Dark Horse Presents 1

Does anyone bother reading anthology comics any longer? Dark Horse appear to think so, and credit to them for attempting to bolster what’s never been a particularly popular format, in the US at least.  Most of the names here appeared in the original DHP when it first appeared many years back, giving this comic an aura less of a new series than of a title that’s been temporarily out of action.

As with most anthology titles, the quality of the contributions varies widely. It leads off with Paul Chadwick’s Concrete, a creator and character that at one time had something of a buzz around them, and who subsequently seemed to disappear from view (a quick google reveals Chadwick moved off into the presumably more lucrative world of storyboards). This vignette, centring around a domestic dispute reveals both his strengths and weaknesses. There’s low key dialogue, coupled with a strong sense of narrative. At the same time, he’s not the world’s greatest draughtsman. There’s a clumsiness in the way he draws faces and some physical objects (cars are really not his strong point), and these deficiencies are paired with a somewhat predictable plot. It’s charming, in a low-key way, but it’s not the most inspiring way to start the issue.

This self-negatory quality is something that’s common to most of the contributions. They’re not bad, mostly, but they’re not that outstanding either.

I did enjoy a couple of pieces: Howard Chaykin’s Masked Man’s nothing new for him, indulging as it does his love of petty hoodlums, sharps dressers and sexy women. It’s drawn in the same style you would find in almost any of his comics throughout his career, a strange mixture of scratchy linework and almost airbrushed veneers. This is only the first part of a continuing storyline, and it consequently doesn’t really go anywhere, but Chaykin’s got a sharp ear for dialogue and there’s an obvious intelligence at work (its overweight, slightly cross-eyed central character must be a first) that makes it a pleasure to read. It’s one of the few entries in here I’d be tempted to see though to its conclusion.

The other highlight is Carla Speed McNeil’s Finder. Again, this is only the first part of a larger whole, but the fragment presented here is a real pleasure, with finely observed characterisations, and a firm grasp of structure that hints at a background story that will eventually be fully revealed. McNeil’s art isn’t flashy, but it’s precise and is particularly adept at communicating emotion. These strengths overcome the narrative implausibilities (would you really arrange a job interview for someone sitting in your waiting room wearing a blood stained suit?). This, for me, is by some distance, the highlight of the issue.

That’s the good. Onto the bad, and the mediocre.

Neal Adams’ Blood is what you would expect from him. Hyperreal artwork that these days appears slightly old-fashioned, and a storyline that demonstrates that whatever Adams’ virtues are, he simply cannot write anything without seeing rambling and dogmatic.

There’s a not-terribly-revealing interview with Frank Miller, together with a four page excerpt from his forthcoming Xerxes. The art echoes the stark, heavily contrasted world of Sin City, though unfortunately he seems determined to drag its hard-boiled narrative as well. “Persians. A small party, not more than a hundred men. Here to probe our defences…or perhaps to assassinate our commander. Poor bastards. They don’t stand a chance.”

Michael T Gilbert pitches in with Mister Monster. It’s dedicated to Lee and Kirby, but the most obvious reference here is Kurtzman-era MAD. The loose brushstroked art is somewhat scrappy (deliberately so, I suspect), but there’s enough energy and invention to raise a smile.

Murky World is one of Richard Corben’s jokey fantasy works set in a mock medieval/post holocaust world. Airbrushed in black and white, it features his usual staples of monsters, impossibly large breasted women and men wielding very large, phallic swords. In contrast to his more mainstream art for the likes of Vertigo, this is a definite throwback to the type of work he’d produce during his underground days. There’s nothing wrong with that (I’ve always had a soft spot for Corben’s underground comics), but it shows too that there’s been absolutely no progression of his art over the last thirty years at least.

There’s an excerpt from a forthcoming Star Wars comic which is a) completely out of place with the rest of the anthology and b) which features artwork from Paul Gulacy that is either a demonstration of a surprising deterioration of his artistic abilities or shows him in less than inspired mode – some of the facial features, even allowing that he’s drawing in an exaggerated style, look downright clumsy.

The issue’s wrapped up by David Chelsea’s whimsical Snow Angel which makes a virtue of the naivety of its painted art, but which features a storyline that is gossamer thin. David Campbell contributes a couple of graphically assured one-page gags, the first of which in particular suggests that he has a talent that deserves more space to breathe than has been afforded him here.

Looking at the contributions, they already seem a little stale. With few exceptions, there’s nothing here that’s new or inspiring, and the overwhelming feeling is of a comic stuck in a time warp, as though little has happened in the twenty five years between the title’s inaugural issue, and its revival today. In cranky headmaster mode, I’d give this a solid C overall, but it could, and should, do better.