Reviews – Page 12 – Nicolas Demers

Comic Book Review: WitchCraft

A savage murder in ancient Britain brings on the vengeance of the Hecateae, Goddess of Witches, She who is Maiden, Mother and Crone. From the Middle Ages to the Victorian Era to the 1990’s, the wheel of death and rebirth brings the victim and her killer ever closer to a final confrontation.

This 3-part miniseries (published April–June 1994) is one of the first titles I read when I started exploring Vertigo. I loved it right away, because it spoke directly to my politics and spirituality. As a queer, I was (and still am) aware of the connections between homophobia and misogyny, and have identified as feminist from the beginning. And, at the time, I was flirting with Neo-Paganism and Wicca, and the image of the Triple Goddess was a powerful one I was already familiar with. WitchCraft is about women first and foremost; it is intended as a tribute to women’s spirits in the face of oppression, and a grim reminder that being a woman isn’t necessarily easy, no matter what century you live in. In every era the killer is an arrogant bastard who despises and tries to dominate women. In every era but one the victim is a woman who was terribly wronged by the killer in some way, but triumphs over her adversities with some help from the Goddess. The only thing that slightly bothered me was that such a female-centered story was written by a man (name of James Robinson). That didn’t seem appropriate, somehow.

So how does WitchCraft hold up after a decade? Surprisingly well. The message still speaks to me though, yes, I do find the moralizing somewhat heavy-handed and tiresome. When the comic first came out I remember some people complained it was “male-bashing,” and I see how it could look like that. There aren’t many grey areas here: Women = good/wise/oppressed. Men = evil/reckless/rapists. On the other hand, though a lot of the characters are stereotypes, they’re sadly not that far-fetched; there are men even today who are as bad as the story’s villain in all his reincarnations. I’ve known at least one guy like Martyn (the 1990’s killer), calmly spouting the most revolting misogynistic crap, that women are evil and have too much freedom as it is… So the message (if not the mysticism) is still something I can relate to. I’m not sure if I’d buy the comic today, but I still give it high marks.

Comic Book Review: Ghostdancing

I really enjoyed this six-part Vertigo miniseries when it came out in 1995. The art was very good, and though the plot wasn’t terribly deep it was engagingly written, with themes that spoke to me. Ten years later I’m less forgiving of the comic’s flaws, though I still find it an entertaining read.

Ghostdancing is the story of an ex-hippie rock star named “Snake” who discovers a drug called “Ghostdancing” which opens his mind to deeper realities. A generation ago he tried and failed to usher in the “Fifth World,” a new era where the humans would live in harmony with nature and the gods, all the filth and corruption of the Fourth World (our reality) having been washed away. Now, with help from some Native American Power-Beings, this dream can become a reality.

Back in ’95 I was starting my spiritual phase, happily exploring Wicca and Neo-Paganism, and had a couple books on Native American myth and history. At the same time, I was getting some practice as an angry queer activist. All this made me the perfect audience to Ghostdancing’s themes of cultural respect, environmental awareness, spiritual awakening, and the the idea that a better, saner world must be possible, though it might take an apocalypse to get it.

Over ten years later—a bit mellower, a lot more cynical—I’m painfully aware of the story’s simplistic black-and-white views and cliché-ridden plot. Snake and the other good guys are generally clueless, innocent and powerless until Coyote-Old-Man blows into town and opens their minds and souls (yet even then they don’t actually get to do much of anything except serve as martyrs or prophets. It’s the gods that take up the real job of reshaping the world), while the main bad guys are called “the Mammonites”: a centuries-old super-secret organization of coldly vicious control freaks, directly responsible for the physical and spiritual colonization of the Americas. Snake’s nemesis, one of the Mammonites’ henchmen, is nothing but a brutal, cocaine-sniffing thug. Basically, it’s the wise and spiritual “Noble Savage” (and Noble Savage gods, and the Flower Children who learn from the Noble Savage) vs. evil materialistic white men.

The spiritual/religious themes that I didn’t mind then, but now just grate, include: the belief in a primordial golden age, and in a golden age that will come again after a spiritual apocalypse if you believe hard enough (see, for example, the Ghost Dance cult, from which this comic got its title and borrowed a few details of the apocalypse). The use of drugs to open your perceptions to a “deeper reality” is an old standby (but not just any drug. Nasty, artificial cocaine numbs your brain. Clean, natural Ghostdancing frees it.) Most annoying of all is the typical New-Agey habit of mixing and matching cultures: the Fifth World is a Hopi belief, but the Power-Beings in this comic are very “Tribe Hollywood,” a generic mix of different mythologies—the famous trickster Coyote-Old-Man, Thunderbird , White-Buffalo-Woman, and various other unnamed human/animal beings.

It does help that writer Jamie Delano knew exactly what he was doing: he admits Ghostdancing is pure wish fulfillment, a wildly over-the-top tale of destruction and renewal coming from a place of outrage at the plight of Native people. And though outrage and passion by themselves don’t make for a very engaging story, I have to say Delano and artist Richard Case have pulled off something pretty special. If you can keep from rolling your eyes at the preachiness, Ghostdancing is a hell of a ride.

Movie Review: Mission: Impossible III

Say, that wasn’t bad. Lots of action, chase scenes and things getting blowed up real good, which was pretty much what I signed up for. Pity about the plot, though: it felt hugely derivative, patched together from half a dozen other movies (the bit with the wife getting caught up in her husband’s spy world, for example, could have come from True Lies; Ethan’s guilty flashbacks about Lindsey’s death and his eventual redemption as a teacher when his wife kicks ass; Musgrave’s ultimate plan of American domination; the mysterious “Rabbit’s Foot” as doomsday biological weapon; other plot points that just feel so damn familiar). I’m not sure I buy the reveal that Musgrave and not Brassel is the bad guy, but maybe the clues did add up so I’ll suspend judgment for now. And I did appreciate that, unlike the previous movies, the IMF field team worked as a team, instead of being All Tom Cruise, All The Time. Other good points? A surprising amount of eye candy for all preferences. Jonathan Rhys-Meyers is very pretty, and looked good with his shirt off. Maggie Q is very pretty and looked good in that slinky red dress.

Cruise, sad to say, was not eye candy. Oh, he doesn’t look bad, and he’s toned up some since that shirtless scene in Minority Report, but… he’s just not as young as he used to be. (Which is not a bad thing in itself; Scott Bakula and Richard Dean Anderson, to name just two, are both over fifty and still scorching.) I used to think Cruise was hot, back in his Top Gun days, but that ship has sailed, baby. The funny thing is that I’m guessing Cruise knows this but, instead of aging gracefully, he overcompensates with the manly motorcycle and leather jacket. And the endless running scenes. And the four or five separate shirtless scenes. And the girls at his party swooning over him. All to show through Ethan Hunt that Tom Cruise has Still Got It. Or am I reading too much into this? Should I not be creeped out that his movie fiancée looks so much like his real-life beard womb-for-hire fiancée, that they (the movie characters) have this perfect storybook romance, and that his (fictional) in-law family totally adores him?

Okay, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe this is just part of the derivative plot and not Cruise acting out the life he wishes he had (or wishes people believed he had). The fact remains that Tom Cruise, himself, is creepy and scary as hell. Maybe I’m more aware of it since he started behaving like the insane little cultist freak he is, but Cruise was always… on. No matter what his lines were, no matter what emotion he was supposed to convey, he always had that feral glint in his eye, that intensity, that frozen grin, indicating (1) this was Tom Cruise acting, and (2) he was just a heartbeat away from going for your jugular or ranting off about Scientology.

But let’s end on a positive note: do you know what the Shanghai scenes reminded me of? The Hong Kong scenes in Deus Ex, with the homey little apartment set against the brightly lit, ultramodern skyscrapers, Hunt following obscure clues just like you would in an RPG computer game. Didn’t see that one coming, but it made me smile. I half-expected Hunt to wear shades at night and look for Tracer Tong or the Dragon’s Tooth instead of the Rabbit’s Foot (which I thought sorta looked like a nanotech augmentation canister. Or maybe an Ambrosia container). And when he called the techie guy for help, wasn’t that kind of like the scene where Alex Jacobson gives JC Denton pass keys and other vital info so he can escape and destroy UNATCO’s evil bosses? Man, what a great game. Style for days, and more plot in each level than M:I:III has in its entire production. And I know this is a horribly cheap shot, but JC Denton could kick Ethan Hunt’s ass any day of the week.

Comic Book Review: Moonshadow

Meet Moonshadow, the son of a Jewish hippie girl and a madly grinning alien light globe. Raised in an intergalactic zoo, he is kicked out at fifteen with only his cat and a sex-crazed furry weirdo as companions. This 12-part series, originally written by J.M. DeMatteis in the 80’s and republished under the Vertigo imprint between July ’94 and June ’95, is the story of his journey to maturity and awakening.

I have to say, Moonshadow is one comic that hasn’t aged well. In my original review I called it “insightful, brilliant, and absolutely beautiful.” Well, it certainly is beautiful, with stunning watercolor painted artwork (courtesy of Jon J Muth), the likes of which I’d never seen in a comic before. The words and images flow around and into each other in perfect harmony. The series is well-written—quietly paced, silly and touching in turn—but brilliant or insightful? Not really.

Upon rereading the series, the first thing that annoyed me was the plot. Or rather, the lack thereof. Moon wanders the universe, watches his mother die, spends time in an insane asylum, joins the army, loses his virginity, briefly finds a home then loses it… but it’s all just stuff happening to him, one thing after another. His father (one of a race of seemingly omnipotent but completely unpredictable beings) appears at random intervals to move the plot along—or sometimes just to taunt Moon. And, the series is narrated by an elderly Moonshadow, which I feel distances the reader even more from the events and their ultimate importance.

Then again, maybe the plot isn’t so important. Every issue ends with a mention of Moonshadow’s “journey to awakening”—but what is the nature of that awakening? I have no idea. In the last issue, Moon and his companions end up on the planet of Shree Quack-Quack H’onnka, a prophet who claimed to have discovered the meaning of life. One by one they all join the throng of H’onnka’s followers, blissfully marching round in circles in search of their prophet. They know their actions are illogical and ridiculous, but they apparently have total faith that they will one day meet Shree Quack-Quack H’onnka. Moon, however, goes off on his own, led by the ghost (or the memory) of his dead mother. And it’s there, in a cave by himself, that he reaches the end of his journey.

Except that we the readers don’t even end up learning about this awakening, because it’s at this point that the elder Moonshadow chooses to end his narration. I’ll grant that (as he explains) mystical, transcendental experiences are hard to translate into words. But frankly, I feel this is a cheat. In fact, a double cheat, because it seems the entire 12-issue journey has been essentially pointless. Have all of Moonshadow’s experiences served only to lead him to that revelation, at that particular place and time? Was the destination more important than the journey?

Who knows? I guess a series like this is a bit like a Rorschach test: people hungry for mysticism and revelation will find something in it to satisfy them. That was the case for me then. And now? Well, I find the gorgeous artwork satisfying enough.

Comic Book Review: The Books of Magic

The Books of Magic was an ongoing series published under the Vertigo imprint from 1994 to 2000, spanning 75 issues. It told the story of Timothy Hunter, a thirteen-year old dark-haired, bespectacled British boy who learns he is destined to become the most powerful magician of his era. The Books of Magic followed Tim as he learned to handle the usual problems of being a teenager, all the while growing into his power, learning about his heritage and future, and dealing with supernatural enemies. I discovered this series shortly after discovering Sandman, in the summer of 1994. The Books of Magic was a wonderfully written and illustrated series that mostly lived up to its name, and I faithfully kept up with it right until the end. After Sandman ended in 1996, it was the only comics series I collected.

Tim’s adventures actually began in a four-part miniseries (entitled The Books of Magic), which came out in 1991. Written by Neil Gaiman, it introduced the twelve-year-old Tim, who is accosted by four mysterious strangers (John Constantine, Doctor Occult, the Phantom Stranger and Mister E); they tell him he is destined to become the most powerful magician of this age and offer to show him the ways of magic. Tim is taken on a whirlwind ride to yesterday, tomorrow, and all places in between. Beautifully illustrated (with different artists for each issue) and thoroughly spellbinding, with appearances by many of DC Comics’ occult players, past and present (including Zatara, Zatanna, Doctor Fate, the Spectre, Sargon the Sorcerer, Dream, and many others I’m not familiar with), the miniseries nevertheless didn’t have much character development. Tim was shown to be a sarcastic boy, always ready with a flippant remark even when completely inappropriate; he didn’t really believe in magic although he used to, and kind of wished he still did. His home life (what we saw of it) was pretty dreary, with no mother in sight and a father who seemed to mostly ignore him. But that kind of setup is par for the course with this kind of tale, isn’t it? The miniseries ended with Tim performing a single real act of magic: turning his yo-yo into an owl—or back into an owl, actually. Doctor Occult had turned it into an owl in issue #1, and it followed Tim on his initiatory journey. But it died (and turned back into a yo-yo) at the End of Time, protecting Tim from a murderous Mister E.

Tim’s story continued in The Children’s Crusade, a Vertigo crossover published in late 1993:

East of the sun and west of the moon, somewhere between the endless summer afternoons of childhood and the shifting clouds of magic, lies the land called Free Country. For centuries it has served as a haven for abused, unwanted and endangered children. But now the ancient, childlike denizens of Free Country have embarked on a plan to rescue all the world’s youth, beginning with a small group of very special children.

These exceptional children are Suzy, the child Black Orchid (Black Orchid) Maxine Baker (Animal Man); Tefé Holland (Swamp Thing); Dorothy Spinner (Doom Patrol); and, last but not least, Tim Hunter.

The Children’s Crusade caught up with Tim (now thirteen) some time after his initiation. Life had—unfortunately—gone back to normal for our hero. Instead of the beautiful, dangerous worlds of magic, now there was nothing but the grey, dreary streets of East London. Instead of the “Trenchcoat Brigade,” Tim only had a father who ignored him, and still grieved over the death of his wife in a car accident years ago, drowning his sorrow in beer and TV . Tim even doubted the memories of his adventures across time and worlds; magic seemed only a wonderful and frightening dream. All that changed when a wizard called Tamlin kidnapped Tim to ascertain his magical potential. After being tested and left alone in a dead region of Faerie, Timothy managed to find his way home where he was accosted by Marya, an emissary from Free Country, who convinced him to join them in the Crusade.

Only problem: while everyone in Free Country believed Tim to be a great wizard, Tim was alone among the special recruits in being powerless. Or at least believing himself to be powerless, despite the previous reanimation of his pet owl. But as it turned out, Tim learned he did indeed have incalculable—though still uncontrolled—raw potential power. Along the way we got a bit more insight into Tim: seemingly friendless and withdrawn, snapping at his (equally withdrawn) father, and talking to himself a lot because there’s nobody else to listen. As for Bill Hunter, his pain was elegantly shown without a lot of clumsy exposition, in subtle hints and wordless panels. Well done. Oh, and Tim’s glasses are to correct his farsightedness.

The Books of Magic (the new ongoing series) started off in May of 1994 with a four-part storyline entitled “Bindings,” in which Tamlin returned to enlist Tim’s aid in saving Faerie. The “Land of Summer’s Twilight” was being slowly destroyed by the Manticore. This monster’s purpose (as it explained itself to Tim) was “simplifying the world,” removing all silly unnecessary beliefs such as belief in magic or mythical creatures. Its first victim (or “specimen”, now stuffed and on display), long ago, was a unicorn which it coldly “tested” and found to be quite mundane, not magical at all. This somewhat echoed a conversation between John Constantine and Tim in the original limited series, about the necessity for belief to be able to see and work magic. According to Constantine, if you’re a skeptic, then everything can be explained logically and scientifically, and magic will simply not exist for you. And so it was with the Manticore, though it took this to an absurd and cruel extreme, actually destroying the magic inside people and creatures.

“What… if I lose?”
“Then you’ll accept my tutelage. And I will liberate you from all your illusions.”
“And then you’ll eat me.”
“Eventually, yes. But you won’t care when that time comes. You won’t care at all. You see, I’ll consume your magic before I touch your flesh. You might be surprised to learn how little one cares for one’s flesh once one’s soul has been stripped away.”

Interesting that the Manticore equates magic with the soul. Interesting, but not too surprising: one of the recurring lessons of the original miniseries was that magic isn’t just power. It’s wonder, and myth, and dreams, and a special way of looking at the world. Magic is something you are as much as something you do.

Part of the plot of “Bindings” also involved Tim looking for the truth of his parentage. In issue #1 he was told that Tamlin was in fact his biological father; a bit of questioning got out the fact that his mother was pregnant before his parents married, and his father (i.e.: Bill Hunter) was never entirely sure Tim was really his son. However, Tim had a bit of a chat with Death—lovely girl that she is—while poisoned by the Manticore’s fangs, and she set him straight. Tim had been obsessing about finding out which of his alleged fathers he “belonged to,” and Death pointed out that chromosomes and heredity had nothing to do with identity, and he belonged to no one but himself.

But then, if that wasn’t enough, Titania, Queen of Faerie, told Tim that she was his mother, calling him a “changeling.” And calling him a few other nasty names, since Tamlin had sacrificed himself to cure Tim of the poison, and she blamed the boy. But Tim didn’t much care at this point, and told her off, calling Titania “your Royal Bitchiness” before heading on home. Good for him.

“Bindings” was note-perfect in every way. I loved the Manticore, equal parts vicious predator and pompous, Latin-spewing professor. Death is always welcome in my comics, of course, and her sweet down-to-earth attitude was the perfect foil to Tim’s drama-queeny self-absorption. John Ney Rieber’s writing was exquisite, as was Gary Amaro & Peter Gross’ art. It was exciting to see Tim take baby steps towards mastering his magic; some of his feats were still involuntary (bringing the stuffed unicorn to life), but he’s growing in control and awareness, keeping his eyes and ears open, and remembering the lessons he learned.

The next issue introduced two important recurring characters: first, Molly O’Reilly, a classmate of Tim’s who eventually became the first of Tim’s mundane friends to know his true nature. I loved Molly: she was the grounded, experienced yin to Tim’s self-absorbed and relatively sheltered yang. She always kept him humble and honest; she was brave and fierce, and not above kicking the bad guys in the nads when necessary. Molly immediately accepted Tim’s magic, and the two of them eventually started dating. Second, Tim’s future self. We’d already glimpsed him once, in the original miniseries, when Tim and Mister E were on their way towards the End of Time. That Tim (in one of many possible futures) was an evil mage, waging a war against the forces of light. Now, readers saw that Future Tim, though supremely powerful, was in fact a puppet of his time-traveling hench-demon Barbatos. We also learned that his attraction to Molly had continued into adulthood, and he kept a whole harem of docile, beaten-down Mollys for his own use. Future Tim’s plan in issue #5 was to travel back to the present and meddle with his own history, to make sure our hero grew up to be him. He failed, and returned to a drastically changed future where his money and power had evaporated, and Barbatos had even more control over him.

The first twenty issues of The Books of Magic were pure gold. There were fascinating, classy villains, subtle humour, sharp dialogue, great characters and interesting plots. Rereading them, a large part of the appeal of those issues was seeing Tim slowly getting more confident in using his power, and gathering a rich tapestry of friends and allies where before, he had nobody. Allies like Marya (who chose to stay on Earth instead of returning to Free Country); Araquel, a slightly-fallen angel, his lover Khara and daughter Nikki (introduced in issue #5); Happy the golem and Leah the succubus, both of which used to belong to a yuppie sorcerer who planned to bind Tim’s power to his own (the “Sacrifices” storyline, issues #6–8); the Narls and Awn the Blink, Tim’s imaginary childhood friends come to life (“The Artificial Heart”, issues #9–11).

You’re three, say… maybe four. Your telly isn’t working. So you ask your dad, What’s wrong with the telly? “It’s Awn the Blink,” he says. And you, being an imaginative young broccoli sprout, you envision me. An extraordinarily talented unrepairman, coming and going as he pleases, disabling appliances with the greatest of ease. And since the times I’m interfering with the telly are the only times your dad pays attention to you, you calculate I’m your friend.

Tim’s story took a sharp turn over the next few issues. Having (accidentally) learned about his evil future self, Tim decided to take some drastic steps to avoid turning into Future Tim, and abusing Molly the way he would/did: he made a deal with Circe (the mythical Greek sorceress) to put magical tattoos on him that caused him intense pain whenever he tried to work magic and (though he didn’t realize it at the time) push him away from all his friends and loved ones (including Molly). Probably due in part to this tattoo, and partly to yet another near-miss magical attack on his family on his fourteenth birthday, Tim decided to run away from home.

At this point, The Books of Magic split into two stories, running in parallel for the next dozen issues. On the one hand, Tim’s travels in the United States. His first plan had been to meet Zatanna in San Francisco, for protection and training (and probably just to get far away from England), but she wasn’t home. In the meantime he lost one of his tattoos (the one that kept him from doing magic), met up with Leah (she had a modeling gig), got lost in the desert, then lost in Faerie (again). Though he met some interesting people they didn’t stay in his life long enough to make real connections. Thematically, this was a useful and important storyline. Tim was on a journey of self-discovery, leaving the comfort of home to find his own independence and strength, and a journey like that must be undertaken alone. Emotionally, it was a bit less satisfying. I missed the old, more innocent Tim, and all the wonderful characters we’d gotten to know and love.

Meanwhile, Molly had some adventures of her own. In issue #24 she attempted to summon faeries, hoping to bring Tim back to her or at least find out where he was. She succeeded, but inadvertently challenged The Amadan, Fool to the Court of Faerie; if she could prove she could be a greater fool than him, she would be granted her heart’s desire. The challenge was never decided since Titania, annoyed at Molly’s unself-conscious foolery (by Faerie standards) tricked the girl into eating Faerie food and so trapped her in their realm—she could not eat normal food anymore, and if her feet touched normal earth she would die. But after Faerie was destroyed and reborn (a long and interesting story, going back to its very creation as a province of Hell), Titania relented. Though she couldn’t reverse the curse, she enchanted Molly so that her feet would never quite touch the ground, and provided an unlimited supply of Faerie food to eat.

Tim and Molly were reunited in issue #39, and stayed for a bit at Zatanna’s place in San Francisco, but things had changed. Tim’s magical tattoo enhanced his natural self-absorption and the magic and power revealed under Zatanna’s tutelage were far more important and real to him than Molly (or her curse, which he never even noticed until it was pointed out to him) and the others around him. So, realizing that he wouldn’t change anytime soon, Molly left Tim for good.

John Ney Rieber’s run on The Books of Magic ended with the “Slave of Heavens” storyline: a weird, headscratchingly pointless tale where Tim decides to give up his magic but is swept up along with Araquel into a bit of an apocalypse. His last tattoo came off, but I don’t think it made much difference at this point since he had already alienated all the people that mattered to him. I have to question why Tim has to give up his magic. At the time, it made sense and was perfectly in character. But looking back it feels less like a natural progression, and more like writer’s whim. By the time Tim left home, he was well on his way to becoming the stupendously powerful magician he was prophesied to be. Circe’s warding put a stop to that for a while, and now he’s done it to himself voluntarily. It seemed like for every step forward there had to be a step backward. “Slave of Heavens” was a somewhat unsatisfying story: it came out of nowhere, ended abruptly and anticlimactically, and even the recurring characters (Circe, Araquel, Reverend Slaggingham’s head) didn’t have the zing and presence they used to. There was a lot of death and mayhem, but it wasn’t fun. I hate to say this, but maybe it’s just as well Rieber stopped writing for the series, since it felt like his well was running dry.

Issue #51, entitled “A Thousand Worlds of Tim,” kicked off a long storyline that lasted 25 issues, right to the end of the series. The premise was that Tim, over the course of his life, unknowingly spawned a large number of parallel worlds where another version of him lived, each containing a small fraction of his magic and power. Every world was different in some way. In some, his mother never died in a car accident. In others, he was never accosted by the Trenchcoat Brigade and thus never took up magic. But now one of these “shadow” Tims had broken free of his own world, and was traveling across the multiverse killing off all the other Tims and absorbing their essence, to end up with the True Tim (the one whose adventures we’ve been following). Unable to fight this shadow of himself since he lost his power, Tim was forced to flee.

The basic plot itself wasn’t earthshatteringly brilliant, but hey, it worked, and it fit pretty well with what we already knew about Tim’s power. What was less fine is the way Mr. Currie (a refugee from such a shadow world who had come to warn the True Tim) constantly referred to the rogue Tim as “the Other.” Now, readers were already familiar with this term. The water elementals in the Infinite Ocean used it (in issue #31). So did the secret-hoarding gargoyles in San Francisco (issue #41). But to them, Molly was Tim’s Other. I’m guessing it meant “soul-mate” or something similar—and it’s true, Molly and Tim were pretty good soul-mate material. I don’t understand why new writer Peter Gross decided to throw all that into question. Also not entirely welcome: more mysteries concerning Tim’s heritage. It seems his dead mother, Mary Hunter, may not have been human after all. In issue #51 Tim found a strange necklace in her open grave that turned out to be a glamour stone, an item commonly used in Faerie to disguise its wearer’s appearance. Tim worked out the necklace’s use (but not its greater meaning) and wore it to hide his identity while on the run from his Other. In an interesting twist, Tim’s new appearance was female, strongly resembling his mother’s. And so, for several issues, Tim travelled the realms passing as a girl named Mary.

I have to say, it was a refreshing change. The first few issues of this new story arc were fairly dark and paranoid, with Mr. Currie retraining Tim to work magic (even though his power was gone, there were things any normal person could do with the right practice), and just waiting for the Other to appear. But once Tim/Mary was on the road, we got to meet some interesting new faces, just like old times: Joh and Rosehip the Flitling and Brother Hugh and Henry the Rocket Boy and that cute little inadequacy dream. He stayed for a while at the Inn Between Worlds (a neutral house between realms) and formed a friendship with Joh (who happened to be the innkeeper’s daughter), where we got to see yet more exotic travelers.

Eventually Tim got swept up along with the Wild Hunt (imprisoned for millenia but recently released by Tim’s Other, just to cause chaos). Instead of being killed, he successfully challenged the leader and took his place. With the Wild Hunt at his side, Tim realized he finally had the power to move against his Other. But first, he had to strike a bargain with Barbatos. Not the one he’d met before, the Barbatos from Future Tim’s time: this was a younger Barbatos, who’d never met and controlled Tim. The price, as expected, was a memory—and though Tim knew this was the first step towards becoming that evil future self, he had no choice. In the end, Tim beat both Barbatos (through trickery) and his Other (through force). Tim had set up a timeline where his future self would exist, but still die (in the present) as in issue #20, while Tim’s soul and essence would be safe inside Barbatos himself, ready to rebuild a new body when the time was right. So Tim was complete at last, having gathered all stray fragments of his power. Complete, but alone: Molly was gone, his father was dead—killed by Currie just before Tim went on the run.

And so ended The Books of Magic, after 75 issues. I don’t think the plot with Barbatos was necessary, since Future Tim had always been only a possibility; there would have been no paradox if Tim never grew up to be him. But, I have no real complaints, because Barbatos is so damn entertaining. There are still a thousand worlds of Tim, a thousand choices. Not in the past, but in the future. Though I questioned (and still do question) some of his plot directions, Peter Gross very ably filled Rieber’s writing shoes, and he provided a satisfying end to the series. At its best, The Books of Magic was absolutely enchanting and breathtaking. Even at its worst, it was still very, very good.

Tim’s adventures continued in a five-issue miniseries entitled “Names of Magic”, taking place immediately after this series ended. I found it all right, but ultimately unsatisfying, addressing the paradoxes of Tim’s heritage (Tamlin vs. Bill Hunter as father? Mary Hunter vs. Titania as a mother?) but not really trying to resolve them. There was another ongoing series a bit later, “Hunter: The Age of Magic,” lasting a couple of years which I read a couple of issues of but never got into. Maybe because it featured an older Tim (seventeen, I think) and part of the appeal of The Books of Magic was a young, still relatively inexperienced Tim just starting out in life and in magic. Or maybe it’s simply that these new series just didn’t have the spark, the life, the… magic, of Gaiman’s and Rieber/Gross’s series.

Comic Book Review: Shadow Cabinet

Shadow Cabinet was part of Milestone Media’s second generation of comics, one of the two series introduced during the Milestone universe’s “Shadow War” crossover event. The Shadow Cabinet is a secret organization of superheroes thousands of years old. Its operatives, in constant rotation from mission to mission, have sworn to fulfill its mandate: “To save humanity from itself”, whether humanity wants it or not.

With consistently excellent artwork and storytelling, Shadow Cabinet was, at the time, the best superhero comic book I knew. The best. Though the series rarely addressed social issues—unlike most other Milestone titles—writer Matt Wayne consistently delivered sharp dialogue, exciting and twisty plots, the occasional dash of humour, and great character development. I think this was Shadow Cabinet’s main strength: its diverse cast of interesting and three-dimensional characters. The best thing about these protagonists? more than half are women. And they’re realistically drawn—none of those huge, silicon-fed breasts, thank you very much. Though it meant a bit more to my politically-active self of ten years ago, I still think the gender balance and racial diversity is a very big deal. The simple fact that Shadow Cabinet features (a) just one white male main character and (b) more than a couple token women does make the series pretty damn unique. Especially when two of these women are a lesbian couple.

Here’s a list of the main characters:

Dharma, the Shadow Cabinet’s current leader. His power is to see the past and future of any object. Some time ago he foresaw a terrible catastrophe, “a day where everything ends in fire”. Without telling his operatives he has been desperately using the Cabinet to prevent this vision from coming true.

Iron Butterfly is the Cabinet’s field commander; she has the power to move and shape metal and metallic objects. In battle she wears medieval-style plate armor with huge angel-like wings.

The origin of her powers is unclear. She has given two somewhat contradictory accounts of her past, but the common element is that her family was murdered, and her life’s quest is to avenge that murder. Iron Butterfly is cold and aloof, ruthlessly efficient in combat, and apparently without any sense of humor. Near the end of the series it is revealed that she is also secretly in love with Dharma, even though he’s incapable of loving her back.

Plus is a normal-looking teenage girl, with the ability to fly and project a variety of force fields. The strange thing was, she occasionally talked to someone called “Narnie,” who only she could hear talking back! Was this “Narnie” real, or just a figment of her imagination? Eventually readers discovered that Narnie was an energy being, and the source of Plus’ powers. “I can manipulate her otherwise inert physical form and communicate with her consciousness.” A bit later, it was revealed that Narnie was Plus’ sister, and Dharma was their brother.

Sideshow used to be a photojournalist for the alternative media. At one point he stumbled onto an illegal animal research lab, “a real horror show”, and got careless. He was knocked out and dumped into a vat of biochemical waste products. Instead of killing him it remolded his genetic structure, allowing him transform his body, or parts of his body, into that of any animal. Dharma brought him into the Cabinet and taught him to control his powers.

Iota is a very rich widow with an apartment in Sydney, Australia. Her power is to shrink herself or any inanimate object down to almost microscopic size. An interesting side effect of this process is that it destroys organic tissue (except for her own body): shrunk objects are sterilized, and shrunk food becomes inedible. She seems to spend a lot of her free time stealing things, and carries around a truly astounding collection of vehicles, houses and all kinds of tools and knickknacks in her pockets, ready to be brought out and used at a moment’s notice.

Donner is apparently the granddaughter of a Nazi geneticist. This might explain her great strength (she can easily bench-press 3 tons) and near-invulnerability to physical attacks. There are some hints that she was involved with neo-nazi gangs when she was younger, but she has completely left behind that part of her life. About six feet six in height with a bodybuilder’s physique, Donner is a big sports fan, especially enjoying baseball and pro wrestling. She is currently studying at Medina University in Dakota (the fictional Midwestern city where all the Milestone series take place) with her lover, Blitzen.

Blitzen was a scientist who developed a serum that enables her to move and think at speeds far beyond the normal human range. (She once claimed to be able to play 307 games of Solitaire in 30 seconds). Nothing else is known of her past before she joined the Cabinet. When not on missions, Blitzen works as a teaching assistant at Medina U.

Starlight was a simple mathematics student until she wandered into the university’s stellar observatory. There she found a scientist standing in front of a “tachyon telescope,” being bombarded by huge amounts of radiation. She tried to push him out of the way, and got caught in the beam instead. This turned her into a living pulsar, with the ability to emit and absorb energies of many different kinds. Though she had planned to be with the Cabinet only until she learned to control her powers, Starlight has since decided to stay.

As much as I love my old life, I can’t have it back. Controlling my powers isn’t enough. I have to use them where they’re needed most. As much as I need the quiet life of a university mathematician, the world need heroes.

Right from the start, Shadow Cabinet showed its readers what it was made of. The first issue, entitled “A Handful of S.A.N.D.,” featured a Cabinet strike team (composed of Iron Butterfly, Donner, Plus and Sideshow) sent on a search-and-destroy (S.A.N.D.) mission. Their target was a super-powered mass murderer whom Dharma claimed was going to be recruited by the American government as an assassin. In the end—despite some hesitation on Sideshow’s part—the team completes its mission, very neatly making the death look accidental. “A Handful of S.A.N.D.” was a disturbing, provocative piece of work that generated a lot of praise from readers precisely because it dared to go where few comics had gone before. As Dharma himself said, to counter his operatives’ moral objections: “It was a dirty deed, but it kept dirtier deeds from being done.”

The next few issues were a bit tamer, exploring some the interpersonal relationships between Cabinet members and setting the tone of Dharma’s relationship with his operatives. The “Father’s Day” storyline (issues #3–4), especially, showed him to be a cold, manipulative bastard who used his operatives like pawns.

The “Red Death” storyline (#6–10) put a violent end to the status quo. After being abandoned in the middle of a mission in Antarctica, the team of Iron Butterfly, Donner, Blitzen, Sideshow and Iota vowed to somehow find Shadowspire (the Cabinet’s headquarters, accessed only via a teleportation device called the “shadowslide”) and kill Dharma—who, meanwhile, got busy making deals with S.Y.S.T.E.M., an international crime cartel. What was going on? Had Dharma turned bad and screwed the Cabinet? No: it turned out that he just wanted his best ops away from Shadowspire while he tricked S.Y.S.T.E.M. into squandering a major portion of their military might, thus restoring a fragile balance to the world.

When they finally returned to Shadowspire, all the operatives but Sideshow accepted Dharma’s explanation. Taking the seeming betrayal personally, Sideshow killed Dharma in a fit of rage. After being brought back to life by Red Dog, a powerful wizard who led the Shadow Cabinet at the turn of the century, Dharma decided to tell his favourite operatives the whole truth. Up until that point, only his sisters had known about his chronal sight.

Dharma’s new openness didn’t last long. Soon he began to withdraw information and manipulate his operatives again. And as the apocalypse of his visions drew ever closer, he slowly, methodically, took over every single S.Y.S.T.E.M. cell in the world. His former approach had been wrong, he reasoned: to have any chance of averting the catastrophe, he had to take a more active role.

My plan is simple. I will control everything. Nothing will happen without my approval. I know my Shadow Cabinet may disapprove, but they are in no position to judge.

Things completely fell apart in the 17^th and last issue, which came out in October ’95. Enraged at his sisters’ recent disobedience (Plus, Starlight and several other Cabinet ops had helped stop a riot in Dakota, against Dharma’s explicit orders), Dharma attacked Plus and wrested control of Narnie from her. When Sideshow tried to intervene, he was killed. Dharma then summoned his operatives and announced that, from now on, they were to leave Shadowspire only for missions. Realizing that their leader had finally gone mad, Donner punched her way out of Shadowspire with Blitzen right behind, joined moments later by Iota flying a jet she had dug out of her pockets. The issue’s last panel shows the three of them rocketing away to freedom.

And so Shadow Cabinet ended. I suppose it was inevitable: the series just couldn’t last for very long with that kind of setup; and kudos to the creative team for not trying to stick to an easy status quo. Still… I hope we see the Cabinet again someday, with or without Dharma.

Comic Book Review: Xombi

Xombi was one of the two series introduced during the Shadow War, the first crossover event of the Milestone universe. It’s also the only one in the whole lot that looks nothing like a superhero comic. With its unusual artwork and mindbogglingly weird plots and characters, Xombi is in a class all by itself.

The central character is one David Kim, a scientist whose body—mostly by accident—has become host to thousands of microscopic robots which negate the effects of aging and disease, as well as immediately heal any injuries. Now he is a xombi, a mortal person rendered immortal through artificial means. At the same time, he has crossed the line into the world of the bizarre, which exists side by side with our own. No matter how much he wishes to, David Kim can never return to his normal existence.

The series is divided into several long storylines. The first, “Silent Cathedrals,” introduces Kim and his new companions, including Nun of the Above (a clairvoyant nun) and her associate, Catholic Girl. This spunky blonde adolescent has many neat powers, including flight, projecting a force field around herself when she recites the “Hail Mary,” and firing energy bolts from her rosary. Which, I admit, sounds completely ridiculous when I write it out like this, but that’s part of the series’ charm: writer John Rozum shamelessly mixed creepy horror, gratuitously absurd settings and silly puns and made it all work. That’s genius, right there.

“Silent Cathedrals” concerns the plans of Dr. Sugarman—an evil man with bizarre magical powers—to achieve immortality and summon a creature called Boraxis Megatheros, the incarnation of pollution. Servants of his break into David Kim’s lab to steal a supply of the regenerative nanomachines, killing David Kim in the process. His assistant, Kelly Sanborne, injects him with the nanomachines which bring him back to life. However, Kim’s body has been so badly damaged that the machines have to find an outside source to rebuild his tissues. That source is Kelly Sanborne’s body.

In the end, Kim and his friends manage to re-imprison Megatheros, but Dr. Sugarman escapes. The epilogue to this storyline (issue #6, entitled “Resurrection”) is one of the most beautiful and moving issues of any comic I’ve ever read. Feeling responsible for her death, Kim decides to bring Sanborne back using the same nanomachines that revived him. Most of the issue is taken up by quiet reminiscence and flashbacks as Kim looks back on her life.

It’s amazing how well you think you know someone, without really knowing much about them at all. She was one of my closest friends, yet I know next to nothing of her childhood, her friends from high school, her favorite color, her favorite flavor of ice cream, whether or not she wanted children. This time around, I’ll be sure to ask.

But upon finding that Sanborne’s remains were cremated, he realizes the nanomachines will be useless, so he has to accept her death.

The second main storyline, “School of Anguish” (starting with issue #7) pits Kim and his associates against a cult called “the Beli Mah.” Their central belief is that “the world can be made ideal by reducing everything to an abstraction of what it represents. A true form of itself, with no masks to be misinterpreted. They feel that the world is full of masks behind masks behind masks.” Accordingly, the Beli Mah create and use as their assassins creatures called the Painful Inscriptions: physical embodiments of certain abstract concepts. There’s Manuel Dexterity, crafted out of all the unfulfilled intense desires in the world; his twin sister Manuella, the embodiment of deep-rooted shame; Bludgeon, crafted from misdirected rage; Blister Ed, a construct of words spoken in anger, which can’t be unsaid; and many others, each stranger than the last.

Xombi’s last storyline (issues #17–21) is entitled “Hidden Cities.” Finally accepting that his life would never go back to normal, David Kim decides to learn more about the worlds beyond normalcy. With every page I got the feeling that everything we’d seen up to this point was just to get us in the mood, and the serious fun was about to begin. The hilarious (if slightly disturbing) lecture on sidewalk piranhas… David’s first meeting with another xombi, who tells the tale of how he became immortal (a magical healing concoction called the “serpent’s tail” that inexplicably stayed active in his body)… The visit to “Elsewhere,” a parallel world that is the source of all true artistic inspiration in our world… David’s meeting with yet another xombi, this time a forty-thousand-year-old woman living in a flying pagoda who has been having repeated visions of Kim and their life together in the centuries to come, and fell in love with him though they had never met… David agreeing to bait a trap for the Bogeymen Dread, evil creatures from Elsewhere feeding on hope, that invaded our world leaving a trail of death by suicide. Only David Kim can survive an encounter with the Bogeymen since he cannot kill himself. With his help, the Elsewhere authorities are able to imprison the Bogeymen again and save countless lives.

And… that’s where Xombi ended, with Kim realizing that his power could be used to help others, and finally accepting his place in the shadow worlds. A shame: though it was a good place to end, positive and hopeful, David Kim’s story had hardly begun, and I’m sure that Rozum’s twisted, fertile imagination would have been up to the challenge.

Comic Book Review: Static

Static is among the first generation of titles put out by Milestone Media. I bought the first issue when it came out in April ’93 but, stupidly, did not immediately keep reading the series. Then again, I guess I was lucky I picked up Static at all: back in those dark days, I hardly read anything but big-name Marvel titles, and even then never committed to any particular one. So I forgot about Static for about a year and a half.

Static is the story of Virgil Hawkins, a teenager unexpectedly gifted with electromagnetic powers. As an avid superhero comics fan, he realized what his destiny was. Now, when danger threatens, young Virgil dons his blue-and-white costume to become Static, vanquishing enemies with wisecracks as much as lightning bolts. But, this comic isn’t all about action and adventure: Static and Virgil get equal time. Along with scenes of Static tussling with supervillains, we have the smartassed, nerdy, often annoying Virgil Hawkins going to school and hanging out with his pals. These include Frieda, his closest friend, crush object, and the only one who knows his secret; her much too smooth and suave boyfriend Larry (who seems to have an awful lot of money to spend on Frieda); and Rick, the butt of fag jokes from his classmates because he practices ballet.

This being Milestone, there’s plenty of social issues and brave storytelling amongst the action and humour. It’s not easy being a black teenager, and superpowers aren’t necessarily much help. For instance, Virgil has a hard time going on dates and can’t even hold down the lousiest McJob because he has to leave at a moment’s notice to confront rampaging supervillains, and he can’t use his powers to defend himself against bullies for fear of blowing his cover. The series’ high point was the “What are Little Boys Made Of?” storyline (issues #16–20), in which Static barely saves Rick from being gay-bashed, and is shocked to find out his friend really is gay. The following day Rick—bruised, with a black eye—courageously comes out to most of the school, inviting his friends to join him in an upcoming gay rights rally. Frieda is completely supportive, but Virgil and the boys have deal with their own homophobia. Later, having resolved most of his doubts, Static defends the rally against a viciously homophobic supervillain and his gang of neo-nazi thugs.

Some time afterwards Static meets Dusk, a teenaged vigilante superheroine with a pretty forceful code of justice. They take an instant liking to each other, even though Dusk is a lot more violent than Static in dealing with bad guys and refuses to reveal anything about herself or her past. The two had an interesting dynamic, for as long as their partnership lasted: Static was more idealistic and though he had, in the past, broken crack houses and stopped muggings and such, he rarely went looking for major trouble; his first priority was always to protect innocent people. Dusk, on the other hand, was grimmer and more pragmatic, actively looked for crime (especially organized crime) to stop, and seemed to revel in beating up on the bad guys.

“I told you checking back alleys and stuff would help you find more trouble.”
“Yup, Dusk, it did. I almost wish it didn’t.”
“Yeah. I know. Just don’t ever tell that to a victim.”

Not that I ever wanted to see Static turning all grim-and-gritty, but the two of them had a lot to teach each other.

In issue #28 (July ’95), the two drop in on a drug bust to give the police a hand, and Static discovered—to his shock—that one of the people being busted is Larry! Unable to confront his friend, Static lets him go, thereby earning the suspicion of both Dusk and the police. Working separately, Static and Dusk catch up with him the next day, but Larry’s former associate also show up to silence him forever, and Dusk gets shot while trying to protect him. Static flies in and carries her to safety, but is unable to prevent Larry from being killed.

It was a disturbing, but perfectly appropriate ending to this storyline. Larry had been more than a little suspect ever since issue #2, when he furnished Virgil with a gun to deal with a bully (which Virgil ended up not using), and it was about time his “deep, dark secret” came to light. Yet Larry was never portrayed as a cold, heartless, one-dimensional crook. He genuinely cared about his girlfriend and family, providing for them the best way he knew how; when the police showed up and arrested him, poor Larry was so scared he almost wet his pants. It was clear he never thought about the long-term consequences of his actions, and never dreamed he’d actually get caught.

Static’s reaction was less well handled, though. In issue #29 the series switched to a new writing team, replacing the fabulous Ivan Velez, Jr (who had replaced the no less fabulous Robert L. Washington III in issue #19). These writers were adequate, but no more, and the next few issues were filled with pretty average storytelling. First, there’s Static’s rage against on the drug dealers who shot Larry and Dusk, complete with extremely tiresome internal monologue. Maybe it was in character, but, really: the formerly-“fun” hero who temporarily goes dark and berserk is a tried-and-true cliché. Later, after Larry’s funeral, Virgil confides in Frieda that he wants to abandon his Static persona. It had always been a game, a flashy release from all the frustrations of adolescence, and now he figured it was time to grow up a little. Again, this little revelation left me cold because that kind of thing’s been done to death in other series.

Issue #31 featured an extended flashback that revisited Static’s origin story. Here the focus was on Virgil’s fascination with an old movie serial swashbuckling hero called “The Scarlet Scarab” who—apparently—was the main inspiration for Virgil’s taking on a superhero persona. My reaction? Meh. Not only do I question the logic of Virgil being more interested in old-time movies than modern comics (besides the fact that we’d never seen it before), I get the feeling the writers wanted to “make their mark” on the Static universe by rewriting history a bit. This issue was completely unnecessary and in fact far inferior to the first origin story in issue #2. But on the plus side, we do get to see the origin of the long yellow coat Static wears over his spandex costume. Yay. Except, no we don’t, because Virgil was already wearing that coat in the issue #2 flashback.

I kept up with Static for two more issues, but finally called it quits after issue #33 (March ’96). The writing wasn’t getting any better, and the artwork frankly sucked. Though I felt terrible about dropping a Milestone series, this Static was only a shadow of its former self, and it just wasn’t worth my time and hard-earned cash anymore.

Game Review: Homeworld 2

I just finished playing Homeworld 2. All in all, it was a hell of a game, just as engaging as its predecessors Homeworld and Homeworld: Cataclysm. Not perfect, mind you, but still pretty damn amazing.

The Good:

The game, to nobody’s surprise, looks absolutely awesome. The grand starscapes of the first and second games are still there, of course. Ship design is top notch: Hiigaran ships are similar to their Homeworld counterparts, but far more advanced, and look amazing, from the sharp-edged Interceptor to the exquisitely sleek and deadly Battlecruiser. This was a far cry from the Cataclysm ships. The command ship in that game—a self-sufficient mining vessel called the Kuun-Lan—wasn’t exactly stylish or pretty, and neither were its auxiliary ships; however, they did share a very solid, very functional design, of which I thoroughly approve. But honestly, when all’s said and done, sleek and deadly’s the way to go if you’re playing a space-battle game. Vaygr ships are interesting; some have an odd asymmetrical look that was a bit startling the first I saw it, but have now decided is very cool. As are the Progenitor ships, blocky and deceptively rough-looking. The Bentusi Mothership looks quite nice, though I have to question its very existence. More on that later.

The soundtrack also earns my love. While Homeworld’s music was very atmospheric and New-Age-y, and Cataclysm’s was more punchy and action-oriented, Homeworld 2 brings us a beautiful soundtrack with a variety of rousing ethnic rhythms that kicks large amounts of ass. Truly the best of both worlds. The voice of Fleet Command is back, and boy have I missed her. The most emotional part of Homeworld, for me, took place at the very beginning, when Fleet Command ran through her startup checklist in her cool, emotionless voice, ending with “The Mothership has cleared the scaffold. We are away.” They repeated these lines almost word for word in Homeworld 2, but I’m sorry to say it didn’t have the same punch. In the first game, the Hiigarans were about to set off on their greatest adventure, the search for their ancestral home. In Homeworld 2, we’re just running away from a Vaygr attack. Blah. Although I have to admit, the shutdown checklist at the end of Mission 14, as Fleet Command left the Mothership and prepared to transfer to Sajuuk, was a very nice touch, and quite affecting.

(Don’t get me wrong. The voices of Ship Tactical and Ship Command in Homeworld: Cataclysm were very good. Tactical seemed older, experienced, a veteran of many space battles and a total pro. She never once lost her cool, no matter how bad things seemed. Command, however, seemed younger and more nervous, probably recently took command of the Kuun-Lan and never expected to do more with it than, well, mine a lot of asteroids—which was its function, after all. And, granted, things are a bit tense for most of the game, since the Kuun-Lan accidentally unleashed a horrible sentient biomechanical plague that threatens all life in the galaxy and against which they have—at first—no serious defense. But really, is that any reason to panic?)

Some of the gameplay has been improved. I appreciate how the Build, Research and Launch Managers only take up about a quarter of the screen, and are slightly transparent to boot, allowing me to manage my fleet with no break in the action. The concept of ship upgrades, introduced in Cataclysm, has been taken to a whole new level. It’s now possible to target individual subsystems on capital ships and Motherships (engines for all; ion turrets on Battlecruisers; resourcing and production facilities on Carriers. And so on). Two major differences between Cataclysm and Homeworld 2: research costs resources as well as time; but on the bright side, strike craft don’t need to dock to get upgraded.

The single-player missions are really, really hard. Which I like. Why did some reviewers complain about that? Come on, don’t you want to be challenged?

The Not So Good:

So, what, I can’t pick my ship colours for the single-player game? That was the best part! Okay, not really, but it’s still a bit annoying. Yes, you can pick colours for the multi-player battles (and not just your colours, but your fleet badge, which I thought was a lovely touch. If you ever wanted to wear the emblems of Kiith Nabal or Kiith Manaan, or some of the other Kiithid we saw in Cataclysm, now you can.) But for the single-player missions, we’re stuck with the default blue, white and grey colour scheme. Which is fine, really, no big complaints, but I just wish I had a choice.

And we’re back to unit caps? Sigh. One of the best innovations of Homeworld: Cataclysm was the concept of Support Units. Though it restricted you to a very small fleet at first, later on gave you a lot of flexibility. You weren’t bound by arbitrary limits of, let’s say, 14 fighter squadrons, 12 corvette squadrons and 20 frigates. If you wanted to focus more on fighters and less on frigates, then you were plum out of luck. 14 squadrons was all you could build, no matter how few frigates were on the field.

A few aspects of the gameplay are somewhat questionable. The taskbar is vastly expanded and shows all commands (moving, attacking, even specialized functions). Was this really necessary, or even useful? How many people will try to click on these icons instead of using the keyboard shortcuts? Also, each mission ends as soon as all objectives are complete. You don’t have the option of hanging around and rebuilding your fleet before moving on. All resources are collected automatically, but as soon as one mission’s done, you’re outa there. I’m not sure if this counts as a positive or negative. On the one hand, it does make the game faster-paced and more challenging, and clearly it’s not such a huge handicap if I still got to the end. On the other hand, it’s a pretty radical and unexpected deviation from the first two games. So, I’m torn. Intellectually I know I shouldn’t mind, but emotionally I don’t like it.

Now, let’s look at the story. To be blunt, it makes no fucking sense. The story in Homeworld was fairly straightforward: the Hiigarans discover that their planet is in fact not their home; genetic analysis proves they are unrelated to most other life around them, and the discovery of an ancient millenia-old starship (containing an ancient starmap that seems to point to a planet of origin) clinches it. The Hiigarans decide to reverse-engineer the old hulk and build a massive mothership, designed to carry a large fraction of their population, and look for home. And immediately run into their old enemies the Taiidani, who exiled them from their homeworld so long ago. The Hiigarans have to fight every step of the way to reclaim their home and heritage, and learn their forgotten history. Simple, yet epic. Me like.

Homeworld: Cataclysm’s story was a bit more twisted, but the setting and initial premises flowed from the events in Homeworld. Fifteen years after reclaiming Hiigara, things aren’t exactly rosy for the former exiles. They face serious political and social problems at home and abroad, including near-constant warfare with some remnants of the Taiidan Empire, who—quite correctly—blame the Hiigarans for killing their rightful emperor and breaking their hold on the galaxy, upsetting thousands of years of political stability all in the name of looking for home. Though to be fair, many if not most Taiidani were quite happy losing the aggressive, oppressive lunatic on the throne. (It’s all in how you look at it, I guess.) A few missions in we’re introduced to the Beast—a biomechanical virus with a strange collective intelligence, which can take over both machines and people—and the main plot gets underway. Yet even here, the story grows logically, step by step. In between fighting Beast-infected fleets and Taiidani Imperial forces, the Kuun-Lan uncovers the origin of the Beast and how to eradicate it, and—shockingly—learn that it has allied with Taiidani Imperials, so full of hate and resentment that they’re willing to jeapordize their future for just one more shot at Hiigara. It’s a paranoid little story, where friend becomes foe, bitter people choose revenge over survival, losing means a fate worse than death, and the good guys are very much alone. All that, and extremely challenging missions. What’s not to love?

Homeworld 2’s story, by contrast, is very much standalone, introduces plot points out of nowhere and—even more frustratingly—contradicts what has gone before with no good reason. The initial cutscene and first couple of missions introduces the Vaygr—essentially an interstellar Mongol horde led by a religious fanatic, who have their eye on the Hiigaran system—and the concept of the Three Far Jumper Cores, ancient hyperspace technology that allow ships to cross vast interstellar distances in the blink of an eye. One such Core is in the possession of the Vaygr. The second was found by the Hiigarans in the derelict ship, and incorporated into the first Mothership for their journey home. A hundred years later a second Mothership has been built, also housing the Second Core.

This is the first problem: how is it that Fleet Command is still alive after a hundred years? Here’s the second problem: Why build a new Mothership? Was it in response to the Vaygr attacks? Third problem: there was never any previous hint that the Mothership’s hyperspace technology was in any way special. In fact, there was good reason to think it wasn’t: we learned in Homeworld that Hiigarans were exiled in a whole convoy of ships, only one of which eventually made planetfall. Were they all carrying Far Jumpers? Why would the Taiidani have let powerless, disgraced exiles get away with this unique technology? Absurd as it seemed, it was necessary to set up the main plot, to wit: a prophecy. It seems the Hiigarans are destined to reunite the Core Trinity. Whoever does this would apparently gain great power, power with which to reshape the galaxy and begin a whole new age. This prophecy is delivered by the Bentusi, an ancient star-faring race who were the Hiigarans’ only allies during their homeward journey, delivering crucial technology and advice. They appear here in a great-looking new ship, reminiscent of their old design but seriously jazzed up. As impressive as the visual was, this again seemed unnecessary.

So off the Hiigarans go, hunting down clues as to the Third Core’s location, all the while trying to stay ahead of the Vaygr who also seek to reunite the Cores. Eventually they go up against the Vaygr leader, destroy his command ship and take his Core. The Core Trinity is reunited inside Sajuuk, an ancient mythical ship created by the Progenitors, the mysterious race that first developed hyperspace technology and built the Cores. (It turns out that the third Core was housed in the Bentusi Mothership.) Under the control of Fleet Command, Sajuuk moves to eliminate the remaining Vaygr forces. The end? Not quite. In a surprise twist, just as Sajuuk and the rest of the good guys confront the Vaygr in orbit around Hiigara, a number of unknown ships appear out of hyperspace and start bombarding Hiigara. Who are they? Not Bentusi, not Hiigaran, not Taiidan, not Progenitor. Were they allied with the Vaygr? Who knows? Where did they come from? My guess is, the writers’ asses.

Now it’s the end. Time for that new era of peace and prosperity.

Okay, I’ll admit. This story had some good moments. The start of Mission 8, when the Hiigaran discovers the Gatekeeper of Sajuuk, a Dreadnought-class ship that had remained dormant for millenia. My thoughts during that cutscene ran more or less as follows: “Holy cow, this looks cool”—as the view swooped in towards the Gatekeeper’s berth—“Oh, shit, it’s still active!”—as lights blinked on on the ship’s surface and it slowly began to move—“Ohmigawd, this music is amazing.” There’s the transfer of Fleet Command to Sajuuk, which I’ve already mentioned. The closing cutscene and credits, nicely grand and cosmic. But those Big Cosmic Moments weren’t connected in any interesting way, and there were some moments that were… not so good, where it felt the writers were deliberately trying to recapture the magic of the first two games. For example, Fleet Command’s startup checklist in Mission 1 (already mentioned), and the Bentusi’s sacrifice in Mission 10 to destroy the Keepers, seemingly indestructible Progenitor ships. This felt too reminiscent of the scene in Homeworld: Cataclysm where another Bentusi ship blew itself up (and most of the attacking fleet) rather than become infected by the Beast.

Don’t let that stop you from enjoying Homeworld 2, though. I still highly recommend it, especially if you’ve enjoyed its predecesors. And if you can ignore the silly plot and enjoy the Big Moments, more power to you. When all’s said and done, Homeworld 2 is a truly superb game.

Comic Book Review: Ghost Rider 2099

This series was part of Marvel 2099, a short-lived line of comics started in the mid-90’s which featured familiar-looking heroes in a gritty, futuristic, extremely cyberpunk setting. They all take place in—yep, you guessed it—the year 2099, and the world is a very different place. The Age of Heroes is long over, and costumed crime fighters only a distant memory. But now a new Age of Heroes is dawning; new legends are being born, in a world sadly lacking in legends.

I also looked at Spiderman 2099, Punisher 2099, Doom 2099 and X-Men 2099, but Ghost Rider 2099 is the only one I followed for more than three or four issues. These series—at least initially—were actually very good. The protagonists could easily have been cheap rehashes of 20th century heroes, or something corny like their great-great-grandchildren. Instead they were highly original, three-dimensional people living in a complex and interesting world.

Ghost Rider 2099 took place in Transverse City, a huge urban sprawl stretching between Chicago and Detroit. Originally designed as the starting point of a transcontinental superhighway, most of Transverse City is a construct ten storeys high and twenty lanes wide. Due to massive unforeseen costs and corporate corruption, the project was never finished. The only section actually completed was the Detroit–Chicago axis, which was nonetheless pressed into service. Since there was no way to even approach the construct’s enormous capacity, various levels and sections were parceled out to secondary developers. Now Transverse City is a nightmare urban jungle with no official central government. The most powerful corporation is D/MONIX (Data Manipulation and Organization Networks), which has sunk its hooks into almost every other company.

Kenshiro “Zero” Cochrane was a cyberhacker—able to connect his nervous system directly to the Net—living on the streets of Transverse City, who got murdered while plugged into cyberspace. Mysterious artificial intelligences living in an area of the Net they called “the Ghostworks” preserved his consciousness and implanted it into a powerful robot. Their plan (as explained to Zero) was to use him as a living symbol to counteract the greed, stupidity and corruption infecting human civilization. “They’d kinked an automated factory complex, made those assemblers dance… They clothed me in silicon and carbon steel, fiber optics and superdense metatasking nanoprocessors, and enough integrated hardware to make payback by the ton. Then they turned me loose.”

When I heard that the Ghost Rider of 2099 would be a technological instead of a supernatural creature, I wasn’t exactly thrilled. Even though I realized the Ghost Rider wouldn’t fit in very well in such a cyberpunkish setting, there was no reason why he shouldn’t last until the 21^st century. After all, what’s a hundred years for a being that’s existed for millenia? But upon reading Ghost Rider 2099 #1, all my doubts vanished. This was an amazing issue! Len Kaminski’s dialog was sharp and vibrant, while the exquisite art of Chris Bachalo and Mark Buckingham truly made readers feel like we were walking the grimy streets of Transverse City.

The central character himself (as befits this setting) is definitely not your average hero. In fact, he’s not even a very nice guy. He’s self-centered, violent, callous towards his girlfriend, and hateful of authority. (Mind you, all the authority figures he’s had to deal with deserve to be hated.) Now that he has the power to express his “rage against the machine,” Transverse City will never be the same again.

Some of the other players in this little drama are: Kylie Gagarin, Zero’s girlfriend (actually, ex-girlfriend); Jimmy Alhazred, “a.k.a. The Dreaded Doctor Neon,” a young cyberhacker low in experience but high in enthusiasm; the cool and professional Anesthesia Jones, an acquaintance of Zero’s with connections to the city’s underworld; Dyson Kellerman, D/MONIX’s holographic CEO; and last but not least, Harrison Cochrane: Zero’s father and a D/MONIX bureaucrat, he was the one who arranged his son’s death.

I swear, apart from the conspicuous absence of four-letter words, I could almost forget I was reading a Marvel comic. This series was just so fierce and iconoclastic, nothing like I’d ever read from that company. Three scenes, in particular, stand out:

In the very first issue, a terrified Zero Cochrane is running from his killers. Delirious from a poison they had shot him with, he happens upon an electronics store window filled with TV’s. All the commercials seem to merge together crazily:

“Two out of three clinical studies agree! Nothing stops the searing pain and itch of existential angst and unfulfilled ambition faster than MEGAVIL! It’s proven two hundred times more effective than the leading brand! Now with activated polydimorphine!”
“—denies charges of widespread corruption and—”
“—embarrassing foot odor? New garden-fresh scented—”
“—officials dismissed as negligible the possible carcinogenic effects of—”
“—hot chewy brownies, anytime!”

Zero goes crazy. Shouting “It’s all lies! All of it! Shut up! SHUT UP!” he picks up a stick and starts smashing the store window. Then the fit stops, and he mumbles, “Oh, man. This… civilization… sucks.” The very last image on the page is a closeup of the sign that used to be in the store window. It says: “EVERYTHING MUST GO.”

(No description can do this scene justice. Even ten years later, I still think it was damn powerful.)

In issue #5, Zero (in his brand-new robotic body) finally confronts his father, who says: “You were nothing but a common gutter criminal… I did what any law-abiding corporate employee would’ve done. I had a duty to society!” Ghost Rider replies: “Screw your society! It’s nothing but a con game rigged so you and the rest of the suits can keep making a profit! The only duty anyone with even a shred of humanity left has is to tear is down!”

And finally, one hilarious little scene. In issue #7, Ghost Rider is forced to visit New York City incognito. While wandering the streets, he is accosted by a religious fanatic who starts his spiel: “Excuse me, citizen. Do you know what causes all the wars and misery in the world?” Replies our hero: “Yeah. Bit-heads like you.” Heh. Who says you don’t learn anything from comic books?

Ghost Rider 2099 was a breathtaking series from the word go, and kept up the pace for nine red-hot issues. But then, in issues #10–11, the writer forced Ghost Rider into a completely pointless slugfest with half a dozen ugly bad guys. I admit it was kind of fun while it lasted, but come on! Zero had better things to do and more interesting enemies to kill. In issue #12, Zero went up against his toughest adversary yet: a vigilante called Coda, “the last word in law enforcement.” The fight ended with Ghost Rider being vaporized by the vigilante.

And that’s when things really went downhill. The next issue was the start of Ghost Rider’s involvement in a huge crossover—spanning all 2099 titles and lasting for several months—entitled “2099 A.D.” In it, Doctor Doom (a villain in the 20th century who has his own series in the 21st) took over the USA. Which wasn’t too hard, since there was no longer any central government or defence force. He then enlisted the aid of Ghost Rider (who, in the meantime, had regenerated himself) to control Transverse City. Zero, of course, refused, but Doom had previously made a bargain with the Ghostwork AI’s. By using access codes they had given him, he rewrote portions of Ghost Rider’s operating system, and so forced him to change his mind. Just like that, Zero Cochrane became a law enforcement officer.

I was sickened and shocked. How dare they do this? What the hell were they thinking? Ghost Rider isn’t a cop. He kills cops! He was the ultimate anti-authoritarian nightmare, and they did the worst thing they could: they took away his rage against the machine, and made him a part of that machine. Once again, Marvel management has shown us they’re not afraid to screw around with a story’s basic themes and characters, destroying its heart and soul. (Yeah, I blame the management. I’ve got a hard time imagining Len Kaminski wanted this to happen. After all, he’s been writing the series since the first issue. Zero Cochrane must be like his very own kill-the-pigs, burn-the-establishment-to-the-ground-and-dance-on-the-ashes baby. Then again, maybe I’m projecting too much of the character on the writer).

Just to add insult to injury, the artwork in issues #13–14 sucked big time, making me pine for Bachalo and Buckingham. Or, really, any half-decent artist.

Issue #14 (April ’95) was the last one I bought, but Ghost Rider 2099 went on for at least a year before being canceled. Before I completely lost interest I could see signs that it might be picking up steam (a new artist, with a very weird but oddly catchy style, and a gradual shift of Zero’s attitudes back to his old ways), but by then it was too little too late. I decided I could never trust the Marvel powers that be not to interfere with good stories and characters, and so swore off picking up any new Marvel titles. Ten years later I’m having a very easy time keeping that resolution.