Friday, September 21, 2012
Frankenstein: Agent of Shade #0 - Review
Frankenstein: Agent of Shade was one of those books that I almost picked up out of curiosity when The New 52 launched but didn't due to a lack of cash and a wealth of other compelling comics. Now that Zero Month has arrived and I'm a bigger boy making minimum wage, I decided to tap away three dollars while I was hanging out with my iPad this evening. It was a smart move, as Frankenstein: Agent of Shade #0 is a badass origin story for The New 52's Frankenstein.
This comic shows us the creation of the DCU's Frankenstein and the monster's progression into becoming an agent of Shade, protecting people from supernatural and monstrous threats. It clearly shows us who this character is and why he's so freaking cool. He's not bogged down by human-like emotional attachment, and accepts that he has the power to help people and that he is obligated to do so. We see this through a stylish battle with his mad-scientist creator as well as montage panels towards the end. It looks fantastic - oh-so very good coloring - and feels good, due to its excellent writing and staging.
This comic is really great. I'd say it's a pretty safe bet if you want a fun supernatural/fantasy book.
Wonder Woman #0 - Review
Wonder Woman isn't a series that I read month-to-month but its Zero issue is one that I decided to pick up. Brian Azzarello promised something a bit abstract with this issue in comparison to what the other creative teams are doing with DC's Zero Month, and Wonder Woman is a pretty sweet super hero, so it seemed like a fun way to drop three bucks. And it certainly proved to be: Wonder Woman #0 is tons of fun and easily one if the best Zero issues I've read so far.
This issue takes a tongue-in-cheek, old-school approach, filling the pages with lengthy narration and frequent thought bubbles. This retro style is a fitting way to tell this book's simple and fun story from Diana's teen years in Paradise Island. She fights stereotypical mythological monsters and clashes characters with stereotypical mythological motivations, but it's really a joy to read. It's a bit humorous because of how self-aware it is and it's so well-written that the story itself is actually quite compelling. It's a good origin story that aggrandizes Diana appropriately. And it must be said that the colorful and expressive art is entirely pleasurable and fits well with the retro story-telling.
I loved this issue. Zero Month's halt on my favorite stories hurt me a bit, but it's hard to complain when we're getting fun books like this.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Disarming the Monsters (Fiction)
With my eyelids popping open like bats out of Hell, sweat dripping down my brow, hands shooting upwards forming a stance appropriate for a boxing match, my consciousness realizing that was merely a nightmare, I awake. I awake on my creaking mattress, rife with rips on the sheet and stains on the pillow supporting my throbbing head. I awake on a day bereft of work, but I feel no relief, only dread. I awake, with no woman by my side, no child insisting I play, no, none of that, but to a cat, a black cat, staring at me as he lie on the floor beside my bed.
Never uttering a word but always spewing purrs and leaving scratches on my belongings, this cat. This cat is the only thing with life that seems to care for me to be alive. This cat, the only other being in my apartment, gets my love, all of the love he needs. This cat, however, does not seem to extend that same to me, no, I do not receive from him the love that I need, but he tries, my cat does all that he can.
Why am I living the life that I am living?, I think. I think a lot but I don't do a lot, not at all. I think it's not my fault but I can't quite be certain, I really can't know. I think it's probably a combination, but does it really matter at this point?
I hate it, I despise it, I really can't stand it, my life. My life feels empty, at this point in time. My life to me feels like an emo kid's scribblings during class. My life, actually, is not something I tend to think about too much.
Wearing only my boxers I get out of bed, sluggishly. Sluggishly, I bring my hands to my eyes and wipe away the sand man's leavings. Sluggishly, I take both of my arms and throw them behind my back, stretching back my back until I hear a crack. Sluggishly, I scratch my stomach, feeling my ribs as I do.
Over to the shower, watching not to step on my cat, I lay down a towel and turn. Turn the nob so the water falls, adjusting it to be hotter than cold, and hop in once my boxers are removed. Turn myself around so the water can hit my back, and after I lather and I scrub and I do nothing else, I'm done cleansing myself. Turn the nob so the water stops, and I dry myself off with the towel I dropped.
I am cleaned, so, I walk. I walk over to my dresser, filled with drawers upon drawers of the same articles of clothing. I walk to the center of my room as I put on one of the pairs of plain blue jeans and one of the black shirts, both grabbed from my dressed. I walk, once I'm dressed, towards my kitchen not looking at my walls or anywhere else because the room is empty, I have no pictures or nicknacks or anything beyond my necessaries.
As I'm about to grab some food for my cat, I stop, and over at my cat, I look. I look at the black ball of fur and notice his abnormally loud purring. I look at him, look at the window, looking out at the world outside. I look, and I'm surprised, as he darts at the window and leaps out, shattering the glass as he does.
My cat, all that I have, the only person I love and the only thing giving me, albeit insufficient but noticeably existing affection, gone. Gone, out my window. Gone, to who knows where, fast as lightning. Gone, is my cat, and I must find him.
Throwing open my door, down the hall, I run. I run to the stairs, passing the elevator, as quickly as I can. I run, two stairs at a time, and finally reach the front door of the apartment building. I run in the general direction that I assumed the cat went, knowing where my window is positioned.
My cat, my black cat, perfectly healthy, apple of my eye, there. There, in the grass, my cat is running. There, towards the woods, my cat is advancing. There, my cat is going, at a speed faster than any cat should be able to go.
Strangely, it seems as though I also am able to sprint as my cat now can, with this power. With this power, I run faster than my unhealthy physique has ever ran. With this power I am able to see through my speed without blur. With this power, following my cat, I get to the woods ten times faster than running would usually take to this particular venue.
My cat slows down, now, walking at a slow pace into these woods, it's horrifying. It's horrifying how quickly we were able to get here. It's horrifying that this cat, this cat that can't even speak, is leading me somewhere. It's horrifying, that the bright summer Sunday day is now suddenly a dark summer Sunday night.
And then I hear something, this ingredient the most horrifying of all in this cake of a night, thump. Thump, I hear, making the trees and in turn the branches and in turn the leaves shake. Thump, it sounds like the footsteps of a monster. Thump, no, it sounds like the footsteps of a few monsters.
I see them. Three monsters. Staring at me, each their own color and each holding their own weapon. I want to scream but I'm too afraid.
I look the first, the green one holding a club, in the eyes, and as I do, everything goes to black and I'm left looking at something like a screen, and immediately, I cry. I cry because I realize what I'm watching, I'm watching a memory from my youth. I cry, just as I do in this memory, seeing my mother struggle and scream and search desperately for a defense as little-me sobs, holding his teddy bear. I cry and want nothing more of this memory.
I look the second, the red one holding a sword, in the eyes, and as I do, everything goes to black and I'm left looking at another screen, and immediately, again, I cry. I cry at the sight, the sight of my wife in her hospital bed. I cry at the next sound because it's a sound that I know all too well. I cry as the long, high-pitched BEEP plays over Karen's now dead body, and close my eyes and find myself looking back at the woods.
I look the third, the blue one holding a spear, in the eyes, and as I do, left with another screen surrounded by nothingness, I cry. I cry the hardest this time. I cry at the sight of the boy on this screen. I cry, seeing this boy, neck held to the ceiling by a rope,a boy that I once called my son.
Each monster is a monster that I've already encountered, but tried to forget. The first forty years ago, the second eighteen years ago, the third eight years ago.
This is the first time I've approached these monsters rather them me.
Weapons drawn, the monsters approach me, and I'm prepared to let them strike me down. But before they strike, my cat gives me a look, and I know what I must do.
I approach the first monster, remembering my mother, and I take its club. I approach the second monster, remembering my wife, and I take its sword. I approach the third monster, remembering my son, and I take its spear.
Unarmed, they sit down, and surrender.
Not everyone is haunted by such monsters, but when one encounters these monsters, they must be disarmed. I have disarmed them, and am ready to move on forward to wherever life takes me next.
And while I don't want to encounter anymore, I will be willing to take down more monsters, and I will recruit more help than merely my cat.
Never uttering a word but always spewing purrs and leaving scratches on my belongings, this cat. This cat is the only thing with life that seems to care for me to be alive. This cat, the only other being in my apartment, gets my love, all of the love he needs. This cat, however, does not seem to extend that same to me, no, I do not receive from him the love that I need, but he tries, my cat does all that he can.
Why am I living the life that I am living?, I think. I think a lot but I don't do a lot, not at all. I think it's not my fault but I can't quite be certain, I really can't know. I think it's probably a combination, but does it really matter at this point?
I hate it, I despise it, I really can't stand it, my life. My life feels empty, at this point in time. My life to me feels like an emo kid's scribblings during class. My life, actually, is not something I tend to think about too much.
Wearing only my boxers I get out of bed, sluggishly. Sluggishly, I bring my hands to my eyes and wipe away the sand man's leavings. Sluggishly, I take both of my arms and throw them behind my back, stretching back my back until I hear a crack. Sluggishly, I scratch my stomach, feeling my ribs as I do.
Over to the shower, watching not to step on my cat, I lay down a towel and turn. Turn the nob so the water falls, adjusting it to be hotter than cold, and hop in once my boxers are removed. Turn myself around so the water can hit my back, and after I lather and I scrub and I do nothing else, I'm done cleansing myself. Turn the nob so the water stops, and I dry myself off with the towel I dropped.
I am cleaned, so, I walk. I walk over to my dresser, filled with drawers upon drawers of the same articles of clothing. I walk to the center of my room as I put on one of the pairs of plain blue jeans and one of the black shirts, both grabbed from my dressed. I walk, once I'm dressed, towards my kitchen not looking at my walls or anywhere else because the room is empty, I have no pictures or nicknacks or anything beyond my necessaries.
As I'm about to grab some food for my cat, I stop, and over at my cat, I look. I look at the black ball of fur and notice his abnormally loud purring. I look at him, look at the window, looking out at the world outside. I look, and I'm surprised, as he darts at the window and leaps out, shattering the glass as he does.
My cat, all that I have, the only person I love and the only thing giving me, albeit insufficient but noticeably existing affection, gone. Gone, out my window. Gone, to who knows where, fast as lightning. Gone, is my cat, and I must find him.
Throwing open my door, down the hall, I run. I run to the stairs, passing the elevator, as quickly as I can. I run, two stairs at a time, and finally reach the front door of the apartment building. I run in the general direction that I assumed the cat went, knowing where my window is positioned.
My cat, my black cat, perfectly healthy, apple of my eye, there. There, in the grass, my cat is running. There, towards the woods, my cat is advancing. There, my cat is going, at a speed faster than any cat should be able to go.
Strangely, it seems as though I also am able to sprint as my cat now can, with this power. With this power, I run faster than my unhealthy physique has ever ran. With this power I am able to see through my speed without blur. With this power, following my cat, I get to the woods ten times faster than running would usually take to this particular venue.
My cat slows down, now, walking at a slow pace into these woods, it's horrifying. It's horrifying how quickly we were able to get here. It's horrifying that this cat, this cat that can't even speak, is leading me somewhere. It's horrifying, that the bright summer Sunday day is now suddenly a dark summer Sunday night.
And then I hear something, this ingredient the most horrifying of all in this cake of a night, thump. Thump, I hear, making the trees and in turn the branches and in turn the leaves shake. Thump, it sounds like the footsteps of a monster. Thump, no, it sounds like the footsteps of a few monsters.
I see them. Three monsters. Staring at me, each their own color and each holding their own weapon. I want to scream but I'm too afraid.
I look the first, the green one holding a club, in the eyes, and as I do, everything goes to black and I'm left looking at something like a screen, and immediately, I cry. I cry because I realize what I'm watching, I'm watching a memory from my youth. I cry, just as I do in this memory, seeing my mother struggle and scream and search desperately for a defense as little-me sobs, holding his teddy bear. I cry and want nothing more of this memory.
I look the second, the red one holding a sword, in the eyes, and as I do, everything goes to black and I'm left looking at another screen, and immediately, again, I cry. I cry at the sight, the sight of my wife in her hospital bed. I cry at the next sound because it's a sound that I know all too well. I cry as the long, high-pitched BEEP plays over Karen's now dead body, and close my eyes and find myself looking back at the woods.
I look the third, the blue one holding a spear, in the eyes, and as I do, left with another screen surrounded by nothingness, I cry. I cry the hardest this time. I cry at the sight of the boy on this screen. I cry, seeing this boy, neck held to the ceiling by a rope,a boy that I once called my son.
Each monster is a monster that I've already encountered, but tried to forget. The first forty years ago, the second eighteen years ago, the third eight years ago.
This is the first time I've approached these monsters rather them me.
Weapons drawn, the monsters approach me, and I'm prepared to let them strike me down. But before they strike, my cat gives me a look, and I know what I must do.
I approach the first monster, remembering my mother, and I take its club. I approach the second monster, remembering my wife, and I take its sword. I approach the third monster, remembering my son, and I take its spear.
Unarmed, they sit down, and surrender.
Not everyone is haunted by such monsters, but when one encounters these monsters, they must be disarmed. I have disarmed them, and am ready to move on forward to wherever life takes me next.
And while I don't want to encounter anymore, I will be willing to take down more monsters, and I will recruit more help than merely my cat.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
The Watch (Film) - Review
We've seen tons of vulgar comedies, and we've seen tons of alien-themed movies, but we haven't seen them mix all that much. The Watch is here to change that, with big names Ben Stiller, Vince Vaughn and Jonah Hill, as well as Richard Ayoade, who sticks out in a fashion that begs even the previews for the film to point out. It's a great enough concept to hold a film, and surely Jonah Hill can't be in a bad movie?
It's a great concept done well, and yes, the jury is still out in regards to whether or not a movie casting Jonah Hill can flop. It's funny and it feels good, though a few things bog it down and take away from the masterpiece it could have been.
Ben Stiller's character, Evan, is introduced to us via humorous narration from the character himself. Evan adores his ironically boring town so much that he creates clubs, lovingly commands a large department store and involves himself in its politics. He's very by-the-books and rather lame, for lack of a better term. He takes a big hit when one of his workers, a lovable dork, is murdered in his store. It's a genuinely emotional scene but very smartly remains light-hearted due to its quirky execution.
This compels Evan to create a task force run by concerned citizens of the city, and the basic premise is created when Franklin (Hill), Bob (Vaughn) and Jamarcus (Ayoade) volunteer. Led by Bob, the three volunteers take this as a way to have fun instead of the very serious direction that Evan is taking. The group's early actions are less than exciting, but their role as the neighborhood watch becomes much more relevant when they discover that aliens from outer space are responsible for the death of the lovable dorky worker.
Antics ensue.
The main crew has wonderful chemistry together. Vaughn is the loud, dim-witted bro-dude that pulled immediate laughter out of me whenever he'd merely shout about something that isn't nearly worth shouting about. Jonah Hill plays a strange outcast, channeling the great mix of awkward confidence that the actor is known for. Ayoade's character injects very British humor in the film which helps to vary the style of comedy. Stiller's character acts as the reaction and alleviation to and for the crew's loud and crude escapades, which works well in assuaging their ridiculousness.
It's a goofy movie. It takes the concept of a bunch of loud middle-aged-frat-boy-types along with an uptight fellow attempting to save their city from destruction by aliens, and runs with it. They go out and blow stuff up with a weapon they find, sing obnoxiously in the car with a round of beers after a minor victory, shoot their foes a cartoonish amount of times to ensure they are dead, and more. It's energetic, moves quickly and flings itself in your face. It's hilarious and has an inviting good time.
The plot follows the conventional structure of a mystery. They learn that the aliens wear the skin of their victims which opens up a very wide range of suspects. I felt that at least half of the big reveals were rather predictable, as they were very heavy on the red herrings, but most of these remain fun to at least watch. I was very pleasantly surprised with the last reveal at the climax, which I didn't see coming in the slightest.
There are two subplots between Vaughn and Stiller's characters that attempt to, for the most part, turn the comedy-switch off for what are intended to be captivating yarns to follow. Stiller's character is having problems with getting his wife pregnant and doesn't know how to tell her, and Vaughn's character struggles with raising his teenage daughter. These feel a bit banal and are certainly uninteresting, especially taking into consideration that I'm not particularly moved by Stiller or Vaughn's character on any serious level, as the movie is much too goofy for me to actually get invested in these characters in any significant way. Comedy does accompany these subplots, and they both tie up at the film's conclusion in a rather satisfying fashion, so it isn't too much of an issue.
The laughs simply work, without too many falters. No gag is especially original, but seeing Vaughn boast about his ability to expertly pee in a cup and Hill hit on a pair of attractive twins at a high school party really hits the spot. The cops, which serve as the most prevalent supporting cast, are entertaining. One is cocky, unfriendly and appropriately dense, and the other is a humorously named dummy who doesn't even speak. Some of the vulgar humor, especially of the sexual ilk, comes off as a bit forced, but those moments are of the minority. The Watch trucks forward with an onslaught of jokes that were varied enough to keep me laughing up until its action-packed and pleasing conclusion.
It's a good flick. The casting is more or less perfect, the film more than competently kept things moving, and boy did I have many a laughter. It's not masterful, as the movie beyond its comedy and mystery is weak, and even the former comes off as contrived at times. But overall I had a great time and wholeheartedly recommend this to anyone able to see an R-rated movie who's looking for a primarily mindless comedy. The Watch is a laugh-out-loud roller-coaster mystery about an alien invasion, and for Christ's sake, Jonah Hill is in it.
It's a great concept done well, and yes, the jury is still out in regards to whether or not a movie casting Jonah Hill can flop. It's funny and it feels good, though a few things bog it down and take away from the masterpiece it could have been.
Ben Stiller's character, Evan, is introduced to us via humorous narration from the character himself. Evan adores his ironically boring town so much that he creates clubs, lovingly commands a large department store and involves himself in its politics. He's very by-the-books and rather lame, for lack of a better term. He takes a big hit when one of his workers, a lovable dork, is murdered in his store. It's a genuinely emotional scene but very smartly remains light-hearted due to its quirky execution.
This compels Evan to create a task force run by concerned citizens of the city, and the basic premise is created when Franklin (Hill), Bob (Vaughn) and Jamarcus (Ayoade) volunteer. Led by Bob, the three volunteers take this as a way to have fun instead of the very serious direction that Evan is taking. The group's early actions are less than exciting, but their role as the neighborhood watch becomes much more relevant when they discover that aliens from outer space are responsible for the death of the lovable dorky worker.
Antics ensue.
The main crew has wonderful chemistry together. Vaughn is the loud, dim-witted bro-dude that pulled immediate laughter out of me whenever he'd merely shout about something that isn't nearly worth shouting about. Jonah Hill plays a strange outcast, channeling the great mix of awkward confidence that the actor is known for. Ayoade's character injects very British humor in the film which helps to vary the style of comedy. Stiller's character acts as the reaction and alleviation to and for the crew's loud and crude escapades, which works well in assuaging their ridiculousness.
It's a goofy movie. It takes the concept of a bunch of loud middle-aged-frat-boy-types along with an uptight fellow attempting to save their city from destruction by aliens, and runs with it. They go out and blow stuff up with a weapon they find, sing obnoxiously in the car with a round of beers after a minor victory, shoot their foes a cartoonish amount of times to ensure they are dead, and more. It's energetic, moves quickly and flings itself in your face. It's hilarious and has an inviting good time.
The plot follows the conventional structure of a mystery. They learn that the aliens wear the skin of their victims which opens up a very wide range of suspects. I felt that at least half of the big reveals were rather predictable, as they were very heavy on the red herrings, but most of these remain fun to at least watch. I was very pleasantly surprised with the last reveal at the climax, which I didn't see coming in the slightest.
There are two subplots between Vaughn and Stiller's characters that attempt to, for the most part, turn the comedy-switch off for what are intended to be captivating yarns to follow. Stiller's character is having problems with getting his wife pregnant and doesn't know how to tell her, and Vaughn's character struggles with raising his teenage daughter. These feel a bit banal and are certainly uninteresting, especially taking into consideration that I'm not particularly moved by Stiller or Vaughn's character on any serious level, as the movie is much too goofy for me to actually get invested in these characters in any significant way. Comedy does accompany these subplots, and they both tie up at the film's conclusion in a rather satisfying fashion, so it isn't too much of an issue.
The laughs simply work, without too many falters. No gag is especially original, but seeing Vaughn boast about his ability to expertly pee in a cup and Hill hit on a pair of attractive twins at a high school party really hits the spot. The cops, which serve as the most prevalent supporting cast, are entertaining. One is cocky, unfriendly and appropriately dense, and the other is a humorously named dummy who doesn't even speak. Some of the vulgar humor, especially of the sexual ilk, comes off as a bit forced, but those moments are of the minority. The Watch trucks forward with an onslaught of jokes that were varied enough to keep me laughing up until its action-packed and pleasing conclusion.
It's a good flick. The casting is more or less perfect, the film more than competently kept things moving, and boy did I have many a laughter. It's not masterful, as the movie beyond its comedy and mystery is weak, and even the former comes off as contrived at times. But overall I had a great time and wholeheartedly recommend this to anyone able to see an R-rated movie who's looking for a primarily mindless comedy. The Watch is a laugh-out-loud roller-coaster mystery about an alien invasion, and for Christ's sake, Jonah Hill is in it.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Batman The Dark Knight #11 - Review
Apparently issues #1-9 of The New 52's Batman The Dark Knight sucked, but I wouldn't know because I jumped on at #10 when writer Gregg Hurwitz came on board. It was easy for me to jump in and I was impressed by its mature Scarecrow-centric story but I wasn't blown away. This issue ups the ante with a very entertaining issue that will have me digging into my wallet each month as long as the quality stays consistent to what #11 delivers.
Scarecrow is capturing children and torturing them with a gas that makes them very fearful, and did the same to Commissioner Gordon as to stall persecution by the police. It's really quite horrifying and surprisingly dark for a T-rated book. These kids leave having symptoms similar to children that undergo sexual abuse and it's quite heartbreaking. Like last issue, there is a tear-jerking scene in which Batman very gently talks to a little girl who was a victim to Scarecrow. It's very effective.
There's a scene towards the beginning in which Bruce Wayne has to turn down time with his girlfriend to investigate the capture of the Commissioner, which is a good subplot to show how obtrusive Bruce's second life is. There are evil folks like Scarecrow abusing children and capturing Gordon: Bruce surely doesn't have time for a girlfriend. Does any superhero?
David Finch's art works very effectively for the type of story that is being told. The detailed, expressive, and dark artwork is equal parts impressive and gloomy. The two-page spread of the Batmobile a few pages in is a highlight, second only to the disturbingly-drawn Scarecrow.
The issue ends on a frightening scene that puts Batman in a very vulnerable position for issue #12. It's a great read. It looks great, nails a dark tone, and tackles mature subject matter effectively.
Scarecrow is capturing children and torturing them with a gas that makes them very fearful, and did the same to Commissioner Gordon as to stall persecution by the police. It's really quite horrifying and surprisingly dark for a T-rated book. These kids leave having symptoms similar to children that undergo sexual abuse and it's quite heartbreaking. Like last issue, there is a tear-jerking scene in which Batman very gently talks to a little girl who was a victim to Scarecrow. It's very effective.
There's a scene towards the beginning in which Bruce Wayne has to turn down time with his girlfriend to investigate the capture of the Commissioner, which is a good subplot to show how obtrusive Bruce's second life is. There are evil folks like Scarecrow abusing children and capturing Gordon: Bruce surely doesn't have time for a girlfriend. Does any superhero?
David Finch's art works very effectively for the type of story that is being told. The detailed, expressive, and dark artwork is equal parts impressive and gloomy. The two-page spread of the Batmobile a few pages in is a highlight, second only to the disturbingly-drawn Scarecrow.
The issue ends on a frightening scene that puts Batman in a very vulnerable position for issue #12. It's a great read. It looks great, nails a dark tone, and tackles mature subject matter effectively.
Grim Leaper #3 - Review
Grim Leaper, a four issue mini-series written by Kurtis J. Wiebe along with artist Aluísio C. Santos has been absolutely fantastic thus far. Lou and Ella meet when they discover that they both have the same curse: When they die - which happens quite frequently - they leap into someone else's body that live around the same general area. They obviously fall in love, making this, as the cover of each issue proclaims "A story to die for," but, albeit, a very unromantic and gruesome one thus far. Issue #3 changes that, delivering the most heartwarming and romantic chapter thus far, while still remaining entirely absurd.
Lou and Ella go on a cute date to the zoo after a charming scene finding the two of them together again after the death of their previous bodies in the last issue. It's here that we finally see the two lovebirds sitting down and getting to know each other more, which is sorely needed if Wiebe wants this to be a "love" story. This is abnormal for Grim Leaper, especially considering that not only does the direction of the plot change, but Lou's narration becomes a lot more tame, but it works. The "love" needed to be fleshed out more and this issue does it.
This date does build up to an incredibly awesome turn towards morbidity with a great scene towards the end of how these bodies die, though. Which is made even better by Santos's stylized artwork.
It's a superb issue, and ends on an exciting last-page reveal for Grim Leaper's conclusion next month.
***
The back-up this time around in the "MORE LOVE STORIES TO DIE FOR" section is "Apple Of My Eye," written by Jeremy Holt and illustrated by Chris Peterson. The main character, a seemingly middle-aged man, is in love - or perhaps in lust is a more accurate depiction - with Siri, the horrifying (at least in my opinion) voice-operated AI on the iPhone 4S. It's a silly story with a brutal and arrestive execution. I enjoyed it.
Station456 Comic Reviews - Cancelled
"Station456 Comic Reviews" is being canceled in favor of my old style of posting reviews for individual comics in individual posts. I'm going back to my old style because it makes it easier to promote my work and allows me to only talk about books that I feel particularly compelled to talk about. Sorry for the inconvenience.
But, I'm about to start working on three reviews, so hold on to your underpants!
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