aalgar.com

More of the same — just as good, if not better, than the first collection of Alan Moore’s run on Supreme. This volume follows the exploits of “the Sprite Supreme” (Supreme’s version of Mr. Mxytptlk), a cybernetic reincarnation of Supreme’s girlfriend, an alternate “south won the Civil War” Supreme and more, culminating in an incredibly touching (yet unapologetically silly) encounter with the giant floating head of The Master himself, the late Jack Kirby. Moore cements his expertise of the entirety of comic superhero history here, once again re-molding the familiar into something new and exciting.

Yeah, I’m on an Alan Moore kick of late. Can you blame me? The guy’s just a friggin’ genius.

This anthology contains quite a few gems, from a Swamp Thing/Superman crossover to stories from long-forgotten books like Vigilante and The Omega Men. My personal favorites were his three Green Lantern tales, which draw on the vast tapestry of continuity while sewing in an extra thread or two. Not much more to say, really: I bought this book expecting some vintage Alan Moore work with DC Comics, and I wasn’t disappointed.

There’s absolutely no way they’re making a faithful movie version of this. For starters, Alan Quatermain (played by Sean Connery) is an opium fiend, and that kind of stuff just wouldn’t fly in a PG-13 summer movie marketed to children. Also, the Invisible Man rapes schoolgirls. Yeah, no chance.

I had a bit of trouble getting into this at first, only because period pieces are a tough sell to me. But once I got into the basic groove and figured out what he was trying to do, it was just as great as anything else Alan Moore’s done. Basically, he imagines the first superhero team, assembled from the fantastic literary characters of the late 1800s: Quatermain and the Invisible Man, Dracula victim Mina Harker (whose identity I didn’t even realize because she goes by another name), Dr. Jekyll and Captain Nemo. It’s a fun ride with lots of references to other contemporary works, not to mention more than a few plot twists based around the same. Maybe I just shouldn’t even see the movie — I enjoyed the comic and I probably should just leave it at that.

Books like this prove why Alan Moore is hailed as the greatest writer working in the medium today. A complete departure from the serious brooding of Watchmen or the nostalgic analysis of Tom Strong, Top 10 plays out like a twisted cop show set in a world where everyone has super powers. In many ways, the narrative resembles the format of one of the better ensemble dramas on TV — about a dozen characters share the spotlight, and are pulled together and split apart among running plotlines of varying sizes. Some plots play out in a single issue, while others stretch across the entirety of Top 10’s twelve issues (collected in two trade paperbacks).

But plot structure is about the only thing that these books owe to television. Beyond that, they’re pure comic books, and take full advantage of everything comics has to offer. In populating an entire city with beings of superior strength and ability, Moore takes obvious glee in the sheer absurdity of the notion. As a result, Top 10 is replete with humor, both subtle and obvious. Whether it’s the white trash Godzilla monster (sporting a “no fat chicks” t-shirt and vomitting on the poor onlookers below) who attacks the precinct to appeal for the release of his son, the cop with the body of a dog (who hides his characteristic color-blindness in order to ogle a cleverly disguised nude colleague) or the epic background battle between super-powered cats and mice (resulting in a “secret crossover crisis war” that alters the timeline, forcing the exterminator to be stiffed his fee), Moore finds fascinating new ways to recombine over 50 years of familiar comic book elements. And I love it.

Sometimes arrogant (though few can deny that Moore has actually earned the right), this book nevertheless provides indespensible tips on writing for comics, from the man who some say singlehandedly transformed it into a respected medium. Since I began dabbling in comic writing, I’ve lamented the fact that there’s so little in the way of instructive literature on the subject. This book now satisfies that complaint.

Eh. Not bad, but I doubt I’ll be buying book 2. Ruse follows the adventures of a Sherlock Holmes-ish detective and his female partner around the turn of the 20th century. Great dialogue, decent plotting, but really nothing remarkable enough to draw me back in. And then there’s this whole unexplained supernatural aspect that just doesn’t fit with the rest of it… I don’t mind a little mystery, but if I don’t even get a clue after 8 issues, I’m probably not sticking around beyond that.

I know I tend to indulge in hyperbole quite a bit, but I can honestly say that this is the funniest thing I have read in a long time. I was literally gasping for air, I was laughing so hard. And I don’t usually laugh out loud — I’m more often one of those people who says “hm, that’s amusing” and continues on with his business. But this… this is classic.

Twisted Toyfare Theater takes cheap action figures manufactured by Mego in the late 1970s and puts them in ridiculous comic book stories. Most of the characters are Marvel: there’s the wisecracking Spiderman, the hilariously stupid Hulk, the pompously oblivious Thor, the immaturely fratboyish Thing and others, but occasionally other Mego characters slip into the mix. And that makes it even funnier, because seeing Boss Hogg, Fonzie and the guys from C.H.I.P.S. interacting with your favorite superheroes… well, if I have to explain why that’s funny, you probably wouldn’t get it. And that’s pretty much the bottom line on these things: either you’ll get it or you won’t. I did, and I’m a much better man for it.

At first, I believed Supreme to be Alan Moore’s proto-Tom Strong: an archetypical comic book strong man with half a century of untold backstory. But what he’s done with that book (offshoots of which are still currently being printed) and what he did with this Superman knockoff in the mid-to-late-90s are very different indeed.

Supreme is, essentially, the entire history of Superman and his contemporaries, told in a unique-yet-reverent manner. By using a character that evokes the original, rather than the original himself (which one doubts DC would have any problems handing over to a writer of such stature), Moore is able to throw in bizarre twists that might not work in an established continuity.

For instance, in the first issue (a good 50 issues into the series, but Moore’s first), Supreme is greeted by a gaggle of “alternate” Supremes that escort him to a world populated entirely by discarded and unused variants on the character. Supreme, for reasons not understood to each of them, experiences periodical “restarts,” resulting in a clean slate for the new guy, and a glorious retirement home for the previous versions. In other words, this is the place that bad ideas go when they die. I had trouble with the concept at first, and I’m certain I’m not doing it justice with this explanation, but trust me: it’s actually pretty cool. Supreme returns to his life, realizing that he has large gaps in his memory (backstory) that demand being filled in.

Subsequent chapters find him restoring order to his current surroundings, with frequent flashes back to his “Golden Age” and “Silver Age” adventures. He recovers his Supergirl, his Krypto the Wonder Dog and his Justice League, while also maintaining his nerdish alter-ego, who just happens to write comic books for a living.

In all, Supreme is a celebration of the superhero comic. Perhaps most fantastic of all is Moore’s ability to cover this familiar ground (trodden not only by him, but also by Kurt Busiek’s Astro City and others) in a way that comes across as unique and entertaining. But then, I’ve yet to find anything written by Mr. Moore that accomplishes any less.

I never knew there was a sequel to Emerald Dawn — the book I’ve always thought of as the definitive Green Lantern story. (I still hate that Kyle kid… I don’t care what anyone says.)

ED2 picks up where the first one left off, with Hal Jordan serving a jail sentence for drunk driving, while still carrying the burden of training to be earth’s Green Lantern. Through the course of the story, we learn how Sinestro — the persistent enemy of the Green Lantern Corps — fell from his position as top galactic cop, while Hal struggles to earn the qualities that would eventually make him the successor to that title.

All in all, a fun tale of the sort that you just don’t see in comics anymore, written in that uncertain crossroads period when some of the innocent polish had worn off, but not every character had become a grim, dysfunctional vigilante just yet. I guess I’m showing my age now.

This was a pretty cool idea on Kevin Smith’s part — showing us exactly what happened to his highly popular characters, Jay and Silent Bob from the moment they exited the film Chasing Amy till the moment they entered Dogma (the next movie in the 5-film “Jersey Trilogy”). And by itself, it serves as a great companion piece to both movies, and essential reading for any Smith fan.

The problem is, much of this material was recycled in the movie Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, and, as such, I felt a little cheated. Recycling material is something a part-time writer like me does — not a pro like The Bard of Jersey. Shame on you, Kevin. If you weren’t such a consistently entertaining artist, I might seek to punish you in some irrelevant, meager way. Instead, I’ll just bitch a little. You took $12.95 of my money and about an hour of my time, and all I got were about 50 good laughs.

Okay, I’ll shut up now.