Luba (1998) #1

Luba 1

If the first issue is any indication, Luba is going to be an anthology series. Now, obviously, the first issue may not be any indication. I think creator Gilbert Hernandez stuck to the anthology format for all of New Love, the first Love and Rockets sequel, and a Luba prequel. Venus, who Beto focused on for lots of New Love (she even got her own strip), has more to do in this issue of Luba than any of Luba’s kids or grandkids. And Beto’s continuing the arc from that series for Venus; she’s still recovering from mom Petra’s divorce from her stepdad.

Luba takes place sometime after that series, with Luba in the United States with guardian Gorgo (“The Old Man”) trying to make sure her family’s safe to come over. Specifically, husband Khamo, who doesn’t actually appear in this issue. Luba talks about a recurring dream she’s got with Khamo, and he’s constantly on her mind, but otherwise, he doesn’t appear.

The first story is a very Beto piece with Luba—stark nude, with hammer, in her dream sequence to start—having an uncanny experience, then telling Gorgo about it. Gorgo has called in a favor with the mob to get Luba’s family out of danger. When Luba goes to meet with a contact, it’s at the location of the recurring dream. Beto winds past and present threads together (Gorgo and Khamo) while it’s all building to the future. It’s a great opening, haunting but not in a bad way.

The next story catches up with Luba’s family while she’s away. She hasn’t told anyone what she’s doing (exactly), just broad strokes. It’s a big cast, with Fritzi and Venus getting the most to do (with some great Ofelia asides) before Guadalupe arrives on the last page and sort of takes protagonist.

Now, obviously, this comic’s entirely incomprehensible to anyone who’s not a Love and Rockets (and probably New Love) reader. Beto packs in the dialogue; it’s only a four-page strip, and there’s a complete arc for Venus and partial ones for Fritzi and Casimira. There have got to be at least a dozen lead characters in this issue. My only “complaint,” which the Internet completely alleviates (and wouldn’t have on Luba #1’s publication in 1998), is there’s no family tree. Beto does not care about new readers; it’s an awesome, actually justified flex, but it’s also a lot.

Casimira’s arc is just this issue; she’s worried about her mom, Luba, and Beto’s established why. It’s just this semi-arc is in the middle of a New Love sequel for Venus. And then Guadalupe’s story is a callback to Love and Rockets: Volume One, but maybe tying in New Love details. I’ll bet these read so good in trade.

Anyway.

The next strip is a one-pager where Gorgo reflects on his life protecting Luba and her family (starting with Luba’s mom). It’s a short mood piece and more tightly constrained work from Beto.

The following strip is four pages about Guadalupe introducing her friend Pipo to an ex-boyfriend, Igor, who Pipo then seduces. It’s a comedy strip—Igor’s in a sort of band with best pal, Steve, who’s musically inept and entirely unaware of it. The strip’s from Igor’s perspective, with a single aside for Guadalupe—it’s a great one, too; Beto observes literary snobs aren’t better people than non-literary snobs; it’s the loosest comic in the issue, all for fun.

The next strip is another very measured one, two pages about Doralis, one of Luba’s daughters, who’s got a popular television variety show and uses it to tell the story of younger sister Casimira losing her arm. It’s basically a check-in strip for Luba’s daughters, Doralis and older sister Maricela; they’re both queer and closeted. The Casimira bit is full of personality and less internal conflict. This comic is full of short strips you can’t believe are only a couple of a few pages. This one’s the most impressive in that regard. Beto’s a master at compact comics narrative.

The final story is a three-pager with Guadalupe narrating. It’s about Fritzi and Petra visiting Luba, who’s still working on getting the family safely into the States. This story’s the closest Beto gets to giving the reader relevant backstory (Guadalupe recounts Ofelia’s injuries, which Love and Rockets readers remember, knowing more than the characters). About a page and a half are Luba and her sisters visiting, then the full last page is Guadalupe’s narration getting the spotlight. With appropriately corresponding visuals. It all ties into Luba being away from her family too long, which is the issue’s not at all opaque theme.

It’s a simultaneously sublime and jam-packed story in a sublime and jam-packed issue. It’s an excellent start to the series; sincere and thoughtful.

There’s a one-page color strip on the back cover. No dialogue, just Ofelia and Fritzi playing with some of the kids. It’s charming. And slightly uncanny to see Beto’s characters in color.

Penny Century (1997) #3

Pc3

Again, creator Jaime Hernandez completely surprises with Penny Century. The content, anyway; the quality is always a safe bet.

This issue is set in summer 1966, in Hoppers, where Isabel is a little kid whose best friend is going to Mexico for the summer, and she’s got nothing to do. Thanks to older sister Chabela’s boyfriend not liking babies, Isabel finds herself taking over Chabela’s babysitting duties. The baby in question? One Margarita Luisa Chascarillo, whose still young enough to be carried, but toddler enough to walk around on her own with some agency.

Real quick–seeing as how Jaime’s set the characters in time, it’ll be interesting to see how he addresses them aging as adults. This story, Home School, is done in a style similar to the “Lil’ Ray” strips Jaime started in Love and Rockets (and has continued in Century). It’s got a lot of Peanuts energy, and it works beautifully here, the first time a girl’s gotten the spotlight.

Isabel initially finds Maggie (she’s still Perlita at this age) incredibly annoying and bullies her, similar to how Chabela bullies Isabel. Jaime never makes the comparison too direct, instead letting the behaviors echo across the relationships. Of course, things change for both pairs of girls as Isabel discovers being cruel isn’t worth the reward, and Chabela realizes life doesn’t revolve around her shitty boyfriend.

At least, not when there’s a child in trouble.

While the overarching story is about Isabel growing up over this particular summer and taking responsibility for someone else (forever, as regular readers know), there are also some great subplots running throughout. First is Isabel’s smoking. With no one to hang out with, she hides out in the dugout at the park and smokes squares.

Second is the neighborhood white owl, which Chabela convinces her was sent by witches to curse one of the neighbor ladies. Isabel spends her nights petrified as the owl hoots.

It’s a fantastic story. Jaime tells it so breezily I was shocked when it was the only story in the issue. It seemed like a feature, sure, but not the whole issue. There are some great sequences as Isabel and Perlita go from contentious to comrade, and lots of great action.

Other than the general style touches to compare to Peanuts (including a scared under-the-bed panel I’m not sure was ever close to being in a Peanuts but is very much the vibe), Jaime doesn’t do anything to tell the story like a three or four-panel newspaper strip. Instead, it’s far looser, with the passage of time sometimes just being told in Isabel’s changed outfits.

Again, it’s a particularly great comic in an already particularly great series. Jaime outdoes himself.

There’s a single page Ray comic in the color, back page “To Be Announced” strip. He’s having nightmares about someone in his apartment—suggesting the robbery last issue affected him more than narration suggested—and then the punchline actually ties into Maggie’s ghoul from last issue too.

Visually, at least. It’s a good, scary enough little horror strip, but the issue-length feature could cover it even if it weren’t any good. It’s such a good feature.

Penny Century (1997) #2

Pc2

Penny Century didn’t appear in Penny Century #1 (at least, not in the present action), but this issue starts with her. It’s a direct follow-up to last issue, with Penny—who seems to have a beauty salon somewhere between L.A. and Hoppers—getting Hopey gussied up. It’s a one-page strip, followed by the further adventures of Ray in Hollywood.

The Ray story flashes back to his tween-age years in Hoppers when he hung out with older kids one summer and helped them break into houses. In the present, someone’s broken into Ray’s apartment and made off with his TV and laundry money, so his reminiscence has some immediate context.

It’s a quick story—four pages, opening with Ray’s staccato narration about his day—and foreshadows how creator Jaime Hernandez will be doing a lot with blacks this issue. There are some nighttime panels (in the flashback), and Jaime does a glorious job with shadows.

He also doesn’t try to make Ray particularly likable. He ends up being more likable than the least likable characters this issue, but Jaime’s not sugar-coating the character.

The next strip is another one-pager, with Li’l Ray playing with the television dial and discovering the UHF setting. It’s a cute strip in how it ties into the TV from grown Ray’s story, but also showing him in his more innocent days, not breaking and entering. Like the last issue, the strip’s called “To Be Announced,” Jaime’s establishing some regulars in the anthology format.

The feature story is next, and it’s very irregular, however. It reminds a lot of that first issue of Love and Rockets, which has a haunted house story (later revealed to be an Izzy story).

It starts as a regular Locas strip, with Maggie joining Penny and Hopey in the beauty shop to see how fixed up Penny’s got Hopey. Maggie’s got to drive home alone, and Penny tells her to take a “haunted highway,” leading to some teasing and good humor before the actual car trip.

Jaime writes it with that second-person narration he used for Maggie’s story last issue, with the narration directly engaging her in conversation and questioning her decisions. Only it’s not cute and comedic; it’s Maggie having a lengthy panic attack as she freaks out about being in possible danger. Jaime draws it like a Hitchcock movie (shades of Marion Crane), and it’s phenomenally effective stuff.

Especially since the ending’s a cliffhanger.

The story’s also almost entirely at night, so Jaime does a lot with inky blacks. It’s a beautifully illustrated story; Jaime’s visual pacing is perfect.

Then there’s another one-pager. A snowman wants to borrow an umbrella from his friend, a groundhog. It’s a funny, seven-panel strip, done entirely for laughs (or smiles). Though Jaime does love his shadows in it.

The next strip stars Negra and her mom, Norma; it’s the first time we’ve gotten to see how Norma treats Negra when there aren’t witnesses, and it’s not great. Negra’s in a fairly bad, borderline but quickly approaching that line abusive. It’s three pages, and literally half of it is disturbing.

The penultimate story’s a four-pager about what Hopey and Penny were getting together to go and do. Izzy’s got a book signing in Hoppers, and they’re going to be supportive. Plus, Izzy wrote a whole chapter about when she and Hopey did peyote, and Hopey burned down a liquor store.

Izzy showed up in Maggie’s story in flashback (kid Izzy scares kid Maggie with stories). It nicely ties in with the opening strip; Jaime does a great job fracturing the narrative but never gets too far away from it the proverbial plot.

Turns out Izzy’s so nervous about the reading—and real success as a writer—she’s having a physiological reaction. Hopey doesn’t think it’s funny, but Penny finds the whole thing hilarious, leading to some great banter and a nice couple of punchlines.

The strip’s strange (including a cherub-like child with an adult’s intellect), with Jaime doing some creative panel composition to include the cast. It’s a good finish.

Except there’s also another color strip on the back cover. Space Girl—who we met in the Maggie and Hopey Color Special—bitching to her bartender about not being compensated for her super-heroics. Sci-fi good girl art with a twist. It doesn’t relate to anything in the comic itself, but it’s a good style preview.

Halloween H20 (1998, Steve Miner)

Halloween H20 is an impressively short motion picture. It’s got an eighty-six-minute runtime, but the end credits run four minutes plus. The opening titles run three minutes, plus the cold open teaser runs ten. So the main action barely runs seventy minutes, thirty minutes of story, forty minutes of slasher suspense.

It’s been twenty years since the original Halloween. Jamie Lee Curtis has moved away, faked her death, gotten married, had a kid, gotten divorced, and become an education professional. She runs an isolated private school in Northern California, where she only has to go into town when she wants, and she can keep herself and her teenage son Josh Hartnett away from the world.

Except this Halloween, unlike the nineteen previous, is the one where her slasher movie villain brother comes back.

The movie eventually explains the timing. It’s one of those humdrum eureka moments; all Curtis needed to do was verbalize in a particular way, and everything becomes obvious. Well, minus bad guy Michael Myers (Chris Durand) being unkillable. Though the film works out how to address that situation. It never figures out what to do about Durand’s lousy mask. They apparently had four and were never happy with any of the results, which tracks; the main mask shows a lot of Durand’s cheeks and eyes, which actually ends up working for it. The goofy hair almost looks like a Muppet riff on a Halloween mask, leading to the violence being all the more affecting when they get to it.

There has to be some way to check all those boxes and not have the goofy mask.

Director Miner and cinematographer Daryn Okada compensate for the wanting villain with mood lighting, with H20 having a few distinct styles. The first is the prologue—set in Illinois, fellow Halloween 1 and 2 survivor Nancy Stephens finds herself the victim of a home invasion; she gets neighborhood teens Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Branden Williams to help, only they try to help too much, leading to the first scare sequence and a good showcase for Gordon-Levitt’s mugging. Miner and Okada give that sequence a Midwestern, outer suburb American feel. It’s fall, the leaves are falling, it’s almost Halloween.

Because the actual Halloween is in the Northern California location. During the day, Curtis goes into town for a lunch date with mildly inappropriate boyfriend Adam Arkin (they either work together or he’s her subordinate). While it’s clearly Halloween, it’s not one where Curtis has to participate. She can remain detached. And then Halloween just plain isn’t allowed at the private school, something son Hartnett rebels against. While most of the school is away on a camping trip, Hartnett and his friends plan a romantic Halloween weekend. There’s girlfriend Michelle Williams and their friend couple, Adam Hann-Byrd and Jodi Lyn O’Keefe. Hartnett and Williams are the chaste, romantic couple; Hann-Byrd and O’Keefe are the amusingly debauched couple. But H20 isn’t really about the teens.

It’s always Curtis’s movie. At least once the story proper starts, thirteen minutes in. The prologue suspense sequence actually doesn’t have anything to do with the main plot, with the pertinent information coming in the opening titles. They’re a montage of news clippings about Halloween 1 and 2 and what’s happened since to Curtis. A Donald Pleasance impersonator reads Halloween 1 lines as it goes; they use a clip later, so it’s unclear why they didn’t use the Pleasance audio.

Then the next half hour establishes Curtis’s character as deserving a movie, including Curtis having to develop the character from scratch, albeit with some Sarah Connor nods, starting with the nightmares and the suffering son.

Every character relationship, every character development arc start point, everything character-related—it gets one scene setup. Robert Zappia and Matt Greenberg’s script is all about the logistics. Get character A to point X, character B to point Y, and so on. They get away with it because even though all the action at the school takes place in a single day—Halloween—Miner, and composer John Ottman create this summary style for most of the second act. It’s Halloween, but Halloween’s not important; getting to know the characters is important, and they’ve still got a regular school or work day to get through.

We also meet security guard LL Cool J, the lone Black person in the main cast. He’s the diversity. He’s working as a posh school security guard, so he has time to write his romance novels, which he reads over the phone to wife LisaGay Hamilton. It’s charming in its lack of success. They try really hard to make it charming, and it never quite makes it, but the effort’s there.

Oh, and there’s also the Janet Leigh cameo. Leigh’s only in a couple scenes, including one where she has an aware but not too aware talk with Curtis about being slasher movie victims. It’s not great dialogue, but Leigh’s so earnest about it and so good at being oblivious to the bit it works out. Especially since it sets the mood for the following suspense sequence.

H20’s efficiencies are never more brutal than with the dialogue. It’s short conversations; once the actors hit their marks, it’s over, on to the next scene. No one gets to ramble; there’s no scenery-chewing except maybe Gordon-Levitt at the beginning. The short runtime is almost a necessity; H20 knows what its concept can support and never tries to go further.

As a director, Miner’s strangely better with the actors than with the suspense. H20’s suspense sequences have some personality—and the film likes its pop scare gags—but the character stuff feels more considered. Though some might just be the plotting, the film keeps checking in with Curtis and about how, either way, the twentieth anniversary of Halloween 1 was going to be special.

If her slasher movie brother hadn’t come back, Curtis would still be making a lot of personal progress thanks to Hartnett’s teenage rebellion and Arkin’s sweet and horny attentions.

Then, much like the character gets a eureka moment, the film makes a comparison between Curtis and Victor Frankenstein (in the novel) and their respective Frankensteins, and something just clicks for H20. The movie can get away with a whole bunch, just thanks to that one detail.

Curtis is great. No one else comes close, but then no one else should be able to come close. Hartnett and Arkin are the obvious standouts, Hartnett more. Arkin’s doing a riff, Hartnett puts in some character work. LL Cool J’s really sympathetic; troubled part but very likable. Leigh’s fun. It’s a scene and a half; she doesn’t have to do much. Hann-Byrd and O’Keefe are fine. They’re perfunctory. Williams is just a little bit less perfunctory and also fine. H20 never tries to be more than it needs to be, including with characters.

The technicals are all solid without ever being extraordinary. Okada’s photography ranges from very good to perfectly fine. Patrick Lussier’s editing’s good. Ottman’s music is… an anti-Halloween Halloween score? The music does a lot of work setting the mood for the film and the performances; it’s usually successful. But it’s also a little ostentatious in how much it avoids the traditional theme.

Halloween H20 is a good “extended period” later sequel. It couldn’t possibly exist without the sequels it ignores, but it also gets to do something entirely different thanks to that feign ignorance. Miner and Curtis, with help, make H20 much more special than it needs or ought to be.

Hitman: Tommy’s Heroes (1998-99)

Hmth

By the fifth Hitman collection, DC has given up on the six or eight-issue collection and just gone whole hog. There are fourteen issues in the Tommy’s Heroes collection. Two full story arcs, a couple done-in-ones (including the DC One Million crossover), and then a haunting two-parter to close it off. Writer Garth Ennis runs Hitman hero Tommy Monaghan through various ringers, starting with the S.A.S. out to get him.

Back in Gulf War One, Tommy and best friend Natt the Hat accidentally killed a British officer. Friendly fire, it happens (apparently a lot with the U.S. military, per Ennis’s S.A.S. blokes’ conversation). Only it was the son of some blue blood, so the S.A.S. wants to show you really can’t kill wealthy Brits, even if you’re a Marine, so they send a fire team to Gotham to kill Tommy and Natt the Hat. Why have they waited so long (the comic’s from 1998)? Possibly because the team leader was too busy undercover in the IRA, possibly because… they just needed to wait for it to be a story.

Especially since it’s going to turn into a gang war, and it couldn’t have been a gang war if Tommy hadn’t recently pissed off the Italian mob.

So, this arc, Who Dares Wins, has Garry Leach inking John McCrea, and while the style is still Hitman, Leach brings a much more absurdist feel to the art. It’s like a gore comedy, always trying to top itself—DC really should’ve paid Ennis or made some intern go through these Hitman comics and change out the fake swear words for real ones, just to see how it reads. Because it’s super gory, super gross (the Italian mob boss has IBS and conducts his business from the men’s, which begs for a Batman versus IBS mobster story but alas no), but there’s no cursing. But they get away with a lot, especially with the Leach inks.

It’s a five-issue arc, with Tommy and Natt on the run from the S.A.S., on the run from the mob, then having to save a kidnapped friend. Not the girlfriend. Ennis doesn’t put her in danger, though the S.A.S. considers it. Lots of the arc is about the S.A.S. being these unstoppable, unconscionable killing machines, leading to inter-team turmoil. Tommy and Natt are kind of just guest-starring in their own story. Ennis is far more interested in the Brits.

I’m pretty sure he did the same setup years later with a Punisher MAX arc. It’d be interesting to compare the two.

The story’s okay. The stakes are kind of low—once Ennis establishes it’ll be an alarming escalation if the S.A.S. team starts killing civilians (versus mobsters or Tommy and Natt), you don’t really have to worry about their hostage. I mean, maybe Natt’s in danger, but… probably not. Ennis started Hitman killing off Tommy’s other best friend. It’d be a lot to off the replacement.

Mostly, it’s a wonderful exercise in glorious, energetic art. McCrea’s always kind of static with Hitman. Leach brings the fluidity.

There’s a perfect example with the one-in-one following the conclusion of Who Dares Wins. Tommy and girlfriend Tiegel are on the outs after a fight over Tommy’s demonic hitman nightmares, so he and Natt head to the bar to get blotto. It’s mostly comedy and character development as Tommy feels like a failure compared to the S.A.S. team from the last arc. They were real hard men; he’s just pretending. So talking heads, Irish jokes, and an absolutely fantastic new bartender.

McCrea inks the issue himself, and it’s got none of that liquidity or smoothness Leach brings. It’s not bad. It works just fine for a pensive issue. It gives Tommy time to think through his monologues and so on.

Leach is back for the next arc, Tommy’s Heroes. Well, for most of it. It’s five issues, and smack dab in the middle Andrew Chui fills in on the inks and… makes Hitman look very silly.

Heroes is about Tommy, Natt, and a couple other local Gotham hitmen heading to Central Africa to work as mercenaries. Officially they’re advisors training the locations to fight the heroin-smuggling rebels, but pretty soon, they discover the people they’re working for are the actual bad guys. Because, of course.

One of the other mercenaries conned into the job is a British friend of one of the S.A.S. guys from the other arc. It gives Tommy a character relationship away from Natt and Tiegel, which is a Hitman rarity these days. Of course, Natt doesn’t want Tommy telling his new friend about the S.A.S. trying to kill them, so there’s some tension.

The tension quickly gives way to the aforementioned working-for-the-bad-guys bit, which becomes really obvious when Tommy’s superior kills a baby. Actually, the superior orders one of the two evil supers to do it; you can see the seeds of The Boys all throughout the arc, though it’s also going to echo Superman-as-stooge in Dark Knight just because it’s the most similar reference point at the time.

There’s a lot of outrageous war comic action, mostly with great Leach inks and much less humor than usual. One of the additional hitmen is the big dopey one, who everyone uses as comic relief to relieve tension. Not everyone like Ennis, McCrea, or Leach. The characters. They all use the guy to blow off steam while slowly realizing his place in the team dynamic.

Tommy’s Heroes is a better story than the S.A.S. one, but it’s also a much more serious one. It may be the most serious Hitman story so far. Ennis tries a little hard to force Tommy’s character development but gets away with it through charm, goodwill, and brute force.

None of it, and none of Hitman, can prepare for the next issue in the collection, another done-in-one. Tommy and Superman, having a long talk on a Gotham rooftop. Leach does the inks. He and McCrea’s Superman is vaguely Kirby-esque, larger than life (and chonky), which just makes the story all the more effective.

Superman’s just had a very bad day and went to talk to Batman about it for emotional support. Batman was useless. Since it’s Superman and Superman’s always saving the world, Tommy figures the least he can do is talk it out with him. So the comic works through three levels of cynicism. There’s Tommy’s affected but earned cynicism, there’s Superman’s reluctant cynicism, then there’s Ennis’s cynicism about the whole superhero thing, as continually evidenced in the very comic book itself.

It ends up being Ennis doing inspiration over cynicism, and it’s absolutely phenomenal. It’s not the best Hitman, but it’s on a shortlist of best Superman.

Then it’s time for the DC One Million crossover, which has a bunch of future jackass rich kids teleporting Tommy to the future so they can use his powers. In the intervening 83,000 years between the present and the One Million timeline (seriously, there ought to be an oral history project on the terrible idea of this crossover from go), the world has aggrandized Tommy into a superhero. The kind who would be suitable for a silly crossover issue.

All that superhero inspirational positivity Ennis ginned up for the Superman issue? He cleanses himself of it in the One Million crossover. All the future superhero sycophants are dipshits (at best), and Tommy’s mortified by the lot of them.

Eventually, he’s going to reintroduce murder-death-kills to the neutered future, hurrying things along so he can get back to his barstool to drink away his sorrows. The best thing in the issue’s probably the punchline cameo, but absolutely no one is trying very hard here. Ennis’s exposition is just to rag on the concept, though McCrea (inking himself) does get to do more goofy humor than usual.

Then comes the devastating two-part finale of the collection.

So, again, just like the Tommy’s Heroes arc was the most serious Hitman to that point… the two-part Katie sets the new standard. Because it’s going to be almost incalculably dark.

The story starts with Tommy and Tiegel having another fight, taking another break. She’s mad about him being a hitman, which is their go-to disagreement. Ennis seems to have forgotten what he enjoyed about writing them together, and now they just argue and, during the arguments, mention the other times they’re happy with each other. We just never see those on the page.

The latest breakup is just to remind Tiegel’s still around, with the inciting incident being a person from Tommy’s past reappearing and taking him back to Ireland. There are a lot of truth bombs, and back story reveals throughout the two issues, but they have very little to do with Hitman proper. Outside it broadly being about Tommy’s character development. Everything he finds out here is a revelation to both reader and Tommy, so we’re privy to his reaction.

The series has already established Tommy was left at the local Catholic orphanage as a baby, and the Mother Superior at the orphanage has been having a long-time love affair with his good friend, the bar owner. Well, I think Ennis only hinted at the latter, but it’s a plot detail in the arc. Because when it’s about Tommy in Gotham, it’s Tommy as a newborn; so instead, it’s about the adults around him.

But it’s not a Gotham story, it’s an Ireland story, and Ennis has a lot of thoughts about how shitty Irish people can be. Mainly how shitty men can be. How infinitely awful, in fact.

It’s a hell of a story.

Excellent, emotive art from McCrea and Leach. It’d probably be nicer if they’d ended the collection with some kind of reprieve, but they don’t. It’s just an even more intense weight than the comic’s ever had before.

Hitman: Tommy’s Heroes might be the turning point where Ennis starts getting more ambitious with the character. Not the romance, unfortunately (I don’t think Tiegel has anything to do outside the arguing in almost four hundred pages), but there’s so much great stuff in these issues. It starts with Leach giving the comic this newfound fluidity, jazzing it up, as it were.

It ends with Ennis… doing whatever that ending does, coming after the Superman issue after the Tommy’s Heroes arc. Just rending the reader, rending Tommy.

On the one hand, I can’t wait to see where Ennis goes next. On the other, it’s a terrifying thought. He and McCrea take Hitman someplace much darker and thoughtful than mainstream DC’s built for. They’re pressing the medium to the limit; it cracks to reveal something cold, desolate, and vibrant.

It’s excellent comics.

Hitman: Ace of Killers (1997-98)

Having read Garth Ennis for so long, I can get a sense of his structure. He’s traditionally too rushed in three-issue arcs, much more comfortable with four or more. Hitman: Ace of Killers collects a six-issue arc and then two done-in-ones. The main story is a siege story, too, with the heroes getting pinned down at the end of the second issue. It’s pretty awesome plotting; like, it’s real impressive given all the character development he’s got going in a four-hour present action or whatever.

So, Nazi demon Mawzir (from the first Hitman arc—and trade) is back in Gotham looking for revenge. He’s pretty sure he’s got a foolproof plan to take out Tommy, which involves taking over one of the mob gangs and having the humans do most of the dirty work so as not to raise attention from the archangels who wouldn’t want a demon doing business on the mortal plane. Only it turns out Tommy’s still too smart for Mawzir. At least if his plan works out. The plan involves Jim Balent-era Catwoman (the politest way to describe Balent-era Catwoman is “cheesecake”) and another visit from Jason Blood and his Demon. Tommy got his start in Ennis and artist John McCrea’s Demon, which I kind of want to read after this arc, which has Ennis sending Etrigan on a delightful mission in Hell. Reminds of good old eighties DC Swamp Thing Hell, though no bugs.

But Mawzir hunting Tommy interferes with fetching, now ex-cop Tiegel getting drunk and putting the moves on Tommy. She gets so drunk she doesn’t remember he’s actually a gentleman when he wants to be—there’s a great bit comparing the demons and angels on his shoulders. When she tracks him down to confront him about what she thinks happened, she too gets stuck in the siege. So it’s Tommy, Tiegel, Natt, Catwoman, and Jason Blood trapped in a Catholic Church, which Mawzir and his human gang are shooting to shit. Mawzir can’t go into the church because holy ground and the archangels would know right away; he has to stay outside and deal with the cops.

Now, outside Tommy’s constant fat jokes about Natt and the Catwoman objectification, the wonkiest thing about the arc is how it fits in, well, Batman’s Gotham City. It’s hard to believe none of the Bat-family wouldn’t notice an hours-long firefight in the middle of the city, regardless of it happening in the Cauldron (Gotham’s Hell’s Kitchen analog). Maybe they were all on a space mission, but it’s definitely a place where having general DC Comics continuity works against the comic.

It’s also the arc where I was most expecting some kind of Preacher nod—Catwoman’s in the story because she got tricked in stealing a magical Old West rifle, capable of killing demons—but then remembered nineties DC wouldn’t force some terrible crossover between distinct artistic properties. Ah, the old days. I mean, outside Balent Catwoman, who Tommy and Natt salivate over in an unfortunate manner.

While the siege takes five issues to resolve, there are a couple big diversions—first, Etrigan’s Hell mission, then drunken “studperhero” Sixpack putting together his team of misfit meta-humans to help out Tommy and friends. Ennis gets away with a couple things with the misfits I can’t believe they let him do on the main DC label. Like, did they switch pages at the printer or something? So there’s a nice balance of humor and suspense and then a whole bunch of romance, as Tommy figures he and Tiegel need to talk out their proto-relationship problems even if they’re in imminent danger. Maybe more so.

Most of the relationship development happens in one of the done-in-ones, but there’s excellent groundwork throughout the main arc. Oodles of chemistry.

Ennis writes the heck out of demon Etrigan, both in Hell and out; I’m thinking I need to hit that Demon series at some point too. He’s got an enthusiasm to it, even though it’s very purple.

Oh, and the siege arc has a lot of Sam Peckinpah references; it’s kind of strange to see Ennis drop all sorts of (specific) pop culture references, but it was the nineties, after all.

The first done-in-one is Tommy and Tiegel’s first proper date, with Steve Pugh doing the art. Pugh brings a lot to it, especially for the constrained setting and story—there’s some banter with Tommy and Natt, then the date going sideways once Tiegel’s parents show up—but having Pugh handle the more human moments… makes it distinct. Not saying McCrea couldn’t have done them, but Pugh’s art is more gentle.

Or something.

It works, but it’s also just fine Pugh’s not back for the second done-in-one, which has Tommy and Natt hunting down a radioactive Santa Claus, hell-bent on killing as many people as he can. There’s a big “Simpsons” reference, and the whole story’s narration feels like a nod to How the Grinch Stole Christmas. It works out nicely. But it’s not as impressive as an action narrative as the main story or a character one as the date issue. It’s a Christmas special, whereas the other two stories have to make their own special.

McCrea’s back on pencils for the Christmas story, with Pugh inking. It looks good. Now, radioactive supervillain Santa attacking Gotham on Christmas Eve… just saying, Batman sort of should’ve noticed.

It’s the best Hitman collection so far. I wasn’t sold on the Tiegel and Tommy stuff but now I’m most definitely invested.

Frasier (1993) s06e10 – Merry Christmas, Mrs. Moskowitz

The first time Kelsey Grammer directed a “Frasier” episode, he barely appeared onscreen. Subsequently, he started including himself more, and with this episode, he’s got himself front and center. He gives David Hyde Pierce and John Mahoney some outstanding showcases—better than he ever gives himself—but he’s got the A plot from the start.

The episode begins establishing it’s a Christmas episode with Grammer and Peri Gilpin shopping for last-minute gifts. It’s a nice department store scene, lots of activity, some good smiles, and then a great introduction to guest star Carole Shelley. She saves Grammer from a social faux pas and gets her single daughter a date with a doctor out of it. The daughter ends up being Amy Brenneman, so it works out.

Brenneman’s appearance is interesting for a few reasons. First, she’s trying out comedy from drama and adapts her timing well. Second, she ends up being support to Shelley. Third, Grammer isn’t hostile towards her. The last time there was a big-name love interest guest star (Teri Hatcher), Grammer was visibly distressed. This time he’s far more gracious, and the proto-couple are charming together.

Especially when it turns out the A plot is Grammer and family hiding their Christianity from Shelley, who assumed he was Jewish. Problematically, Mahoney wants to hang up an electronic Rudolph wreath, and Hyde Pierce and Jane Leeves are running around planning a musical Christmas pageant. Thanks to the pacing and the script—credited to Jay Kogen—the episode dances around being screwball and builds to an emotional conclusion. A funny, moving close, but very much a heartfelt Christmas episode.

Shelley’s fantastic. She and Brenneman toggle between moods immediately, which is part of the story, but it’s also very impressive to watch Shelley do it. Primarily since punchlines are entirely based on her read of a situation.

The subplot with Leeves and Hyde Pierce is excellent too, leveraging their chemistry and Hyde Pierce’s physical comedy abilities. Grammer’s other episodes had a big focus on Leeves and Hyde Pierce, and this one lets them find a good rapport as well, just in C plot territory. Turns out Mahoney and the Christmas decorating that wasn’t is the B plot and a perfect one.

“Frasier”’s always done satisfying Christmas episodes, but I’m not sure there’s ever been one as funny as this one. Of course, the stakes are low—Grammer and Gilpin are back at work, and there are no visiting family guest stars—but the lack of drama just lets them have more fun.

Plus, the credits postscript is Eddie being seasonally adorable.

Frasier (1993) s06e09 – Roz, a Loan

Roz, a Loan is a peculiar episode. It’s ostensibly about Frasier (Kelsey Grammer) lending Roz (Peri Gilpin) some money since they’re still out of work. The episode opens in the cafe with Grammer and Gilpin thinking they’re about to go back to work at their original station—the salsa format hasn’t been working out ratings-wise—but then new cafe waitress Tricia O’Kelley dashes their hopes. She heard the station owner (sadly Miguel Sandoval doesn’t cameo) pish-posh the ratings and say salsa’s staying. So Gilpin’s bummed out because she’s not rolling in dough like Grammer, and he loans her fifteen hundred to tide her over for three more months.

Fifteen hundred dollars in 1998 money, incidentally, is twenty-five hundred in modern money. It also means Gilpin’s rent is something like a hundred and fifty bucks a month. The economics in sitcoms are fascinating and utterly depressing.

Anyway.

The A plot is then Grammer fretting over Gilpin misspending the loan as John Mahoney, Jane Leeves, and David Hyde Pierce all tell him to leave it alone, but of course, he can’t because it’s one of the character’s standard tropes. The B plot is them maybe getting their jobs back after all. The C plot is Hyde Pierce getting Mahoney to take him to a day spa; Mahoney has a gift certificate for two, but it’s got his name on it, so he’s got to go. There’s a profoundly “over his head” moment when Hyde Pierce whines he can’t afford to go to a day spa and whines to get Mahoney to take him. Grammer had just been complaining about similarly broke Gilpin going to the same day spa.

So it’s like seventeen minutes of Grammer ruminating on whether or not to be a rude jerk while everyone tells him not to be a rude jerk.

The rest of the time is O’Kelley playing oracle and then short (and funny) appearances from Dan Butler and Patrick Kerr since the radio station is kind of back.

Pamela Fryman’s direction holds it together, and the acting’s fine—Mahoney’s great with the spa stuff, ditto Leeves as she gets fed up with Grammer’s griping—but, again, it’s just about Grammer being a dick to good friend Gilpin.

Janis Hirsch gets the script credit—her first on the series.

Frasier (1993) s06e08 – The Seal Who Came to Dinner

The second half of the episode is such accomplished screwball I totally forget the first half ranges from problematic to cringe, with way too much self-awareness. The episode opens at the cafe, with Kelsey Grammer and Peri Gilpin talking about being out of work and David Hyde Pierce showing up to whine about not being able to have a fancy dinner party at his shitty bachelor pad. Next, Gilpin goes into a rant about how hard life is having a newborn as a single mom while being unemployed.

Grammer and Hyde Pierce instinctively ignore her because what do women even say and then wonder why she storms out. Exit Gilpin from the episode.

Then there’s John Mahoney perving on live-in employee Jane Leeves’s friend, Susie Park, because she’s Asian. And during the war (presumably Korean), Mahoney dated a lot of Korean girls. Though Leeves points out the power imbalance, Mahoney and the episode don’t care. They repeat the joke a little later, with Grammer and Hyde Pierce talking about geisha girls and Mahoney having a fit. They’re bad jokes, and there’s no way to do them “well,” but they could’ve been done a lot better.

Joe Keenan gets the script credit, and it feels like it’s been a while. Maybe he—or the room—was rusty. Or just particularly misogynist and predatory. Leeves is good at yelling at Mahoney, though. So whoever wrote her dialogue got it. Then again, maybe it was all good in the script, and director David Lee fumbled it.

So. Problems. Multiple, layered problems.

Until the actual dinner party, which has Grammer and Hyde Pierce breaking into his soon-to-be ex-wife’s beach house to throw the party. Only there’s a dead seal on the beach, and they’ve got to take care of it. Throw in a nosey neighbor (Marilyn Child), a demanding caterer (Arnie Burton), and the head of a syndicated radio network (Catherine Dent), and it’s a winner. Lots of good physical comedy for both Grammer and Hyde Pierce, lots of good dialogue humor for both of them. It’s spectacular stuff.

Just a rocky road to get there. The script characterizes Grammer and Hyde Pierce as inherently rude and shallow and leaves the actors responsible for making them still likable. Though it’s probably better they ignore Gilpin for a joke instead of stalk various women through the first scene like Mahoney’d apparently be doing.

The second half’s excellent, though. The ideal would be missing the first ten minutes, being confused for a couple minutes, then getting the glory of the dinner party. Particularly great work from Hyde Pierce throughout.

Frasier (1993) s06e07 – How to Bury a Millionaire

The episode opens with a car chase sequence, with Kelsey Grammer and John Mahoney in one car and David Hyde Pierce in the other. There’s some outdoor shooting (seemingly second unit) and lots of banter during the actual driving—not just Mahoney and Grammer, but Hyde Pierce (via car phone) as well. It’s a great, distinct start to the episode, complete with general setup. Hyde Pierce is trying not to be seen because his wife took away his car in the divorce, and he’s in a hatchback. It’s awesome.

It eventually works out into a Crane boys episode—Lori Kirkland Baker gets the script credit; she’s not just distinguishing herself, in general, this season, she’s doing Crane boys episodes, which require delicate balance. The episode’s got to be simultaneously sympathetic to Hyde Pierce in his fantastical money woes while still making fun of him, often from Grammer and Mahoney’s perspectives, but also making a little fun of them too. It works out. Outstanding writing for all of it, leveraging Hyde Pierce’s physical comedy as well as dialogue banter. Pamela Fryman directs; no big swings like the opening car chase, but excellent direction throughout. It’s an exemplar “Frasier.”

Some of the episode has newly broke Hyde Pierce crashing at Grammer’s apartment, but they avoid the creep potential of having him around Jane Leeves, instead focusing on how much he annoys Mahoney and Grammer. There’s a great setup for that joke, starting in dialogue then moving into sight gags and physical comedy. Fryman’s got a wonderful sense of pacing and spends just the right amount of time building to punchlines. Again, it’s an exemplar episode. Even before they get to Hyde Pierce having to look at shitty, divorced dude apartments.

Most of the laughs for that subplot come during a tour with one of the apartment managers, Michael McShane, with the episode continuing on in more dramatic territory. Grammer, Hyde Pierce, and Mahoney all get to do character development as the finale progresses, and there are a couple divine concluding punchlines.

There’s scant but good material for Leeves and Peri Gilpin. No room for the girls in a Crane boys episode (Gilpin’s scene continues she and Grammer’s overarching unemployment arc, and then Leeves can’t be around Hyde Pierce too much, it’s not a romance episode after all).

Outside missing them, it’s a delightful episode; Fryman and Kirkland Baker are quickly becoming a new “Frasier” dream team.