Admittedly, my problem could be that I’ve not read Fallen Heroes, and so I’m not already invested in these characters, or familiar with the intricacies of its plot that these stories may be playing off.  I will say that even reading the character profiles in the backmatter helped give me a clearer idea of who these characters are.  But even so, a graphic novel like this should be able to stand on its own, and while yes, it’s nice to have it be enrichened by having read the book, it should also be accessible to new readers.

The first story, “Fragments of Fate”, suffers from many of the common indy failings.  Peter Rogers’ story has interesting elements, but it is hampered by the fact that Rogers himself seems to have a grasp of his intricate story, but hasn’t quite managed to clearly convey that to the reader.  Characters seem to appear and disappear abruptly, without clear indication of where they’ve come from or what they’re doing, and I had moments where I lost track of who was who.  Roy Huteson Stewart’s often-muddy art (which is strangely black-and-white, where every other story is in color) must also shoulder some blame for this fault.  Rogers, however, must take the bulk of the blame for grammatical errors in the dialogue.  You could say that letterer Paul McLaren should also take some responsibility, and maybe he should have noticed, but to be honest, that’s not a letterer’s job.  They have enough to keep track of, and it’s not a failing on their part to assume the writer is competent enough at their job to just directly transcribe what they’ve written.  I’m not talking about obvious language flaws like misspelled words or typos.  Most often, the problem is what super-editor Steven Forbes calls “comma fail”.  It’s actually a pretty common problem, even amongst some good writers.  Just not knowing when to put a comma, such as before/after someone is mentioned by name.  “Harold, get the tea,” as opposed to “Harold get the tea.”  Writers need to try saying lines out loud, something as simple as that can let you know where a comma (which is where we have a pause in a sentence to take a breath) is necessary.  It might seem like a minor gripe, but it’s a bug-bear of mine.  Few things can make a comic seem amateurish quicker than poor grammar in the dialogue.  That’s the one part of the final comic us writers have most control over, so we need to make sure it acts as a solid foundation.

“Band of Butchers” fares better.  There’s the odd problem with anatomy and weird facial expressions, but I’d say Rob Carey’s art makes gives this story a superior look, aided by the nuance provided by Vicky Stonebridge’s color.  Dan Thompson’s story is also stronger, packing some emotional resonance, and giving us more of a feeling for the shady world of black ops and secret military missions.  The narrative is chugging along nicely, but sadly it falls apart a bit at the end.  I can see the dramatic purpose for the end twist, but it stretches suspension of disbelief a little too far within the established framework of the story, and took me out of the drama.  For one, it relies on a massive coincidence.  That’s acceptable, though.  The worse crime is that it requires our protagonist to act out of character, pretty much the polar opposite of what we’d expect, in fact: earlier, he risks his mission to do what he feels is the right thing, but in the end he blindly obeys his mission to do what he feels is the wrong thing.  As I say, I can see the thematic power behind the decision taken, but the way we got to that point felt clumsy and cheap, and marred what was an otherwise solid story.

“Wrath of God” was probably my favourite of the bunch.  “Reverend” John Bishop is a wonderfully messed-up character.  Cy Dethan does a good job of balancing the idea of Bishop as a wronged, tragic figure, and making him seem qute unhinged and even monstrous in his own right.  Steve Penfold’s rough artwork reminds me of the stylised approach of Alberto Ponticelli in Frankenstein: Agent of S.H.A.D.E., and for the most part it’s a nice fit for this particular story.  The lack of distinction between past and present did cause some initial confusion about the chronology of events, but a second reading cleared most of my problems up.  Overall, a satisfying short story.

“Operation Solomon”, however, is considerably less satisfying.  The artwork of Conor Boyle starts off nice and clean, but as it progresses, the same problem of lack of clarity that hampered “Fragments of Fate” come back to haunt this story.  Losing track of who’s who, not entirely sure about what’s going on in the plot, etc, etc.  This lack of clarity is worsened by Paul McLaren’s lettering.  While mostly solid up until this point, here the lettering goes off the rails, with speech bubbles badly placed, so I was often reading them out of order.  But then again, this is also a problem with the art, hell, even a problem with the script.  The person who talks first goes on the left of the panel, kids.  The person who talks first goes on the left of the panel.  Each story had been steadily improving in this collection, so it’s a shame that we had such a slump with this final chapter.

I’m sorry if this came across as a negative review.  I don’t like being down on creator-owned books, as I’m trying to promote him.  I do hope my points were at least constructive.  In spite of my criticisms, there were elements that I liked.  If you’re a fan of espionage and hard-boiled action, this may very well be a book for you.

Unseen Shadows: Tales of the Fallen is available to buy from the official website.

It’s also worth noting that the distinct visuals extend beyond the images.  Look at the page layouts: the traditional panels with white borders have been replaced by images contained within piping, held together by nuts and bolts.  In a comic that deals with the idea of mechanization, it’s effective to have that motif carried through into the construction of the comic.  Even the medium the story is being told in appears to be getting mechanized.

Generally speaking, I’m not a fan of 3D modelling in comics.  The problems with unexpressive faces and awkward poses that I’ve had with the technique before do pop up occasionally here, for the most part I’d say that Clarey’s work here represents one of the most successful forays into the technique I’ve seen.

But what about the story contained within those images?  Lara Fuentes introduces us to a future world plagued by the aforementioned “mechanizatoin”, with the planet’s organic materials – including human bodies – being mysteriously transformed into machinery.  This plays into the hands of an oppressive government who decree this is the will of the gods, and that further mechanization must be violently enforced, and all resistance stamped out.  Here, Fuentes evocatively uses this exotic steampunk universe to comment on the very real plights of regimes using religious fundamentalism to oppress their people.

You get a sense that the universe and the mythology is very large, but our perspective of it is kept small.  The narrative is largely focused on the journey of Baltimo and Alex, two fugitives running from a fate of further mechanization who leave the path of mindless obedience and begin to learn of the resistance, who – as is often the case in these stories – might just be The Chosen Ones that can win the war.  I think making this their story was a smart idea, because with such a heady high concept and lots of very technical ideas floating around, this narrative could have been in danger of coming across as cold and clinical.  Instead, it feels like a very human story, and we have an emotional investment in its outcome.

However, this limited focus can also be a drawback.  It feels Lara Fuentes is holding a lot of cards close to her chest in terms of the story development, and that’s fair enough, but I think before you can start establishing secrets that need to be discovered later in the narrative, you must first clearly establish what we should know from the get-go.  And some of the specifics of this world and its status quo remain elusive.  For example, what exactly is involved in the process of mechanization?  When did it start?  What were things like before?  And while I do like the concept of an oppressive government exploiting and possibly shaping this disaster, as antagonists they feel rather indistinct and shapeless, and might have been more potent with a more prominent figurehead for us to focus on as The Enemy.

However, any complaints are minor.  This was an absorbing read, that I just breezed through.  When I saw that the graphic novel was north of 100 pages, I thought it would take me ages, but it went by quickly.  Part of that is certainly down to the immersive nature of the story, and how it draws you in.  But another part is that only 50 pages of those are the actual story.  The rest is backmatter, which is fascinating in its own right.  The creators give us a tantalising glimpse into their creative process.  Of particular interest is how the artwork takes shape, with Clarey showing us how he goes from sketches, to pencils, to 3D-rendered images, and how he designs characters by taking photographs, then adding computer-generated elements on top of those pictures.  If you’re interested in 3D-rendering, sculpting, art innovation, or just the creative process behind a comic in general, this backmatter is almost worth the price of the book alone.

Overall, I’d say Archeologists of Shadows is off to a promising start with this first volume.  By the end of The Resistance, it feels like the plot has just got going, but everyhing is set up for what should be a very compelling Volume 2.  And did I mention the art is lovely?  I’ve posted links to where you can get the graphic novel below, but something this beautiful really deserves to be a magnificent, hardcover coffee table edition.

Archeologists of Shadows, Volume 1 – The Resistance is available from Graphicly, DriveThruComics, MyDigitalComics and Comics+.

Foster #1 sees Buccellato step up to solo writer duties, with a tale about an alcoholic Vietnam veteran (the Foster of the title, which of course has a double meaning) who finds himself the unlikely and unwilling carer of an abandoned child.  Things get more complicated when it turns out highly dangerous people are after young Ben, and, more shockingly, that Ben himself might be more  dangerous than he appears…

In his intro, Buccellato speaks of Foster as an homage to the gritty cinema of the 1970s, particularly urban crime dramas like Dirty Harry or The French Connection.  You definitely get that grubby, bleak vibe from the story, before it takes a turn into genre territory.  The character of Foster himself is incredibly compelling: deeply flawed, but with a streak of humanity and compassion that he can’t keep buried, much as he might try.  One thing I liked is that he’s not your typical badass.  When accosted by a sinister intruder looking for Ben, he tells the bad guy where to find the boy to avoid a beating, then spends time cowering in his apartment with a gun, worried only for his own safety.  He’s a damaged, complicated individual, and it should be intriguing to see what this state of enforced fatherhood will do to bring out the better man in him.

I had heard good things about Foster through the #comicmarket grapevine, and was already curious to learn more, but what made me bite the bullet and immediately jump right into buying the first issue was seeing Noel Tuazon’s name on the marquee as artist.  Tuazon’s stunning work on Tumor made me a fan, so much so that his involvement with this project made me instantly invested in at least checking it out.  And with Foster #1, he doesn’t disappoint.

What’s impressive about Tuazon’s art style is that, though its sketchy and the characters are quite simple and stylised, he still manages to draw the maximum amount of emotion from these relatively abstract figures.  He does this through a mastery of body language, and a talent for framing a panel in just the way to trigger the intended emotional connection with the character inside.  Foster is the kind of character that comes to life vividly under his pen, feeling much like a spiritual successor to the haunted Frank Armstrong of Joshua Hale Fialkov’s Tumor.

If I had a nitpick, it might be that the story doesn’t really need color.  Tuazon’s work is so stark and dramatic in black and white, that at times it feels like the color only serves to dilute the impact.  I can understand why it’s in color, of course.  Buccalleto is primarily employed as a colorist, and he does it well, so why not apply that gift to his own comic?  And just because it’s not strictly necessary doesn’t mean the color doesn’t have its strengths.  Because the pallette is so washed out, it’s largely through the coloring that this feeling of 1970s cinema homage is most palpable.  And the bright green of Foster’s jacket amidst this sea of grays and brown is a good way of making the character stand out.

Overall, I was really impressed with Foster #1.  It just flew by as I read it, and I found myself quickly engaged in the narrative and where it goes next.  I look forward to Foster #2!

Foster #1 is available to buy digitally from Brian Buccellato’s website, or in select comic stores from February 22nd.

Let’s start by dealing with the elephant in the room.  No, Yanick Paquette did not draw this issue, though he did provide the cover, one of the most beautiful to grace this series yet.  In his place is Marco Rudy.  We’ll get it out of the way: no, Marco Rudy’s art is not as stunning as Yanick Paquette.  But Rudy is a very gifted artist in his own right, and makes a game attempt at crafting some adventurous, intricate panel layouts reminiscent of what has quickly become a Paquette trademark.  And he gets some great stuff to work with.  Bodies being sucked into tumorous flesh pits and transformed into Gigeresque monstrosities, warped mutant vultures, towers built from corpses, and young William Arcane apparently rotting gradually from the inside.

But while it looks good, it still feels different, which is a shame, as Swamp Thing has very quickly established a distinct aesthetic.  Part of the problem could be that Marco Rudy’s admirable efforts to channel the spirit of Paquette in his work are somewhat undermined by the loss of colorist Nathan Fairbairn.  Fairbairn’s rich, textured colors masterfully made the transition between Paquette and fill-in artist Victor Ibanez all but seamless in Swamp Thing #3.  But the sharper colors of Val Staples and Lee Loughridge make the change more jarring on this occasion.

Thankfully, one thing that remains utterly consistent is the writing of Scott Snyder.  In fact, this could be one of the strongest-written issues of the series thus far.  It’s impressive that, in a title called Swamp Thing, Snyder has now held off on actually giving us Swamp Thing for six months.  Back in my review of issue #3, I talked about getting a little antsy, wondering how long they could keep this up.  As it turns out, it was the right decision.  By putting the time into firmly establishing Alec Holland, Snyder has ensured I have connected with the character of Alec as a human being, which I’m sure will be an invaluable tether once he turns into that familiar big, green plant-monster and starts smashing stuff up.  His arc takes a really interesting direction this issue.  Before, I talked about Alec Holland coming across as a Jonah figure, shirking his duties.  Here, we get a particularly powerful moment, with Alec wading into the swamp, begging to be made into Swamp Thing again, finally accepting his destiny… only now its too late.

Particularly strong is the depiction of the relationship between Alec and Abby Arcane.  Alan Moore’s overarching saga was ultimately a love story, arguably one of the greatest love stories in comic history.  And I’m glad that remains at the core of the book now, with an added “star-crossed” element to it that makes it all the more poignant and bittersweet.  It should be fascinating to see what twists their journey takes in the issues to come, with Abby possibly being reinvented as a dangerous threat, as vital to the Rot as Alec is to the Green.

On this note, the foreshadowing of this idea was handled brilliantly in the monologue by William Arcane.  I was a bit dubious about a little kid being able to deliver so eloquent an evil speech, but he’s a demon child, so I’ll roll with it.  This sequence once again worked in Snyder’s talent for being able to approach obscure trivia at a terrifying angle.  And the imagery juxtaposed with it was suitably grim.  Swamp Thing started out with a strong horror vibe, but as the narrative has carried on, we’ve just been dragged deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness.  As it stands, the situation looks impossibly bleak for our protagonist.  And that’s before that last page…

DC has ensured that the first Wednesday of the month is always a treat for me, with the one-two punch of Swamp Thing and Animal Man ensuring quality reading.  I felt a little premature heaping hyperbole on Swamp Thing in its first couple of issues, but we’ve now accumulated nearly a trade’s worth of material – I believe next month’s Swamp Thing #7 will be the last chapter of the first collected edition – so I can now say with confidence that Snyder and his artistic collaborators are giving us the best Swamp Thing story since the Moore era, and a tale that can stand respectably alongside Moore’s masterpiece.

I get a lot of indie issue #1s sent to me for review, but it’s more unusual for me to get an issue #11.  I think that alone is commendable: that this is a concept that creator Thompson has kept running for a whole 10 issues already, with no end seemingly in sight.  Getting a miniseries off the ground is ambitious enough, so taking the ongoing approach is extra-ballsy.  Even more ambitious is the fact that Thompson has also woven in a crossover with Dogwitch, another title from publisher Approbation Comics.  Bearing all this in mind, it’s also a big point in this comic’s favor that, despite issue #11 being my first exposure to Chaos Campus (or, indeed, Dogwitch), everything felt very accessible to me, and as a first time reader I felt like I was quickly caught up on everything I needed to know.  Not just in terms of a handy collection of character bios in the opening title/credits page, but in terms of characters reflecting on events that happened previously and demonstrating their personalities and relationships through their interactions with each other.

The story is pretty lightweight and goofy, but I think that’s the point.  In spite of serious peril in the form of zombies, axe murderers and assorted magical beasties, Thompson keeps things light, zipping along at a fun pace with another one-liner or sight gag never too far away.  It’s a shame that Violet – apparently, the guest-star from Dogwitch - is apparently only onboard for this issue, as she steals the show here, with some pithy put-downs and a surreal blend of humor that’s akin to my tastes.  The other girls are fun too, though, particularly Paige, who I got a real “Willow from Buffy” vibe from.

Kewber Baal does a good job with the art.  Each character is distinctive enough, and the locations are well rendered.  There is a slight tendency towards cheesecake at points – which I suppose is to be expected from any comic with “sorority girls” in its title – with one upskirt ass shot proving especially audacious.  But, I guess this is a compliment, the cheesecake isn’t as ridiculous as it could have been, or what you might have been led to expect from the cover.  And some of it’s so over-the-top – take the extended “Oh no, my clothes have disappeared!” sequence – that we have to assume it’s being played for laughs rather than titillation, and is supposed to be a parody of comic book cheesecake.  It’s not like some comics I’ve read, where I’d be embarrassed if a female friend caught me reading it.

Chaos Campus: Sorority Girls VS Zombies, may not be the most deep or profound read you’ll experience from a comic, but if you were expecting that with this title then you need to have your head examined.  This does what it says on the tin, providing action and laughs, and made for a brisk, enjoyable read.  Here’s to the next 11 issues!

Chaos Campus: Sorority Girls VS Zombies #11 is available to buy from IndyPlanet, or read the whole story as a webcomic at chaoscampus.com.

I mentioned in my review of the quietly gripping Fatale #1 that the ending was quite low-key, without much in the way of a hook or an attention-grabbing cliffhanger to demand that people return for issue #2.  That is followed up by a slightly jarring opening for this chapter.  No present-day framing devices to put everything into context for you here.  And I’d say a reread of the previous issue before starting this one is advisable, as there are no concessions made to a new reader or one with a foggy memory of last issue’s plot developments.  Indeed, even with issue #1 fresh in your mind, Fatale #2 may yet put you on the backfoot.  Pivotal events that would traditionally be given a lot of time to brew and build happened off-panel in the time between last issue and this one, and character dynamics have made sudden shifts when we weren’t looking.

I was put in mind of a British film I watched recently called Kill List.  Great film – check it out if you haven’t seen it.  Like in that film, Fatale starts out as a crime story, and the tried-and-true tropes are there to be seen.  But something’s not clickng.  The rhythm is off, characters aren’t quite acting like they’re supposed to.  It’s like the story has been poisoned by something much darker, which gradually starts seeping in through the cracks as things start to take a turn for the nightmarish.  By the end, Kill List has descended into nerve-shredding horror, and it would appear that Fatale is taking a similar route.

The impending darkness is given more tangible form here with the introduction of our presumed Big Bad: a frightening gentleman called Bishop.  I say “gentleman”, but the glimpses we get of him suggest he is a demon taking the thinly-veiled disguise of a man.  In fact, I’m guessing this is the “Cthulhu-Face” of the issue #1 cover.  I still think Cthulhu-Face is a better name than Bishop.  Brubaker does an excellent job of imbuing this guy with instant menace, building him up off-panel before making a seemingly low-key entrance still feel laced with dread.  Credit also goes to Sean Phillips, who frames the character in a way that smoke and shadow seems drawn to him, with the occasional flash of red eye or forked tongue adding eeriness to an unexpectedly average-guy character design.  It’s also thanks to Bishop that the conclusion of issue #2 is a lot more memorable – and skin-crawling – than the end of issue #1.

But our main character is still very much Josephine, our eponymous Fatale.  Even when she’s off-panel, she seems to dominate proceedings: she’s all anyone can think about or talk about.  And when she is on-panel, she’s a fascinating character: simultaneously a victim and a manipulator, an assured demeanour hiding seemingly brittle, desperate state of mind.  She’s an enigmatic mass of contradictions, much like the book itself.  And the way Phillips draws her, she seems to leap off the page.  Look at the way he draws Sylvia: it’s much like what we expect from Phillips’ minimalist noir stylings.  Then compare that to how he’s depicted Josephine: she looks like a Darwyn Cooke character has just walked into Phillips’ pages, full and vivacious and richly-colored by Dave Stewart where most other things (apart from the gore) have more subdued colors.  You do get a tangible sense that this is the kind of person the residents of this grim, murky world could not help but fall in love with.  Already an intriguing, memorable character.

Beyond the characters, Brubaker’s plot is chugging along.  It’s quite dense, with references to World War II and a mystery involving cults in San Francisco, but you do get a sense that Brubaker knows what he’s doing, and this is the opening salvo of something that’s going to be very big and immersive once it all comes together.  Phillips’ art remains moody and atmospheric too.  He might not always get mention among the contemporary greats, as his stuff isn’t showy, and he isn’t prone to splash pages or adventurous layouts, but as a storyteller – quietly confident and understated – there are few out there who are more consistent.

Once again, the Brubaker/Phillips single issue package is a worthwhile purchase, all the more enjoyable for me this time round as the subject of Jess Nevins’ horror essay was Edgar Allen Poe, a favourite of mine.  It’s quite appropriate as well, because in spite some of the Lovecraftian imagery we’ve seen, there’s something about the intimite horror of human frailty in Fatale that makes it feel more akin to the works of Poe.  I’ll be interested to see if Stephen King is the subject of one of Nevins’ future essays: too often people dismiss King as a purveyor of bestseller puff, but I think his popularity overlooks the immense quality of his work, especially his earlier stuff, which in my opinion is more than enough to earn him a place among the “masters of horror”.

Fatale #2 remains a slow-boil, substituting immediate thrills for more of a slow, creeping dread.  It’s not the easiest sell, and I imagine it’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea.  But this elusive tale is growing on me, and I get a real sense that we’re going to be rewarded in the long run for sticking with it.  Image has a big year ahead of it in 2012.  But Fatale has already set the bar high.

Fatale #2 hits stores next week.

To offer a catch-up on the plot, last issue ended with Batman’s investigation into the Court of Owls – a shady organisation that could be tied into the very fabric of Gotham since the earliest days of its history – leading him to the sewers of Gotham, where he was ambushed by the Talon (the Court’s mysterious assassin) and dropped into an underground labyrinth.  As we begin this issue, Batman has been trapped in said labyrinth for over a week, with no food and only water that is probably drugged for him to drink, with no escape in sight.  And he’s starting to lose his mind.

In my review for issue #4, I talked a little about how Capullo’s art was showing touches of horror amidst the classic superhero action.  Well, here, we’re taken right over the edge of that cliff, as Snyder gives us a story that is pure horror, arguably scarier than anything he’s written for Swamp Thing or American Vampire.  Snyder has talked about horrors such as Jacob’s Ladder and The Shining acting as inspirations for this issue’s script (in particular, there is a truly horrific sequence that owes a lot to the latter’s notorious “Room 217″ scene), but what Batman’s twisted journey through the labyrinth most reminded me of was the terrifying conclusion to Twin Peaks, the extended sequence with Dale Cooper in the Black Lodge.  “The owls are not what they seem,” indeed.  Both tap into that primal fear, that common nightmare of being lost in a strange place, getting increasingly panicked as every attempt to get out takes you back to where you were before…. and you realise you’re not alone, that’s something’s in there with you, chasing you.

This setup alone would be chilling enough, but I think it’s all the more unsettling in that the victim is as beloved a pop culture icon as Batman.  This is Batman, who can get out of anything with prep time, the ultimate escape artist, who Grant Morrison triumphantly showed us is capable of outwitting the greatest of masterminds and even coming back from apparent death and a journey through time unscathed!  We’ve seen him lured into so many death-traps that it’s old hat, that we see it as little more than a mild inconvenience for him.  Snyder gleefully erodes that notion, letting us see Batman struggle to apply that famous logic to his situation, only for it to slip through his fingers and for him to descend into hysteria.  As the chapter progresses, it becomes increasingly clear that Batman is acting like a crazy person.  And it’s upsetting!  Seeing Batman ranting and raving, screaming and sobbing, tearing at his flesh and digging his fingers into the floor… it almost feels like it shouldn’t be allowed.  But by dancing on the fringes of what you can get away with in a mainstream superhero property – capped off with a truly shocking cliffhanger – Snyder has injected a sense of genuine “how’s he gonna get out of this!?” peril into a genre that is too often accused of predictability.

Though the bulk of the issue takes place within the labyrinth, acting as an enthralling character dissection of Batman, we do get brief bookends showing how his absence his affecting the supporting cast.  I enjoyed this glimpse of the wider Batman universe, particularly the use of Robin, capturing Damian’s pomposity, but also showing the vulnerability of a child whose lost his father.

Snyder has claimed that he feels this could be the best comic script he’s ever written, and I might be inclined to agree with him.  For some time now, I’ve come to take Snyder’s name on a book as a guarantee of quality, but here he takes his storytelling to a whole new level, and years from now I imagine people will still be ranking this amongst his best work.  This is Snyder’s “Anatomy Lesson”.

Capullo also ups his game, giving us some of the most innovative, experimental visuals I’ve seen in a comic in quite some time.  As Batman’s mind fractures, and he’s plagued by ever more nightmarish visions, that sense of the very fabric of reality coming apart is enhanced by the artwork.  The pages twist and turn from portrait layout to landscape, and eventually spinning upside down, forcing us to abruptly start reading from right-to-left.  We’re left as dizzy and disoriented as Batman.  And look at how the page layouts steadily dissolve from neat, regimented grids to haywire, crooked little windows crammed into the page.  This is a visual representation of going mad.

I love the way Capullo draws Batman here too.  One small touch – the visor on one side of his mask being broken, exposing his eye – speaks volumes throughout the issue.  Firstly, it’s a humanising factor, showing us the man, the Bruce Wayne behind the Batman mask, the vulnerable human in this situation.  But as the story progresses, that eye gets more dilated, more bloodshot.  When Snyder’s script has Batman’s voiceover announcing that he is in control, that he can defeat this enemy, that wild, frantic eye makes a liar out of him. Capullo also makes creepy physical alterations to Batman.  Subtle at first, with his cape shifting and changing size and shape from panel to panel.  But by the end sequence, we descend from Lynchian horror of the mind to wince-inducing Cronenbergian body horror.  Capullo’s been doing superstar work since issue #1, but issue #5 could be his best showcase yet.

The team of inker Jonathan Glapion and colorist FCO have lots to do as well.  There is a reversed dynamic at work here, where its the darkness that offers safety and shelter, and harsh, blinding light where the horrors await.  And it’s through the efforts of these two that this works so well.  The light really does feel harsh, the colors saturated under it.  Moments like the scene with the minature city really make you appreciate what an atmospheric, textured comic this is.

Batman #5 is a triumph on every level, with the whole creative team delivering astounding work.  If you haven’t been reading Batman, this is where you should jump on, and even if you have no plans of reading Batman monthly, I’d recommend buying this issue in particular, as I imagine it’s going to become a hot commodity before long.  If you have been reading Batman, you should feel vindicated.  I’ve been enjoying this title immensely, and I already said with last issue that it has become my favourite DC book.  And yes, I’m aware it’s been widely critically acclaimed.  But I’ve also seen quite a bit of, “Not quite as good as The Black Mirror, but…” type comments.  This was in positive reviews, and it’s fair enough, as The Black Mirror has already entered the canon of all-time classic Batman stories.

With Batman #5, this story has now topped The Black Mirror.  If Snyder can keep up the quality, we’re looking at another all-time classic.  I’m expecting Batman #6 to finally break this streak of this title constantly outdoing itself, because I genuinely think you can’t top a comic as good as Batman #5.  But all the same, I expect it to be great, and the third week of February can’t come fast enough.

Lords of Death and Life tells the story of Mol Kupul, a humble farmer and devoted family man, who is being plagued by vivid dreams of a watery underworld, and visions of a supernatural being known as the Xiuhcoatl.  In search of answers, he travels to the city of Xicalango, where he gets caught up in a civil war.  And that’s when things start getting really weird.  One of the clever things Dalton does is inject modern sensibilities into this world he explores, suggesting that the people of back then weren’t so different from the people of now.  We have Xicalango presented as the bustling city, an urban metropolis that looks down on country bumpkins, as if this were the New York City of its time and place.  The locals in Mol’s village banter and drop sexual innuendo like co-workers at the office.  There are race and class divides, and political power-plays.  And so our main character, Mol, remains likeable and relatable as we follow him on his extraordinary journey.

The script may feel modern, but the artwork is pure pastiche, immersing us in the time with layouts and character designs that could have been taken from old Mayan paintings.  This almost looks like it could be a historical document, aided by clever design flourishes such as the tribal-patterned page borders and the ancient symbols peppered around certain pages.  Because it’s employing this “retro” style (can we really call it retro if the era it’s harking back millennia instead of decades?), at first the style might seem overly simplistic, which could put some people off.  But a keener eye will see that, far from taking shortcuts, this aesthetic is quite deliberate on Dalton’s part, and that around this framework he still fits in tableaus of surprising depth and detail.  One standout sequence for me is a “waking up in a strange place” beat that turns into a dream sequence, featuring skull-trees and other beautiful/macabre imagery.

The story is a bit slight, and there are places here and there where things feel rushed, or like they could have been fleshed out a little more.  But overall, I found Lords of Death and Life to be an engaging tale, and an intriguing mesh of genres.  It’s going to be available through Diamond, I understand, so retailers wanting to try out something a little different might want to take a look.

Lords of Death and Life is available in print from the Lost City Comics official website, and digitally from Graphicly and The Illustrated Section.

Batman #3 began to pull back the curtain a little on the sheer scope of the threat Batman faced, elevating what was already a gripping story to a whole new level.  From there, it would have been very tempting to just barrel on ahead with the white-knuckle ride, and I’m sure that would have resulted in a very good comic.  But instead, Snyder dials back, and instead goes introspective with an issue that focuses on the character of Bruce Wayne, and his motivations in this particular battle.  I’ve talked before about how Batman’s utter refusal to believe in the existence of the Court of Owls was in danger of becoming a kind of hubris, one in danger of leading to his downfall.  But here, we discover Bruce’s very personal reasons for not believing in them, reasons which go deeper than mere hard-headedness.

We really don’t see enough of young Bruce Wayne.  In the character’s comic history, it seems like his parents died, then he disappeared into a vacuum for several years – popping up here and there as a young man going on globe-trotting adventures to hone his body and mind – before emerging as an adult just in time for Batman: Year One.  So, I found it fascinating getting a glimpse here of Bruce Wayne as a child, in the more immediate aftermath of his parent’s death.  We see anger, in danger of becoming destructive – it’s glossed over, but see how he kills the owl and destroys its eggs: the kind of spiteful animal cruelty more associate with future serial killers than superheroes – but he’s not totally lost in grief.  We see how, even as a young boy, Bruce Wayne had a keen, analytical mind, and a desire to seek justice and hunt down the corrupt.  I enjoy it when Morrison touches on this idea, and it’s nice seeing Snyder assert it too: contrary to what some commentators have said, no, not anybody can be Batman.  It wasn’t the years of training, the vast resources, or even the tragedy that made Bruce Wayne Batman.  It was something about him, something that was always there, even when he was young.

As a brief aside, who here would love to see an all-ages series from DC called Bruce Wayne: Boy Detective?  GET ON IT, DC!

Talking about this flashback sequence is as good a time as any to bring up my ever-growing love for Greg Capullo.  I’ve been full of praise for the bombastic, blockbuster imagery Capullo has brought to this title since day one, and this issue’s opening sequence – with Batman escaping from an exploding building – really lets Capullo flex those action muscles.  But Capullo shows real diversity when chronicling Bruce Wayne’s childhood encounter with the Court of Owls – aided by the immersive blacks of Jonathan Glapion and the muted, almost monochrome palette of FCO – shifting to a stark, eerie style more reminiscent of horror than A-list superhero fare.

Looking beyond the flashback and into the issue as a whole, Batman #4 boasts one of my favourite Capullo pages yet: Batman standing in shadow, looking on, as Gordon waits for him to show up at the Bat Signal.  Iconic.  Capullo impresses me more and more with each passing month, doing real superstar work that – even before you get into Snyder’s excellent story – is going to ensure that the eventual graphic novel collection of this storyline is as visually definitive as a Long Halloween or a Hush.

Given how I’m running out of nice things to say about this title, I may very well have said this already.  But in the first few months of the New 52, in my praise of the accessible, action-packed Batman, I said that it was one of the very best of the DC relaunch, second only to Animal Man and Snyder’s own Swamp Thing.  But I don’t think I can even make that concession anymore.  Batman is the best book DC is putting on shelves, and perhaps that’s the way it should be.  Batman #5 is due out tomorrow.  All reports suggest that it is the best issue yet.  Of course it is.

There’s something I picked up on in Heart #3 that I didn’t notice in the previous issues.  Every time Oren fights, he changes his entrance music.  It occurred to me that this little touch is in fact symbolic of his entire personality.  He’s someone who doesn’t know what he wants, for starters.  And it also shows how much he’s obsessed with the external, about looking great, about the showmanship and the attention, rather than on the meat-and-potatoes work ethic of being the best at mixed martial arts.  Much of this issue is dedicated to Oren’s hubris.  While boasting of his success and rising profile in the local MMA scene, he loses his apartment and has to move back into his mom’s basement because he can’t afford the rent without the office job he lost last issue.  Meanwhile, he’s spending all his prize money on elaborate new tattoos, because, to him, looking the part takes priority over being the part.  But we get the sense that, as he begins to rise to tougher opponents that he can’t bulldoze through or get lucky wins over, that he might be perilously close to reaching a plateau, a lot sooner than he’d like.

The central idea Blair Butler seems to be building on in this issue is that it’s lots of fun being a winner in the world of MMA (or, indeed, in life).  But what about when you’re not winning?  What about when you’re a loser?  Do you let it beat you?  Or do you suck it up, pick yourself up off the floor, and fight back to win the next battle?  That’s the question posed to us in this third chapter of Heart.  I imagine the final chapter next month will show us what path Oren Redmond will ultimately take.

The artwork of Kevin Mellon continues to be solid.  My only criticism would be that, while he continues to soar in the fight scenes, there are points in this particular chunk of the story where the nuances of facial expression could have added much to the central character study.  And those same rough lines and sketchy, jagged figures that make the fight scenes so kinetic work against these more quiet, stationary moments.  Kudos on the grim, weathered, beaten-down face on the cover, though.

Heart has ended up being a quite different comic than what I, and perhaps some others were expecting.  It’s been a lot more introspective, and less a celebration of the thrill of MMA than other recent cross-medium efforts such as, say, Warrior.  Heart is more concerned with what drives a person to compete in the sport, and its assessment is that not all those impulses are healthy.  But still, as a character study, Heart continues to be an understated, but quietly compelling read.