where the actors have to move around the frame a couple times, keep up with the camera, and do foreground and background work. Blacula’s stagy, which seems to be the curse of the vampire movie.

Crain’s also not able to do horror. He can do a little supernatural action, but only a little. Editor Allan Jacobs has some almost okay sequences, but Crain’s footage is working against him. John M. Stephens’s photography is fine, and Gene Page’s music is pretty good a third of the time, which adds up since almost every scene has background music. The best technical is easily Sandy Dvore’s playful but ominous opening titles sequence.

Marshall’s an imposing villain without being a compelling one; it works out since Blacula’s a police procedural with monsters.

There are a handful of notable bit parts. Ji-Tu Cumbuka is a lot of fun as a random friend, Emily Yancy’s good as one of the eventual vampire brides, and Elisha Cook Jr. phones in a tepid but memorable cameo.

Blacula’s got the insurmountable problem of budget and director Crain, but it’s entirely watchable with an outstanding leading man performance from Rasulala.

Tomb of Dracula (1972) #5

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Oh, good grief. When I complained ad nauseam about Archie Goodwin’s writing, it didn’t occur to me Marvel would’ve found someone worse to do an issue. Gardner Fox scripts this issue, and, yikes, is it a bad script. While not every line of dialogue has fifty percent exposition—Frank Drake mentions Dracula’s ancestor every time he says Dracula, someone mentioning Taj is mute, some kind of call back to the last issue—many of them do. It’s a jumping-on issue with nothing to induce anyone to keep reading Tomb of Dracula. Except, obviously, the art.

Though Fox doesn’t do the obnoxious second-person narration. He does a profoundly purple, mostly adjective instead; if there were more of it, I’d say the second-person’s better, but it’s relatively sparse. Rather, the terrible dialogue’s endless. There’s no winning.

The issue begins with Dracula and Taj going into a netherworld where demons attack them. Dracula’s pretty sure it’s a Satanic dimension—he tries invoking Satan’s name to send the demons away—but he has to fight them anyway. Plus, he realizes he can’t feed on them, so he’s got to keep Taj alive.

Meanwhile, back in 616, Rachel Van Helsing and Frank realize what’s happened and set out following into the black mirror. Now, when I say “realize what’s happening,” I mean they figure out the exact events from last issue on a series of baseless guesses. What’s even more inexplicable is how it all works out. Dracula got the code for the time-traveling, interdimensional mirror from Ilsa, who intentionally didn’t tell him how to get anyway, just into the mirror and the demon dimension. Dracula then finds his way through another mirror, which takes him back to Transylvania just after Bram Stoker’s novel. He’s dead; Van Helsing is out of town. Dracula wants to off him, so he’s got to wait around.

So, Ilsa initially tried selling her deal on Dracula being able to go to his own past, and he said, hell, no, I won’t go. Rachel and Frank immediately assume he’s going to the past Transylvania, which is a big assumption.

When Dracula gets to the past, he locks up Taj, who he didn’t need to save, as it turns out, and heads to his castle. There he’s got a female vampire locked in a bottle. He’ll release her before the end of the issue so she can attack the vampire hunters while he’s busy doing other things. Not the point. The point is the time-traveling. He doesn’t find his own body in the castle, where it should be, and the lady vampire in the bottle isn’t there in the present either.

The story would make more sense if Fox’s job was to lay this asinine plot out on Gene Colan and Tom Palmer’s existing art. For instance, Abraham Van Helsing has a one-panel cameo; if they were doing a big-time travel story, shouldn’t he be in it more? There’s nothing about time travel in the visuals, just the mirror transporting people. Sure, the castle’s destroyed in the present, but it’d make more sense if it wasn’t Dracula’s castle, wouldn’t it?

Or maybe Fox’s writing is just terrible. The disconnection between the art and the writing is real, though; there’s a story. There’s got to be.

The first few pages with the demon dimension are surprisingly iffy art. Not sure I believe Palmer was inking Colan on those pages because pretty soon, it looks great again. Even if it’s rushed and ill-suited for the story.

Such a strange book. Writing-wise, it keeps falling on its face while the art’s consistently fantastic.

Tomb of Dracula (1972) #4

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I was so ready to cut Archie Goodwin some slack on this issue’s script. Not just at the beginning, but even halfway through when the dialogue’s at least terse, so not overly wordy. Only then Goodwin starts leaning in on the second-person narration, not for human protagonist Frank Drake. No, Goodwin does the second-person narration for Dracula, and, wow, is it bad. It goes from bad to worse, with Goodwin taking it up a notch (or down) like more bad will work better than less.

Dracula’s not in the lead-up to the cliffhanger; instead, it’s Rachel Van Helsing talking to his latest regretful victim, and—even though there’s way too much misogyny—the missing narration device helps. Plus, it’s setting up what ends up being a reasonably good cliffhanger. And Gene Colan and Tom Palmer’s art is phenomenal; their talking heads scenes are superb, with lots of personality to the characters’ faces, but also to how they deliver the dialogue. But, of course, since it’s Marvel Style, the kudos go to Goodwin for the dialogue.

The issue begins with Dracula and the lady who bought his old castle, Ilsa. She used to be a fashion model, but now she’s old. She purchased the castle hoping Dracula would come looking for her and she’d be able to convince him to turn her into a vampire so she can be young again. Like it says in the Bram Stoker book. This issue breaks a little with the established series continuity. Or the implied series continuity; now it’s a direct sequel to the novel before there was some loosey-goosey with the timeline.

Dracula agrees—she’s going to give him a magic mirror in return, even though he doesn’t want it for the reason she thinks (it’s a time-traveling mirror, and she assumes he wants back to the nineteenth century, which he doesn’t). Unfortunately, Drake, Rachel, and Taj are all in pursuit; Dracula beat up Ilsa’s butler, and he called the cops, who called Scotland Yard, who called the vampire hunters. They’ve got special, super-modern (for 1972) vampire hunting technology, which surprises Dracula and suggests Goodwin got plot inspiration from “Batman: The TV Show” merchandise.

Thanks to Colan and Palmer, the gadgets do visualize well; art over silly.

There’s some more of Drake being shitty to Taj—is he just ableist this issue or racist, too, can’t remember. But it’s quick, and the vampire hunting action sticks more to Rachel. Or the cops who are helping them out. So less opportunity for Frank to be a dick.

The issue’s an improvement over the previous; the plot’s better, the guest star more interesting, and so on. However, that second-person narration from Goodwin is an unmitigated disaster, and I’m dreading any more of it.

Tomb of Dracula (1972) #3

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This issue has Tom Palmer inking Gene Colan, so there’s very little one can actually complain about. Just observe. Archie Goodwin’s the writer; he employs the second-person narration to lesser effect than the previous writers. His dialogue’s overwrought even for a seventies Marvel comic, and then his exposition suggests he had a thesaurus on hand. The text is a tedious read.

The art more than makes up for it. The way the foggy London looks with the Colan pencils, the precise Palmer inks, then whoever colored it (they went uncredited in the issue), is genuinely spectacular. It’s beyond good-looking; I knew it was just a matter of time before Colan got his Palmer inks on the series, but I’d forgotten how perfectly they sync.

The story starts with Frank Drake bereft over killing his vampire fiancée Jeanie and about to throw himself in the river. Luckily, better timed than Clarence the angel, Rachel Van Helsing, and her sidekick, Taj, show up just in time to save him. Frank’s not happy about it and says something racist about Taj, who’s mute, but then Rachel explains she’s Abraham’s great-granddaughter, he’s Dracula’s great-great-great-grandson or whatever, and they should team-up. Frank agrees. It’s all done with Goodwin’s charmless dialogue but Colan and Palmer’s gorgeous art. Art covers script.

At the same time, Frank’s duplicitous pal Clifton Graves is out getting drunk because Frank’s dumped him. Dracula needs a modern Renfield, so he hypnotizes Clifton, and the two go about getting ahold of Dracula’s coffin.

Frank’s taking his new friends to the coffin as well, and there’s a way too constrained fight between vampire hunters, vampire, and vampire lackey. I really hope Colan someday gets to do a Tomb fight scene where the actors are in a confined space; last time, it was a hotel room, this time, it’s an auxiliary storeroom. Fight settings in this comic would be better suited to a Marx Brothers bit than a battle against the undead.

Anyway.

Goodwin then overwrites and under-delivers Scotland Yard getting involved, leading to the vampire hunters getting de facto deputized. I wonder if someone else would’ve handled it better.

The cliffhanger has Dracula tracking down the person who bought his ruined castle, a fashion model aged out of the industry and is now using the supernatural to regain her looks. Paper-thin (even for this script), probably going to be problematic characterizations aside, the art’s wonderful.

Tomb of Dracula (1972) #2

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It’s another exquisite issue, thanks to Gene Colan’s pencils. He’s got Vince Colletta inking, but it doesn’t detract. Colan’s so good he even makes the last issue recap page work well, as protagonist Frank Drake (anglicized from Dracula) remembers how he got into his current predicament. This issue follows Drake from Transylvania back to England; in between, he manages to sell off the now destroyed castle and its lands and rescue ostensible best friend Clifton. Dracula threw Clifton into a pit for later snacking last issue, and, surprisingly, he survives to return this issue.

Frank’s plan involves stealing Dracula’s coffin and taking it from Transylvania, while the Count is more concerned with improving his appearance. Luckily, the village doctor used to be a boy in the vampire’s employ and can now do some kind of—off-page—skin therapy to make the Count appear human. However, they still color him shock white, so only Dracula’s fellow comic book characters can see the difference, not the reader. In expository dialogue with the doctor, writer Gerry Conway reveals a little more of Tomb’s timeline; Dracula was “killed” when the doctor was a boy, so within living memory. The doctor’s old now but still capable. Doesn’t seem like Tomb’s going off Bram Stoker’s Dracula continuity or timeline (which the first issue implied but didn’t make definite).

Dracula doesn’t stay in Transylvania either; he follows Frank and Clifton to London, bringing along new vampire Jeanie. Jeanie’s Frank’s fiancée turned vampire (last issue at the very end) who used to date Clifton; Clifton lies to Frank about his role in releasing Dracula. He also fails to reveal he was planning on screwing Frank out of the castle and reclaiming Jeanie. While Frank’s not taken with her new vampiric form, Clifton’s not so picky, and Jeanie’s sure she’ll be able to turn him against Frank.t

Meanwhile, Dracula’s off sampling the seventies London nightlife, including the ladies. There’s a weird throwaway moment where Dracula remembers last issue’s barmaid who he killed and complained was too slutty; here, he remembers and then chastises himself for romanticizing a loose woman. It was a bad detail last issue, so it coming back is strange; maybe it’s just a Marvel Style problem; Colan thought one thing, Conway thought another.

Eventually, the vampires team up against their amateur hunters, and there’s a big fight scene with some excellent Colan art. He does horror, he does “reality” settings, he does fight scenes in mundane hotel rooms; he’s, no punning, a marvel.

Conway does the same overwriting as last time on some of Frank’s scenes; it’s wordy, second-person narration. Luckily, once Frank rescues Clifton, Conway doesn’t use the device (at least not noticeably) the rest of the issue; there’s just too much going on without Frank.

The last issue felt like a done-in-one, and this issue resolves some of its outstanding strands; Tomb of Dracula isn’t quite set up yet, but it’s definitely getting there. And Colan makes reading that set up a rare delight.

Tomb of Dracula (1972) #1

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I’m sure there’s a difference between a Gene Colan comic book and a Gene Colan art portfolio but damned if they don’t seem identical. Gerry Conway scripts this issue (from a Roy Thomas plot–according to Thomas), and there’s just the right amount of moody in the text to go with the Colan art. It’s perfect and terrifying and a done-in-one. It’s a first issue, but one without any setup for the series, other than Dracula (and his descendant, one Frank Drake of America).

Set in the present, the issue recounts down-on-his-luck blue blood Drake deciding the only way to get rich with what he’s got is turning his old family castle into a tourist location. Luckily, it’s Castle Dracula, so folks might want to pay for that trip. So along with his girlfriend, Jean, and his ostensible pal, Clifton, Frank heads to Transylvania and the castle.

The comic opens with the trio having car trouble, which forces them into town, where they meet villagers as superstitious as Jonathan Harker came across eighty-plus years before. After some guffawing, a villager agrees to take them out to the castle—for ten dollars American (eighty bucks today), bankrupting them—where they explore, Frank feeling a strange familial connection, Jean being miserable she tagged along, and Clifton scheming to get Frank out of the way both in business and romance. Clifton used to date Jean, but she threw him over for fellow richie Frank.

It’d be soapy if it weren’t for Colan’s truly breathtaking horror art. There’s impending doom in every panel; it’s magnificent.

And, credit where it’s due, Conway’s script is a fine accompaniment. He overwrites, but the wordy exposition means longer attention on each panel, which leads to Colan’s foreboding making more of an impression. There’s some backstory, too, with Frank reading an old family diary to fill everyone—reader, Frank, and Clifton—in on how Dracula works in Tomb of Dracula.

And once the Count arrives, he’s mesmerizing. There’s a lot of vampire horror action, Frank’s constantly defending with whatever baubles work, Dracula’s out to get Jean (the barmaid he feeds on is a little too low class), and Clifton’s pretty sure it’s all an elaborate gag to mess with the villagers.

The comic goes on longer than expected, running twenty-five pages, which Colan and Conway put to good use. Colan’s art is so good, Conway padding out the action doesn’t matter; you just want more panels. The wrap-up’s haunting as well, as everyone—visitors and villagers—start to understand how the world is all of a sudden very different than before.

It’s a great comic, entirely self-contained, and absolutely gorgeous. I can’t wait for the second issue, even though the first doesn’t make any promises of what it’ll contain.

Well, other than Dracula, presumably.

Werewolf by Night (1972) #2

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Frank Chiaramonte inks the Ploog this issue, resulting in some really good art, but not the sublime standard Ploog’s set doing his own inks. It seems like Chiaramonte takes over a few pages into the comic; after a while, the faces lose that Ploog character. The expressiveness. Or maybe, since it’s eventually just the villain, his henchman, and the werewolf, no one cared about the expressions.

Before that winnowing down, writer Gerry Conway works on his subplots. The Darkhold is the major B-plot, with Jack and his new best friend and roommate Buck Cowan taking it out to a former university professor priest turned labor organizer priest for translation. They also meet up with Terri, who appeared in one panel in the first appearance of Werewolf by Night and had a different hair color. She sort of joins the supporting cast. It’s hard to say because once Jack heads out with the villain, it’s full moon and transformation time, not time for love.

The comic opens with the “third night” of Jack’s transformation cycle, seemingly making the issue an immediate sequel to the last one. Some of the other details fit—Jack having just moved in with Buck, for example—but there’s no mention of the previous issue’s memorable adventures.

Probably because this issue’s villain has similar evil plans, though the last villains’ schemes didn’t involve the werewolf for experimental purposes, they did have a bunch of non-lycanthropic experimenting going on. I think the werewolf fought someone in Marvel Spotlight who wanted to fix themselves through experiments too. Jack just can’t stop running into magically-inclined mad scientists.

But he also fights a shark. The comic opens with the cops, then a mysterious helicopter, chasing the werewolf through the Los Angeles docks and into the ocean. Werewolf goes in the water, shark’s in the water. And even though the werewolf doesn’t want to fight, the shark’s got different ideas.

The chase is good. The shark is eh. There’s another potentially big set-piece at the end of the story, and Ploog rushes it as well. The accompanying narration is more interesting than the shark fight; Conway’s got a peculiar, close first-person angle on it—but it’s neither the werewolf nor Jack narrating. The werewolf doesn’t have the vocabulary, and Jack doesn’t remember all the full moon adventure details. I’m curious if that double-extended narrative distance will ever change.

But for now, I’m just waiting to see what happens with the Darkhold and Terri, but hopefully not forty-something Buck and under-eighteen Lissa (Jack’s sister, who the issue establishes hang out at he and Buck’s pad).

Werewolf by Night (1972) #1

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Werewolf by Night’s got a cliffhanger to resolve at the beginning of its first issue, which is awkward. Especially since writer Gerry Conway’s going to take so many shortcuts. He’s in a race to resolve everything, concluding in a breakneck single-page wrap-up, and he never gets a chance to setup Werewolf as its own book. Nevertheless, there are the vaguest hints; more on those in a bit.

First, the cliffhanger. We last saw Jack Russell, titular Werewolf by Night, turned to stone by a teenage mutant girl whose father had been doing experiments on innocent people trying to find a cure for her. They were going to use dark magic from the Darkhold, a book Jack wants because… some other villain told him about it.

This issue starts with the werewolf still stone and Jack narrating a recap. The gorgon eyes stuff doesn’t work on werewolves who turn back into humans. Just as Jack changes, his new pal Buck Cowan arrives. He’s chartered a seaplane, but before anyone can say, “I hate snakes, Jock,” the duo runs into mutant girl, her now paralyzed father, and their reluctant mutant thug.

It’s an entirely different take on the mutant girl than in the previous issue, which had her as tragically, sympathetically evil. The father surviving his fall is a weird and mostly pointless change. Also, the idea she got her father a new outfit and a wheelchair in the few hours since she’d turned Wolfman Jack into stone…. Conway’s going to end the issue with just as silly of a time twist too. I hope it’s not going to be a regular narrative device.

Since Jack gave the mutant girl his name in the previous installment, she just follows him back to the mainland, where she can threaten his sister, Lissa, and Buck too. Luckily, it’s the second night of the full moon, so Jack can turn and save the day.

But what if being turned to stone somehow cured him of his lycanthropy? Wouldn’t that twist be a heck of a series starter?

Speaking of the series, the hints at what Werewolf might be like when not resolving existing cliffhangers: Jack and Buck hanging out, Lissa too? In the previous installments in Marvel Spotlight, Conway avoided sister Lissa; talked about her a bunch, avoided her. Now she’s finally around. And Buck and Jack have a good enough rapport, with Jack trying to hide the furry alter ego from both his costars.

As before, the draw is the Mike Ploog art. The werewolf stuff is great, the human stuff is good—Jack’s an often shirtless action star now, with absolutely phenomenal hair. Ploog draws great expressions, great movement, but the hair is just out of this world.

The only time the art lags is with the mutant girl and her father plotting. Otherwise, even with brief family drama stuff (Jack and Lissa’s step-father is a complete prick), all the art’s magnificent. Ploog’s art enthralls, page-to-page, panel-to-panel.