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War Story: D-Day Dodgers (2001)
D-Day Dodgers ends with a ten-page series of splash pages, with artist John Higgins moving through a battlefield, a poem accompanying the imagery. The poem, “The Ballad of the D-Day Dodgers,” is from an unknown author. Higgins’s pages tie the poem’s lines to the various characters we’ve met throughout the issue, which is a fairly standard war story until the “D-Day Dodgers” plot point arrives.Writer Garth Ennis’s opening text block informs the reader of the setting and situation—the Allied troops working their way (too slowly to be exciting news) through Italy, which has taken long enough they’re basically forgotten, even though they’re still very active. A new second lieutenant is arriving, a blue blood named Ross, whose never been in battle before. He falls for the enlisted men’s chicanery, he’s shocked at the captain’s disillusionment with the war, and he can’t believe the British military would sacrifice all these men to keep the Germans distracted.
Even with the captain, Lovatt, calmly explaining the situation—sometimes while taking potshots at the local destroyed church’s Jesus on the cross (he’s not an atheist, just a disappointed Catholic)—the comic’s about Ross waking up to the reality he’s found himself in. He’s thick enough he doesn’t realize when he’s learning things, like when the capable sergeant major takes him out on patrol, and Ross proves himself to his fellows but doesn’t know it.
Much of the comic’s talking heads, Ross is going overboard trying to prove himself to Lovatt, who can’t make the new officer understand the bleakness of their situation. Not even after they get their mission briefing, and Lovatt explains (both to the brass and Ross) what’s wrong with the plan.
It’s a good comic throughout. Ennis brings up some interesting ideas but can’t really bring them into focus well enough; they’re ground situation instead of foundation when they ought to be the latter. But the visual montage and how Lovatt and Ross’s last conversation leads into it put Dodgers over.
Oh, right. “D-Day Dodgers.” Right before the army sent these soldiers to their deaths, some lady (literally a lady) told Parliament they were all a bunch of lazy “D-Day Dodgers.” However, since Ross is from the same social class (which gets addressed) and new (which doesn’t), it doesn’t really resonate other than as an apt (and tragic) title.
Higgins’s art is excellent; he changes his line thickness based on emotional intensity, which is cool. Then his montage sequence is just one emotional gut punch after another. It’s a rending, rewarding read.
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O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000, Joel Coen)
O Brother, Where Art Thou? is a frustrating, adequate success. There’s some excellent filmmaking and even better performances. Still, the Coen Brothers’ adaptation of Homer’s The Odyssey is at times too stringent and, at other times, narrative spaghetti on the wall. The falling pieces are co-stars John Turturro and Tim Blake Nelson, who spend the first half of the movie establishing themselves and seemingly firmly affixed, only to drop.
The film’s got three creative impulses: an Odyssey adaptation set in the Deep South during the Great Depression (and seemingly the most whitewashed Southern movie since Gone With the Wind), Turturro, Nelson, and George Clooney doing a prison break, and then Clooney trying to reunite with ex-wife Holly Hunter. The third impulse ties into the first, with the Brothers Coen entirely sacrificing the prison break movie to enable the romantic comedy.
Sort of. It’s all intertwined, with various details relying on previous details from another impulse—not to mention the entire “old-timey” musical aspect. The musical aspect is the foundation; everything else, except maybe the Clooney and Hunter stuff, is built off the musical. And it works. The only real disappointment is the finish, a series of deus ex machinas punctuated with a reminder of where the third act went wrong, then a nostalgic pull on the heartstrings for the good old days of the 1937 South, when they beat racism for good.
There’s also the whole other aspect of the film’s title being an empty reference to Sullivan’s Travels only very much only to signal the film literate in the audience.
Anyway.
Besides all that mess, O Brother’s a delight. Clooney, Turturro, and Nelson all give fantastic performances. Knowing the Coen Brothers have it all storyboarded and there aren’t rewrites makes it all the more impressive as the actors start flexing their physical performances. Lots of busybodies and silly expressions, often in the background, and it’s swell.
Clooney’s the suave, fast-talker of the group—when Hunter swoons at his nonsense, it’s more than believable as the audience has been swooning to it for over an hour at that point—Turturro’s the dim one, Nelson’s the dimmer one. And immediately lovable. Turturro’s initially a little potentially dangerous, while Nelson’s always huggable if they weren’t covered in mud and probably manure.
Their adventures take them through various Odyssey-related set pieces, though anyone substituting O Brother for CliffNotes would fail the test. Even without the Cyclops (John Goodman) ending up at a Klan rally, realized as a musical number out of Fantasia. They meet several interesting characters: Goodman, guitarist and the boys’ Black friend, Chris Thomas King (who sold his soul to the devil to play the guitar better, a perhaps too gentle reference to Robert Johnson’s Cross Road Blues; King plays “Tommy Johnson”), Michael Badalucco as “Don’t Call Me Babyface” Nelson, and state governor Charles Durning.
Oh, yeah. Durning’s failing re-election campaign against reformer Wayne Duvall is the major subplot, which also wasn’t in The Odyssey; though it’s been a while. And Durning’s such an abject delight it doesn’t matter. The Coen Brothers use that subplot to make the second half work.
The best performance ends up being Clooney, though, for a while, he’s got serious competition from Turturro (before Turturro disappears and they have Clooney turn up the charm). Clooney seems like he’s got one peak through the first act but then reveals he can take the performance higher, which is fun to watch. The film appropriately appreciates and revels in its leads’ performances.
Hunter and her new beau, Ray McKinnon, are just fine. Hunter’s stunt casting in a thin part; she’s just got to be exasperated and charmed by Clooney, which is also the audience, while McKinnon’s just got to be a capable dweeb. Though based on third-act revelations, there’s a whole other potential layer to McKinnon the film pretends isn’t there.
Racism, it’s the racism layer.
Anyway.
Incredible photography from Roger Deakins (though the digital color grading is really obvious if you know it’s there) and fantastic production and costume design, courtesy Dennis Gassner and Mary Zophres, respectively. And the music’s great.
O Brother is an excellent time, with some major and minor asterisks.
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Mamo (2021) #1
Creator Sas Milledge is masterful when it comes to introspection. Despite Mamo often being full of expository dialogue, it’s about the characters when they’re not talking, why they’re not talking, what they’re thinking about instead, and so on. Just like most of the book, it’s understated, thoughtful, and fantastic.The issue begins with teenager Jo riding her bike out to the seaside cliffs to consult the town witch. It’s windy, and the trees are swaying, with Milledge preternaturally keeping Jo moving as well as the scenery, implying two things at once. Milledge employs various styles in the comic without ever changing the visual norms; the pacing is sublime.
Jo’s mom is cursed, and only the town witch can help. Jo finds the town witch hanging out with her cat, reading a book while lounging in her hatchback. Milledge does a fine job establishing the world—there’s magic (the magic people are called the Fae), towns are supposed to have witches, and normies are supposed to have basic magic education.
Except Jo doesn’t find the town witch, she finds Orla, who’s a few years older—old enough to have a hatchback, not a bicycle—and isn’t interested in helping. Until something unexpected happens involving something supernatural, but it’s not entirely clear what. Because it’s magic, and Orla knows what it means, even if the reader doesn’t. It’s remarkably assured work from Milledge and only in the first four or five pages.
Orla and Jo talk on the way back to town, walking through a stunning forest, where they find out more about each other. It’s excellent pacing; Milledge’s superb at adjusting the speed.
There’s not just time for Orla to meet Jo’s family but also for a big reveal and then a cliffhanger, with Jo’s expository jabbering helping set the tone.
Mamo’s ostensibly YA comics, but it’s really just a great comic about characters who happen to be in that demographic. I already adore this book.
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Werewolf by Night (1972) #27
There are numerous things to talk about this issue, but the teaser for next issue muscles them all out. Next issue is Lissa’s eighteenth birthday, an event the series has been promising for twenty issues and three years. I’m not taking the teaser as a promise, especially when writer Doug Moench is so comfortable retconning.The biggest official retcon is Jack remembering Wolfman Jack’s adventures. It’s always been a problem for the book, which has Jack narrating his werewolf outings, only then clarifying later he doesn’t remember what goes on when he’s the werewolf. So how’s he narrating? Moench just does away with it, which is fine. I think in the early issues, they hinted at it being like a nightmare state. Whatever.
Moench might also move Buck Cowan’s house, or it could just be artist Don Perlin not doing much detail in his establishing shots. Perlin will be a thing to talk about, but first… Moench’s narration for Jack. He’s very intentionally writing it as a hard-boiled homage because nothing says hard-boiled like a blond-haired, blue-eyed surfer bro who’s Eastern European royalty and has a moneybags stepfather (slash uncle). I mean, maybe Jack does spend his non-werewolf times watching old Bogart and Brando movies and rocking out to the Stones—Jack ain’t no hippie, y’all—it’s not impossible since we never, ever see Jack do anything but werewolf out. But, also, no. Sure, Jan.
The story this issue involves the werewolf stumbling across an old nemesis of Topaz’s from India. Topaz forgot to tell anyone in getting back her “esper” powers (never called them esper powers before); she had to give her evil, womanly sinful side of her soul to the bad guy, Dr. Clitterhouse. Dr. Glitternight. Whatever.
The issue’s silly but okay, with Perlin leaning in on the long shots for action. He’s better at those. He’s also not bad at the slimy monsters. Wolfman Jack? Not great; slimy, tentacle monster, all good.
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The Terminator (1988) #1
If I knew there was a licensed Terminator monthly from the late eighties, I’d forgotten. I knew there was the Burning Earth limited (which concludes the NOW Comics license, with Terminator then headed to Dark Horse), but I didn’t remember there was a regular series. Though after one issue, it’s got squat to do with The Terminator. Outside the very obvious—the near future humans talk about Skynet all the time—the comic’s its own thing. I mean, its own thing meaning recycling other sci-fi bits, including moon colonists coming to Earth. But decently assembled.However, just because writer Fred Schiller can fill a couple dozen pages and penciller Tony Akins can break out the scenes, it doesn’t mean it’s successful. With Jim Brozman inking, Akins has good comic timing, which doesn’t help for a Terminator comic. His action composition is confusing, and the characters rarely look the same from panel to panel; even the visual clues to identify someone change. Thank goodness the moon people wear special outfits.
They were on Earth in their spaceship, collecting kelp so they can feed themselves back on the moon. The moon people thing’s pretty neat. It offers an entirely new view into the seemingly rote future. Except, no, this future has humans working with the Terminators and, in turn, the Terminators trying to be nice to the humans.
There are also Terminator babies, which has potential.
Does the comic have potential, though?
It amuses as an oddity, but so far, there are way too many characters—Schiller seems inspired by Aliens for how he handles the team dynamics; there are fifteen people. Schiller skips establishing the human resistance soldiers and instead emphasizes the moon people’s origin. It’d be okay if the comic were the adventures of John Conner, but it’s original characters.
The Terminator could be a lot worse. There’s nothing to suggest it’s a hidden gem, but it could be much worse. And it’s not dull. Hopefully, Akins gets better at the action.