As the Washington Post’s Comic Riffs blog shares, Calvin and Hobbes creator Bill Watterson contributed a painting to a benefit organized by Cul de Sac creator Richard Thompson.
It’s popular to deem Watterson a recluse, but I think it’s far stranger to submit to the publicity machine than opt out.
An old friend sent this X-Men relationship chart today. I had a fun five minutes puzzling out who everyone was, but I think I got them all. Thanks misspent youth (and adulthood!)
Joe Stone is responsible for the design. I think it’s a definite visual upgrade over the still-fun uncannyxmen.net version from a couple years back.
Prince Valiant Vol. 2: 1939–1940 has all the virtues of its predecessor: lively adventure, painterly colors and fine-scale detail in action and rest. But where the first volume revolved around Camelot, this installment sees the titular prince roam Europe in search of adventure
Val seems to grow through these pages, replacing a bit of his carefree mayhem with the responsibilities of leadership and loss. He’s still surprising savage to modern eyes and cavalier about his safety as well. He’ll kill for sport and sheath his sword for laughter. Crusades catch him, but none as forcefully as his need for amusement.
These adventures in these pages take him to the doomed castle of Anderkrag and Rome at the height of its decline. The bulk of the story, though, is taken up with a full war against the Huns (of Atilla fame). The full-page vistas give Val sufficient space to display actual strategy and reversals. Graded on the curve of the times, Hal Foster doesn’t dehumanize the Huns too badly, even if they are full villains.
The art seems more assured here. Some of the compositions break the grid to showcase a single stop-and-stare drawing. The action is fun, leavened with heartbreak. And the story ends with an excellent cliffhanger, making me look forward to my third round with the Prince.
When I was kid, Prince Valiant was the living fossil of the comics page. Intricately drawn, with the captions weirdly bundled beneath the illustrations instead of being bound in bubbles, it dealt with swords and mail and bloodshed. Sure, the Phantom was still kicking, Dick Tracy was chasing crooks, but Prince Valiant was so beautiful, archaic and weird that it may as well have been scrimshawed on an ostrich egg.
After reading the first volume of Fantagraphics excellent reprinting of Hal Foster’s creation, I’m surprised at the life within this antique. It’s no surprise that the art is beautiful. Foster’s figures have a fine, illustrated detail—rarely seen on the comics page—but they’re full of energy as they joust, dive and play at swords.
The fine drawings are matched by the colors. Bold, primary outfits stand out against soft, pastel backgrounds, giving the strip an eye-catching blend of feudalism and fantasy.
This brilliant world is enhanced by Foster’s engaging plots. While the volume relies on some sword and sorcery tropes—kings and hags, knights and damsels, King Arthur and Morgan Le Fay—Prince Valiant charges through it all like a can-do, all-American maniac. He chases adventure with little regard for his own life, stabbing and swinging his way through one romp after another. It doesn’t take much provocation to get his knife out of the sheath, but he’s clever, resourceful and fun, even as the bodies pile up behind him.
The stories feel more sophisticated than many of the action shoot-ups you’ll find on the tube or in the theater. The characterization is consistent. Obstacles are overcome without cheats. Foster is even savvy enough to throw in some setbacks as well as real tragedy. The volume’s longest storyline ends bleakly, and it’s surprising to find no takebacks in its wake.
On the whole, this is an excellent package, showing Foster gaining steam as he settles into his style and setting. I look forward to future installments.
Let’s start with some background for those unfamiliar with Mike Mignola’s universe of horror. Rooted in “Hellboy,” but extended through various high-quality affiliated series, this world is host to old gods and occult terrors. Imagine a world where desperate Nazis tried to win the Second World War by stockpiling vampires and summoning demons, and you pretty much have it.
The Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense (B.P.R.D.) is charged with keeping these nightmares in check, often at the expense of their own lives and sanity (echoing the influence of H.P. Lovecraft). The group has operated since the Second World War, and the series hops between that time and the present day, in arcs written and illustrated by Mignola and/or collaborators.
This installment, written by Mignola and Joshua Dysart and illustrated by Paul Azaceta (with Mignola doing covers) is set in Berlin at the end of the World War Two. B.P.R.D. head Trevor Bruttenholm is racing the Russians to unravel the dark mysteries the Nazis may have uncovered. He’s assigned a group of five grunts to help him along. They’ve fought their way across Europe and are only interested in going home…until they realize the threat represented by the sinister things the Nazis left behind.
On the whole, it works. It’s well-plotted and well-characterized, with the soldiers dropping more of their skepticism with each round of weirdness. It’s connected to the large, barely comprehensible universe that Mignola has constructed. Azaceta’s art is excellent, equally adept at distinguishing soldiers in uniform and conjuring glass-brained gorilla superbeasts. He maintains the thick, menacing lines and alien shapes that Mignola has established as the house style.
The story has a few problems. The threat level is never entirely clear. Partly due to some choppy combat scenes, our heroes escape what seems to be sure doom with just a few nicks. The final chapter verges on camp too, with an escalation that seems to undermine B.P.R.D.’s grand stakes.
But B.P.R.D. 1946 is a dense, engaging tale of terror. Anyone who enjoys helplessness in the face of some great unknown will find much to like here.