HOT PRESS 9/18/24: Nü-Crow, Oni's Skin Police, and AHOY's latest funny book
Bill Skarsgård’s Crow movie is all squawk, and this week’s comics run the gamut from guh to great.
Braving the gauntlet of tentpole events, off-the-radar releases, and a non-stop avalanche of movies, TV, comics, and other stuff that’s bad for you is DoomRocket's HOT PRESS. This week: Comparing The Crow 2024 to The Crow 1994 (a fool’s errand!) and reviewing Skin Police #1 & Babs #2.
Hello! This is going to be a longer HOT PRESS than usual. Seems I’ve worked up quite a lot of energy/opinions in the year since I regularly published these newsletters, so I’m going with the flow. Letting the words run my fingers, let’s say. I’m just really excited to finally have DoomRocket up and running on Substack, something I’ve been wanting to do for a while but never quite had the time for. (Subscribe now!) Now that it’s done, I’m back in Writing City, and I wanna be its Sheriff. So, yes, longer HOT PRESS this week. I hope you like words!
Say what you will about Alex Proyas's The Crow (I often do), but it never bogged itself down with details. The first sequence in the 1994 film follows the brutalization of Shelly (Sofia Shinas) and Eric Draven (Brandon Lee) — Eric's dead, Shelly's dying. We gather through the score and Proyas's close-ups of agonized faces that this outcome is both sad and unfair. A little later, we see they've been buried next to each other, a sweet touch. But then comes the weirdest goddamned thing: a crow pecks at Eric's grave, and suddenly, he rises from the earth, a goth zombie hellbent on retribution. That's all we got for set-up, and that was all we needed. Okay, some plucky teenager quickly explains the crow's significance to us, but still: Spooky, tragic, strange, and concise. That's The Crow.
The people who made 2024's The Crow seem to believe this narrative tidiness is a flaw. Who were Shelly (FKA Twigs) and Eric (Bill Skarsgård) before they died? they ask. They have other questions: How did they meet? What was Eric like when he was a kid? What kind of demons did he and Shelly carry around before someone put the kibosh on them? This kind of life-story literalism is tedious, in the way so many comic adaptations like 2024's The Crow are tedious. The origin movie is often a dud; that's why Matt Reeves wisely tossed out Bruce Wayne's Year One for Two in The Batman. We get no such wisdom from Rupert Sanders' Crow re-do. Forty minutes in, it's barely accomplished what the original did in five. A dire situation.
Time is an issue for the overlong nü-Crow, but so is mood. Sanders' new movie aims for a corresponding edginess to the original that feels unobtainable compared to the monstrous gothic fantasy of Proyas's film. The setting is some unnamed metro area meant to have a European old-world aesthetic lurking under its generic cityscape (this was shot in Prague and Munich), a distant yelp from O'Barr's fictionalized Detroit. And that Proyas's Detroit is constantly on fire only makes the world Sanders has conjured look even emptier and meaningless by comparison. Crow '94 was populated by character actor ringers like Michael Wincott and David Patrick Kelly, who seasoned Detroit's many lost souls with both menace and pathos, which makes Crow '24 feel that much more barren, in both setting and cast.
I can't stress how boring it is to watch New Eric go on his sad-boy killing spree. The people he's gunning for are all anonymous drones working under a corporate sophisticate (Danny Huston, for some reason). Not one player in this film has a distinctive personality. They don't show enmity for their new hated enemy or disdain for his strange predicament. They don't even seem especially rattled that the guy they killed in the previous act has just returned from the dead; in one scene, a henchman turns to Eric, who's got the drop on him, and says "I killed you" with the same serenity one might have when stating that they're about to take a nap.
That's not to say the violence here isn't just as brutal or gross as the original (as much as the latest computer-generated gore effects can be gross, anyway). But there's nothing behind it, no rage-inducing scumbag to be dealt with, nothing but Eric's pedestrian requirement to right a wrong. (There's an additional supernatural element to New Eric's journey, but the less said about that...) So Sanders overcompensates his lack of visceral charge with extreme bloodshed that ought to kick up just enough dust to obscure how uninventive and unengaging the drama actually is. (More on that in a moment.)
Back to Sanders' literalism. It blunts everything. The violence of Shelly's death in Proyas's film was implied, never shown, yet it lent a distressing blackness to Eric's vengeance quest and raised tricky questions about the nature of retributive justice. The couple's love for each other is also implied, suggested largely through snapshot flashbacks; we had to fill in the details of their lives ourselves. Our imaginations contributed much to '94 Crow's hallucinatory/operatic aspects, which explains why people are so protective of that film — our emotional investment in the film creates an intimacy to its cult status. Imagination need not apply in '24 Crow. Sanders and his screenwriters, Zach Baylin and William Schneider, lay everything out for us. Watching their movie, you'll never have to imply, think, or feel a single damn thing if you don't want to.
Now, a scene I loved in The Crow 2024 that almost made me forgive every one of its shortcomings. I thoroughly enjoyed the third-act opera fight sequence, where Eric plows through a bunch of tuxedoed goons armed with a katana for no serious reason other than it accomplishes some excellent kills. The orchestral and stage performances are timed to coincide with the fight's many bursts of gunfire, so as not to disturb the audience in the adjacent theater. There's a liveliness and silliness to the sequence that is desperately missing from most of the film, like another bit where Eric uses a corpse's mouth for an ashtray while he's getting ready to be The Crow, which I also found wonderful in its absurdity. If you can't emulate greatness, don't even try; that's what I say. Sanders' version of The Crow tries too hard until it suddenly doesn't.
Skin Police #1
Oni Press / $4.99
Written by Jordan Thomas.
Art by Daniel Gete.
Colors by Jason Wordie.
Letters by Jeff Powell.
As Philip K. Dick tributes go, Skin Police is adequate. Think a paranoid mystery that fuses Minority Report and Do Androids Dream of Electronic Sheep? with a healthy dollop of Mega-City One societal unrest. A future-set tale where our perennial human crises remain despite all the flying cars and advanced medical science. "With the way the world is, we've all got reasons to be pretty anxious," one character says, looking in the reader's direction. Mmm. Deep. As a people, we'll just never be able to get ourselves sorted out, will we?
Stories that put a genre spin on modern ennui are in no short supply, and just as many of them handle the material with this level of subtlety. Sometimes, they're a bit more trashy and fun, which balances out the heavy-handedness. And the title of Oni Press's latest miniseries — Skin Police! Amazing — certainly suggests something lurid and provocative. Nope. Here's a sturdy "cops versus [insert oppressed people]" yarn with the basic archetypes — the iron-jawed veteran cop, the fresh-faced rookie, their misunderstood quarry — that diligently works the expected tropes to general satisfaction. I'm yawning. Somewhere, Judge Dredd frowns.
That's because this debut issue, from screenwriter Jordan Thomas and Uber artist Daniel Gete, is busy getting all the exposition out of the way instead of making us give a rip about its characters. When we put an issue down and know far more about the rules of the world than anybody living in it, that's a problem. For instance, there's a bit where that veteran cop, Brisson Eckis (perplexing moniker, that), spends his first few pages with rookie Sheen Corfer (the names!) explaining how the laws and procedures concerning clones work. (Wouldn't Sheen know all that? She's fresh from the academy!) This diligence might work for the pedants, but it's bad news for thrill-seeking readers.
Where's that subtle wit that endears us to these kinds of people? What is it about this mentor-mentee situation that's captivating enough for us to care about the inevitable rift that will tear them apart? (Because you know that's coming.) The issues ahead will likely address all of this. I wish I was enthralled enough to wait around a full month to read it.
The set-up isn't bad. We're made perfectly aware that everyone in the future is paranoid, and with good reason: cloning has been outlawed, but clones still walk among us, and there's something about their genetic makeup that causes them to wreak havoc at a second's notice. We see mothers inform on their daughters, and fathers protect their families from the genetic police with their lives, all out of fear. Desperate times. And the cops, represented by Eckis, aren't helping the situation much, what with their indiscriminate approach to due process — heavy-duty commentary, I'm sure, but at least it wrings out a bloody action sequence.
So far, Skin Police is a dry read. It looks pretty good, at least. Gete's panels are dense with details and establish the world and its many dramas more effectively than a hundred word balloons ever could. I caught myself gawking at the cityscapes, the way they stretch up and up, and thought about the work Gete put into getting each line down and right. The attention paid to a patch of grass or the contents of a backpack. Lots of love went into the artwork, which makes a strong case for more fascinated readers than I to invest in issue #2.
Gete also gets action. All the panels on the page aren't just for show; he knows how to construct a Big Action Moment when the fur finally flies. Run, leap, reaction shot, impact. Three panels and a page-turn. Engaging sequentials; I like it. And the colors! Vivid flats from Jason Wordie spare us the moody gradience we're already getting from the dialogue. There's a Thargian prog energy in the visuals that elevate the story's basic sci-fi trappings and heavy-handed premise. Just enough. But I liked looking at Skin Police #1 more than reading it, and I've decided that I've read enough.
5 / 10
Skin Police #1 hits stores on October 2. To snag a copy, click this. Issue #2 hits on November 6.
Babs #2
AHOY Comics / $3.99
Written by Garth Ennis.
Art by Jacen Burrows.
Colors by Andy Troy and Lee Loughridge.
Letters by Rob Steen.
To contrast the prior comic review, I couldn't wait to read issue #2 of Babs. AHOY has been one of my favorite publishers since they first straggled into the scene in 2018. They're responsible for some of the funniest comics I've read since, well, however old I was in 2018. It's not hyperbole to say Babs might be the funniest they've published yet.
When I read Babs #1, it made me laugh weird. I was cackling — chortling, really — to the degree my girlfriend got off the couch next to me and left the room. I don't blame her; it's rare, truly rare, for a comic to make me laugh out loud. (And also, I have a bad laugh. It's a harsh "hah!" followed by a shoulders-shaking belly laugh. It's unpleasant.) Delivery is everything, and few understand comic delivery on the sequential page quite like Garth Ennis. His scripts have a sense of timing to them that is hard to mistake or screw up, yet only a handful of the artists he's ever worked with can make his jokes sing.
Jacen Burrows is one such artist. No wonder they work so well together; they've been at it since their Avatar days in the early Aughts. (303, Crossed, most recently The Punisher: Get Fury, another series I'd happily recommend.) Burrows has a subtle quality to his figure work; whether it's in service of comedy or action, he knows that placement and geography are everything. But expression, ah! Emotive faces are crucial to selling a good Ennis joke, and Burrows nails it every time. His emotes aren't broad or mugging but subtle, shifting from panel to panel as needed until it's time to bring the latest joke home. Not easy to pull off in a barbarian/fantasy yarn like Babs.
Reaction shots are priceless. Like in issue #2, where Mork the Orc, a local Chad dork with a grudge against our raven-haired barbarian lead, suffers his latest indignity. He believes that the new white knight in town has arrived to trounce "strumpets" like Babs and other undesirables (such as hobbits, and Burrows can't resist the obvious Rankin/Bass joke), a quest that Mork is all about — to make the realm great again, say — only to discover the knight can't stand Mork's presence. He saunters over to the knight and his party, and one of his cronies pulls a dagger on him. Mork's foul grin turns into a grimace. He's sweating bullets, his tongue hangs out of his head. He thought the knight was like him! Why is there a blade at his throat? Great stuff.
It's a character beat that feels small but contributes quite a bit to the story Ennis and Burrows want to tell. Mork's a shit; his being made miserable is a great recurring joke. Yet his face in this scene tells us he feels both terrified and bewildered that the dangerous new dude in town doesn't want him — Mork! — to be anywhere near smelling distance. It's the red wine jus on the filet mignon. The mustard on the hot dog. Mork's agonized expression (from profile, yet!) not only makes the joke land; it says much about his shitty character, his hypocrisy, and obliviousness, which will make his seemingly inevitable comeuppance against Babs so satisfying should his story play out that way.
That kind of character work makes me want to keep reading. Story crafting that both propels the narrative and makes the characters in it feel like people. Interesting. And before I wrap this up without mentioning her, it should be said Babs is also a terrific character. There's a bit in issue #2 where she encounters a wandering horde of skeleton warriors who have lost their way on the road. She helps them find their footing, navigating the situation like you would help an elderly couple locate the correct bus route. It's a sweet moment that I'm sure will have ramifications of some sort in future issues, but in the moment? Babs is just being Babs — a good-hearted warrior babe who knows when to keep her sword sheathed and offer an open hand. Babs is good, and so is her book.
8 / 10
Babs #2 is in stores now. To snag a copy, click this. Issue #3 hits on October 23.
That's all I got for this week. Read any good comics lately? See any movies? Drop your new favorites, recommendations, and questions (any at all!) in the comments or The Chat. Or, heck, just shoot me a line: jarrod@doomrocket.com.