Wonder Woman 36

IN THE KINGDOM OF THE BLAND…

Following DC’s New 52 reboot, Wonder Woman, in the hands of  Azzarello and Chiang, revealed our heroine, far from being formed of clay and animated by the gods, was the result of a violent union between Zeus and Hippolyta. Further disclosures included the fact that the Amazons, instead of  bearing only female children, in fact raided ships, raped the men aboard, and gave any resulting boy children away to be slaves, raising only the daughters as Amazons.

Wonder Woman is happy.

It was a controversial but hugely successful reinterpretation of the character, closer to a Vertigo-style horror comic than to any previous iteration of Wonder Woman (and complete with its own Poundland John Constantine), but fans of the more traditional Amazon Princess  were generally repulsed, and looked forward to a change of creators in the hope that a character more resembling Wonder Woman – rather than the Xena/Hellblazer hybrid – would emerge.

This new creative team was announced well ahead of time, and has itself been the subject of much controversy.

Wonder Woman is sad.

David Finch is known for being one of the Image-inspired artists whose specialities include a singular lack of varied facial expressions and an affection for the classic Jim Lee “brokeback” pose for women – twisting the spine in such a way that the breasts and the buttocks are available for equal scrutiny by the male reader.

Meredith Finch, the new writer, was best known for… being Mrs. David Finch. Which gives rise inevitably to the realization that DC really, sincerely, does not give a shit who writes Wonder Woman, as long as by employing someone’s missus they can bait the fan-favourite artist onto the book!

As the gossip and speculation mounted, and interviews with the new creators, in which they were increasingly vague and evasive, appeared, it became harder and harder to approach the first new issue with an open mind, and I frankly admit I didn’t manage it. I lowered my expectations.

Unfortunately, I didn’t lower them far enough.

Wonder Woman is angry.

While the Azzarello/Chiang version bore no resemblance to the character of Wonder Woman, it was, nevertheless, a solid, intelligent, well-crafted series, with some genuine surprises along the way.

This is… the narrative equivalent of institutional decor, of hotel room landscapes, of elevator music. It’s porridge. It’s beige.

The dialogue is flat and insipid, occasionally rising to the heights of outright embarrassing (you’re never going to live down ‘vegetative injustice’, pet, no matter how long you live…), delivering exposition in indigestible clots.

The artwork is by the numbers cheesecake, with ‘brokebackery’ aplenty, as our heroine contorts herself into poses reminiscent of the days of Deodato (before the latter learned how to actually draw). Things liven up a bit when Swamp Thing pokes his mossy head in for a few pages, and you get the feeling Finch is getting a bit keen, but generally, his ennui overlays everything. Facial expressions run the gamut from ‘mouth open’ to ‘mouth closed’. No subtlety, no nuance, no connection between characters even when they’re in the same panel.

Wonder Woman has read this issue, and slipped into a state of Vegetative Injustice.

The combination of the awkward writing and lacklustre art is is so soporific that… you know, it’s not even interesting enough to be offensive. It simply instils a sense of quiet, hopeless despair.

Sigh. Maybe on the next reboot? After all, Wonder Woman’s 75th Anniversary is coming up, and already scholars and academics are trotting out histories of the character. Interest in Wonder Woman is flourishing again.

Just a shame none of it seems to be at DC.