Convergence #0 is definitely a low point for DC Comics. I guess the silver lining for the publisher and this event is that the only way to go from here is up.

I'm confused as to why this latest Witchblade mini-series is being published by Dynamite Entertainment rather than being released as it usually is under the Image Comics banner, but I thought perhaps that might serve as a sign that the storytelling might improve. Another such cue was the fact that this is co-written by Leah Moore, daughter of comics legend Alan Moore. Unfortunately, what lies inside is what I've come to expect from this Top Cow property. The creators offer up a nonsensical plot and a heaping helping of gratuitous T&A. Ass shots, cleavage and completely unnecessary nudity make for some ridiculous visuals throughout the issue, but even more frustrating is the complete lack of logic in the plotting. It's never explained why two NYPD detectives are partnered for a particular murder case, and there's no explanation as to the direction of the investigation and the Witchblade's psychic reactions to a mysterious figure. This script is almost unintelligible at times, and the wr

One has to give Marz credit, though, for humanizing the cosmic circumstances with the narration. Of course, Marz created Kyle Rayner as an everyman kind of hero, so it makes sense that he'd opt to explore the story through his eyes. I like that amid the dimension-hopping insanity, Kyle dwells on his history with Donna and his jealousy regarding Jason's bad-boy flirtations with her. Still, those small touches of characterization are far from enough to distract from the book's many shortcomings.

On the final page of the story, featuring a full splash image of the aftermath of the title character's murderous tendencies, across the top is emblazoned "DC Comics Proudly Presents Deathstroke." The publisher shouldn't be so proud of this effort.

Unfortunately, much of the violence is depicted directly; little unfolds off-panel. Rodney Buchemi's traditional comic art style serves as an ever-present reminder that the kind of visceral violence here just doesn't belong. His artwork is actually clear and effective, and on a different story, I suspect I'd enjoy it a lot more. But with this comic book, after the first instance of gratuitous gore, I dreaded what I'd see next. There's a disconnect between the brutality in the plot and the old-school charm of the line art. There's also a quality in Buchemi's work here that put me in mind of the style of Rags Morales' art.

You'd be hard pressed to find a bigger fan of Gail Simone's work, and despite my reaction to this comic book, I remain a big fan. This comic just doesn't read like a Simone script, and given the simplicity of the core concept, I don't see why Wildstorm wanted to start over from scratch. The benefit of telling stories featuring teen characters is that the reader gets to see them grow up, and now any character development that might have transpired before seems to be lost.

Tom Derenick has proven himself to be a solid performer for DC in a pinch, but he boasts a generic super-hero style that just doesn't work with the over-the-top violence of the Suicide Squad. The property calls for an edgier, darker look, and it's not to be found here. It seems pretty clear Derenick was called to pinch-hit for or even replace Jeremy Roberts, who was the artist on the first issue. Bringing in a fill-in penciller on the second issue isn't a good sign, and neither is the use of four different inkers to get the art produced. The only positive things I can say about the visuals for this book are the slick new Rocket Red designs and ample proof that Black Manta's impossible design stands out as being quite cool no matter what context it appears in or what artist renders it.

There was a time when I read the solicitations from major publishers closely every month as soon as they were released as part of my quest to find new and entertaining comics to read. I've since scaled that back a bit, preferring to find some surprises among the weekly releases at my local comic-book store. I need to resume my research, as a couple of duds have made their ways in among the surprises. Prototype is one such dud. I had no idea what this comic book was about when I saw it on the shelf last week, but with Jimmy Palmiotti, Justin Gray and Darick Robertson listed in the creative credits, I figured it would be a solid effort at the very least. I was dead wrong. Had I read the solicitation copy, I would have found this sentence: "In anticipation of the upcoming multiplatform Activision video game comes the hyperkinetic world of Prototype!" A video-game adaptation for a video game that hasn't even been released yet? I would have passed on this even if Jack Kirby had come back fr

The chauvinism and misogyny in which this script is immersed are shocking and absolutely shameful.

What's most frustrating about this issue is how little the script tells the reader about what's going on. Several characters aren't even named, even though they're the focus of a scene or two. We don't know what N.O.W.H.E.R.E. is. There's no exposition to explain why Thunder and Lightning, purported siblings, look nothing alike. We don't know what served as the catalyst for the escape attempt. We don't know what's driving Fairchild. We're not told why these characters are called "ravagers" in the first place. I recognize many of these answers are likely included in recent issues of Teen Titans and other comics, but the fact of the matter is this is a first issue. Mackie has failed to write it as such, though, ignoring the fact that a debut issue is most definitely going to be many readers' first.

The most obvious indication this comic book has some problems is the glut of credits that detail which artists were involved in crafting it and how. About half of the issue was laid out by Zander Cannon, with pencils and inks by others, and the other half of the issue was illustrated by Patrick Zircher. It creates the distinct impression this first issue was rushed into production. The art throughout the issue is serviceable but generally uninteresting. I'm surprised DC Editorial didn't tap an artist or artists with a darker, more fluid style. The plot is made up of monsters and the supernatural, so the more realistic bent of the line art seems like an odd choice. Furthermore, the digital colors by Hi-Fi are clearly more in the traditional, bright super-hero vein, but darker, eerier tones would have served the story and characters far better.

Rousseau's style manages to shine through despite the fact that he didn't come up with the character designs (those are attributed to Dean Yeagle, who also handles the cover artwork). He maintains an appropriately bright and comedic tone; nothing in this book is to be taken seriously, and nothing looks serious, thankfully. Mind you, if Rousseau ever uses a compass when illustration, it got quite the workout on this project, thanks to the repetitive, balloon-influenced character designs for the women. It's kind of hard to stir up any enthusiasm for the artwork when it's used to bring such boorish material to life. Still, I have to admit that the variety of settings and the goofy, cartoony manner in which some are depicted offered fleeting glimmers of fun in an otherwise trying reading experience.

Millars diverting romp through an alternate, dystopian vision of the Marvel Universe shifts gears significantly with its conclusion, much to my disappointment. He tosses fun out of the window and instead challenges his artist to top himself from page to page in terms of sheer gore and gruesomeness.

The point of this story - which is made in the third act, but in the form of the story's title at the bottom of the cover - is second chances. Peter David explores Simon Williams as a criminal who was able to reform and turn his life around, and he's basically dared to try the same with a savage killer. In order for the story to work, David and the readers pretty much have to ignore the entire legal system and the title character's complete lack of any kind of psychological or psychiatric training. Though the script has its comedic moments, David doesn't seem to be playing the core premise for laughs, so I'm at a loss as to how this plot could hope to suspend the audience's disbelief.

Dollar Bill was always meant as a joke, and his death, brought about by the unwieldy nature of a cape, reinforces that concept. He was intended as an indictment of corporate America and as an example of why super-heroes as a real concept don't really work. Here, Wein tries to humanize the joke, but the result is a one-dimensional character with little in the way of charisma or appeal. And in the process, the joke is lost. As the original editor on Watchmen, I would have expected him to get and appreciate the joke, but in retelling it on his own, he gets it completely wrong.

Also disappointing is the fact the story isn't sexy. There's plenty of sexuality to be found, but it's not titillating at all. Mind you, Chaykin clearly doesn't intend it as such. The sex depicted is bizarre and violent and unsettling. He even strays into what can only be described as his take on hentai tentacle porn. But the sex (if one can call it that) is ugly and uncomfortable at all times. Chaykin's artwork is distinct and compelling. he brings the historical settings to life with seeming ease with detailed architecture and convincing images of faded fashions. Still, the strengths to be found in the artwork can't overcome the confusing nature of the storytelling. Maybe the original Black Kiss is required reading in order to appreciate this new work, which would be an unfortunate and ill-advised creative choice.

Alan Spinney's art, upon a superficial glance, seems to have some sense of anatomy, but it doesn't quite get the figures just right. Look at the cover image. The protagonist, pursued or peeped by an impossible creature, seems to lack ears, and her hair, while tousled in the front, seems rigid on the sides. Spinney's backgrounds are crude, and his slightly better figures don't seem to belong in that flat world behind them. The colors are intriguing, in that bright, primary colors are reserved for the odd candy people who play a role, while muted tones are used for the stereotypically morose goth kids. I appreciate the passion, determination and resources that have to go into a personal project such as this one, but the Spinneys definitely have to hone their craft before they're ready for a wider audience.

This relaunch of Catwoman is about making a quick, dirty buck, not about diversifying the DC brand or expanding the audience.

Gilbert Hernandez's artwork suits the thoroughly campy and simple tone of the premise, I suppose, but given my disinterest in the plot and characters, there was little chance he'd hold my attention with the visuals. His depiction of the warrior woman at the end of the issue reminded me of the style of Fred Hembeck, which made for a jarring contrast with Hernandez's usual style. His vision of the future is disappointing as well. Hernandez offers a vision of the future from 40 years ago. I would imagine that was his intent, but it feels as though his depiction of the setting lacks imagination.

Just as the art disappointed as compared to what we got in the first issue, so did the writing. The focus on the first issue was on faith and religion, how the former offers hope and clarity, while the latter can lead to judgment and hatred. But this concluding issue abandons those notions, and in their place are a typical vampire showdown and Diana's hand-wringing over killing monsters we know are already dead. While the ending boasts more of a bummer tone than I expected and I appreciated the (albeit unexplained) twist when it came to the heroine's ally, I ultimately was left scratching my head, wondering what the point of it all was. On top of that, early in the story, the vampiric Joker notes he can recover from a staking and can only truly be destroying through decapitation, and then it doesn't happen. It's like there was a gun on the wall and no one ever fired it.

This is the sort of fare that was typical of Image Comics in the 1990s, and we still see a lot more like it these days. I'm actually surprised this wasn't produced by Image's Top Cow Productions arm, since it's the sort of fare for which it's well known. Of course, the artwork doesn't really fit in with that Top Cow house style. It's much more reminiscent of Paul (War of Kings) Pelletier's style. Mind you, the overall tone of the story and the Kewl, sex-bomb heroine is a poor fit for the artist's approach here.

In a smart move (from a marketing perspective), Buccellato's plot links to the highly popular "Zero Year" storyline from Scott Snyder and Greg Capullo's Batman, but there are a number of elements in the story that are irksome. The Calendar Man just hasn't been established as enough of a legitimate threat for the reader to accept him as the boss of Arkham in the future. Furthermore, the twist is telegraphed incredibly early in the script as the writer plays around with pronouns to keep the secret. And finally, the story ends essentially with the Batman essentially condemning a man to death - a definite no-no in the world of the Dark Knight.

The high-concept of Quantum Leap meets Prison Break boasts a lot of potential, but why the prison has been displaced in time and how the prisoner bracelets link them to one another and a specific time period aren't at all clear. Furthermore, there's no clear explanation as to why the time-jumping characters are headed to specific moments in history. Sure, it's not real, but there ought to be a logic to the fictional premise. Ultimately, the foundational plot device is completely overwhelmed by the lack of rules in the story and the misguided approach to the characterization.

I've enjoyed Humberto Ramos's art in the past, and his bombastic, exaggerated style always makes for dynamic action storytelling in the medium. But overall, I found the designs for just about all of the characters to be distracting and, like the story, misguided. Hipster Colossus? All of the female heroines are painfully objectified with their designs. It's hard to take Midriff Storm seriously, and Magik's barely-clothed look has been a disappointment for some time. Normally, a disappointing comic-reading experience just leaves me feeling flat, but this one made me wince more than once.

DC has tinkered and overhauled the Challengers of the Unknown concept time and time again in the past couple of decades, and nothing seems to really stick. In that respect, revisiting the characters and concept for only a three-part story arc in this series was probably the right way to go. It doesn't seem as though the Challengers can really sustain an ongoing title anymore, and I definitely don't see this latest attempt as being worthy of it anyway.

Of course, none of that is sufficient to hold my interest or win me over. To be honest, I don't have a problem with a character - especially a villain - being depicted as a user. I can accept a protagonist with deep flaws and a poor track record in life. I don't even need him to be striving to do good or to leave his corrupt ways behind him. But I need something that humanizes him. Sturges had a lot of potential to work with here, but there's not even a glimmer of humanity to the Human Flame. There's no remorse, no regret, no self-hatred. At the same time, he's clearly not a psychopath, just a greedy, small-minded man who never thinks beyond himself.

Sally Thompson's artwork boasts an initial appeal. At first, there's a softness to the title character's features, and Thompson's style at first reminded me of Takeshi Miyazawa's cute, Amerimanga artwork. But as the story progressed, the quality of the linework seemed to deteriorate. By the end of the book, it looks as though the art was inked using a finger rather than a fine brush or nib. The design for the heroine's costume is gratuitous in nature, but it's obvious Johnson's property is about exploring (or poking fun at) a bookish kind of sexuality that's popular in geek culture. Geek-Girl strikes me as an amateur effort that would benefit from some editing guidance and more artistic experience.

This delivers exactly what the title promises, so there's no shortage of ample cleavage and thrusting buttocks to be found in these pages. What the book could use more of, mind you, is accessible writing.

The one aspect of the story I found interesting was Gates' decision to link Dawn Granger to Hank Hall's past, to a time before they met and before they became super-hero partners. That's a compelling hook, and it promises a much more interesting interpersonal conflict than the bickering and nitpicking that passes for friction in the first act of the book. Still, that's not nearly enough to get me interested in this series on an ongoing basis.

Given the debut of this new show, DC has been reprinting some of its more recent Human Target comics, namely, those written by Peter Milligan. He brought an interesting psychological component to the property during its time as a Vertigo property. He portrayed Chance as a man lacking identity who easily lost himself in the roles he played as part of his job. It brought an edgier and thought-provoking quality to the property as well as the potential to turn every story into a two-faceted character study (of Chance himself and of the person he impersonated). It's a shame there wasn't something of that brainier approach in this TV show. Of course, the disconnect between the premises in these two different media probably won't help DC move many books either.

Save for the death of a rarely-seen supporting character in this issue, nothing seems to have changed since the first issue of the series. Readers will no doubt wonder what the point of the exercise was. I'd have to say the answer is marketing when it should have been storytelling.

Neil Edwards boasts a photorealistic style that makes this wide array of colorful characters seem genuine, but it doesn't look particularly fun. Super-hero action, especially in deep space with aliens, should be more about exaggeration and energy. The linework looks a little rough at times, giving it s rushed look, and the use of two inkers on the issue reinforces that impression somewhat. The art isn't poor, per se; it just doesn't seem like the right fit for a traditional super-hero romp.

Celery is an odd food item in that the act of chewing and digesting it actually burns more calories than one gets from the stalk itself. One has to expend more energy to eat celery than it's worth. Krash Bastards is a comic-book equivalent of celery. Ultimately, there's just not enough in the book to make the reading experience worthwhile.

Other puzzling aspects of this anthology are the fact that only one of the features links to the TV show on which it's clearly meant to capitalize, but even adopting the show's title for the comic is ill-advised, since there's no time-travel aspects to connect it to the televised premise. Even if the quality of the comics storytelling here wasn't so disappointing, given the fact DC is already focused on a new relaunch this summer, it's obvious that this title's days were numbered before it even hit the stands.

Finally, the last page of this story - like several pages of the most recent issue of Invincible Iron Man - spoils, in part, the ending of Marvel's best-selling title at the moment. Reborn is running late, yes, and the ending is, given the title of the Captain America limited series, a foregone conclusion. Still, it muddies the waters in the shared-continuity context (just as is the case over at DC Comics, which has several stories on the go featuring the Barry Allen Flash despite the fact that the story returning him to action and prominence, Flash: Rebirth, has yet to be completed). The different creators involved really aren't to blame; instead, editorial management of larger publishing plans clearly has fallen short.

Despite the issues I had with the material in this comic book, I have to admit I did come away with something valuable: a lesson learned. Namely, I learned to avoid Marvel's teaser comics and to heed those gut feelings I mentioned earlier.

The same can be said of the title character's origin and mission. Straczynski provides his readership with the latest spin on the supernatural, avenging-angel hero archetype. Essentially, he takes the Spectre origin and replaces the 1940s cop element with a Civil War-era doctor. Not only is the plotting generic, but the dialogue as well. This was a disappointing read, as this certainly doesn't seem like the same kind of fare we got from the acclaimed writer of The Twelve and Thor over the past couple of years.

There's absolutely nothing cute or clever about this adaptation of Watterson's iconic strip for a different genre. Despite the other comics storytelling skills that went into its creation and the successes the creators have with those skills, it's just not enough to overcome the sheer lack of judgment at the root of the premise. Pepose didn't hitch a wagon to Watterson's star; he hitched a dumpster. On fire. The three words I can think of to describe Spencer & Locke are simply these: wrong, wrong, wrong.

Randolph's exaggerated style, highly reminiscent of that of Humberto Ramos, is a good choice for the subject matter in that it mirrors the extreme nature of the plot and premise. His angular approach doesn't make the human characters look all that human, but it does convey the weird and alien nature of the villains effectively. I did find the artist's mix of firm, angular lines and fluid swoops to depict the shapeshifter's powers to be somewhat eye-catching. Mitch Gerads' colors really pop throughout the book as well.

Mind you, it's not as if there's coherent storytelling here to keep the reader's interest. Guggenheim and Gonzales employ far too large a cast of characters and start the story too deeply in the middle of chaos for the audience to get a clear sense of what's going on and who the players are. They start things off so far into the plot that the reader has no reason to care about these characters or what happens to them. Furthermore, Mel Rubi's art fails to identify the various super-characters clearly at all. For example, on the first page, four superhumans are introduced, but the figures are so small that one really can't discern any details in their designs or appearances.

This is clearly going to be DC's biggest seller while the other two Superman titles are destined to languish, but once Lee and Snyder are done here, it'll be Unchained that'll end up getting the axe, no doubt. This new launch is all about short-term gains rather than a long-term plan to shore up one of the two established Superman titles.

The interviews with the likes of Kirkman, Glen Mazzara and actress Danai Gurira are superficial in nature. These are PR pieces, not probing, insightful conversations. The only article that seems to make the most of the access the makers of the magazine should have had or expected is the one about the Season 3 sets, and honestly, I didn't find it all that interesting. Yes, the prison sets have looked great, yes, but the stories and characters are what keep me riveted. I wasn't wild about the publication's sense of design either. Some of the fonts are too small, and the placement of photos and pullquotes interfere with the flow of the pages.

Perhaps what's most frustrating about this story is that there is no story... not yet. We're presented with two seemingly random attacks on the heroes, but that's it. And the attacks seem to serve no purpose, as the protagonists all seem to be self-destructing anyway. The script is driven by darkness and action, but there's no substance, no humanity to be found.

Furthermore, I think the title character on this book appealed to DC as a featured character in its New 52 lineup due to its stated mission of offering a more diverse array of characters. Somehow, though, portraying a woman of color as someone who's willing to cross any line " be it sex for money or murder " isn't really in keeping with the goals of diversity.

The image of Jubilee carrying a baby piqued my interest. I thought it would be interesting to see a teenage (or newly adult) superhero having her hands full with a newborn, but the revelation it's not her baby dashed my hope for a grounded, character-driven subplot. It would have been interesting to see the other women of the X-Men trying to help the younger mutant, all while realizing none of them really have any experience with motherhood. Ultimately, what might be the greatest sin here is an X-title starring an all-female cast of heroes somehow manages to revolve around the only two male characters in the book. The women spend the entire time reacting to the baby boy and the lantern-jawed beefcake baddie.

If this comic book had been one I received in the mail from a couple of amateur comics creators who self-published it, the loud, exaggerated storytelling would be much easier to take. The plotting is generic and formulaic, and it comes off as something fans of the early 1990s Image era of comics would come up with to pass the time. I still wouldn't like it if this was an amateur effort, but I'd still respect the raw enthusiasm that no doubt would've been behind it. But this is the product of seasoned professionals from the world of mainstream genre comics. The early days of Spawn, while far from a pinnacle of comics storytelling, at least exhibited a vision, a sense of direction and a supernatural conflict that at its core was emotional and down to earth. It was originally a story of Boy Meets Girl, Boy Loses Girl and Boy Is Willing to Do Anything to Get Girl Back. Haunt makes Spawn seem like a masterwork of the medium by comparison.

There were elements in Casey's plot I enjoyed as well. Danny's frustration at never being alone, especially in the circumstances that play out later in the issue, is something to which anyone relate, allowing the reader to connect with the character in spite of the impossible premise. I found the issue's climax to be almost ridiculously violent, but since Danny's reaction was pretty much the same, it provides the proper context and made it easier to accept - even to appreciate as part of the story.

Others have scoffed at DC exec Dan DiDio's efforts to write super-hero comics, but the irreverent fun and tribute to Jack Kirby in the most recent O.M.A.C. series, which was co-written by DiDio, made me open to his work. Unfortunately, his efforts here are more in keeping with the awkward, ham-fisted scripting and plotting of the Challengers of the Unknown feature from DC Universe Presents than the flair and bombastic entertainment of O.M.A.C.

I was thrilled when Anderson was announced as the regular artist for this series, and when he inked his own work in #1, it looked great. But for other issues, he's been paired with inkers, and the result has detracted somewhat from his otherwise strong style. How his art should look is evident on the cover, which he inked himself, but Philip Tan's "embellishments," as the credits call his work, sometimes overpowers Anderson's style. Texture is added where it wasn't really necessary. The end effect is the art looks a bit like the result of Bill Sienkiewicz Lite, and while I enjoy Siewkiewicz's work, I don't want a watered down version instead. While Anderson's cover is clean and boasts a classic look, Ethan Van Sciver's variant cover is a little awkward, mainly because instead of looking like it's adjusting his hat, the title character's hand looks more like it's just waving around his head.

Just about everything about this comic book shows a lack of respect for the reader. The pricing, given the padded nature of the product, shows a lack of respect for the buyer. The plotting shows a lack of respect for the audience's intelligence. And it also shows a lack of respect for some of the stronger storytelling that us up to this point.

Olivier Coipel is a big reason for my decision to peruse the pages of this second issue. I really enjoy his style. He brings a dynamic, larger-than-life look to super-hero characters that brings both intensity and fun energy to them. As such, as that disgusting eruption of blood and guts in this issue detracts from the appeal of his style. Mind you, he renders that... rendering incredibly well. Too well, truth be told. There's too much detail in the gore.

Le Galli's story is properly constructed in some regards. He introduces the cast of characters fairly clearly, and the Indiana Jones-esque tunnel of booby traps makes for some fun reading. But ultimately, the historical setting and warrior ways of the protagonists - the elements that serve as the foundation of the story - are alienating. There's nothing in the story with which to connect. I found the first act failed in its goal to convey the politics of war that serve as the catalyst for the plot, and that sense of confusion never faded. Furthermore, considering the moody adventure that serves as the focus of the third arc in this episode, the story and characters seem to take themselves too seriously. There's no sense of wonder or excitement to be felt.

Nevertheless, I have a soft spot for the Legion, so this book has that going for it. But even with that nostalgic connection, I wasn't drawn in here. The reason: most of these young Legionnaires-to-be aren't all that likeable. Chemical Kid and Dragonwing act almost like villains, and their entitled attitudes just don't make for fun reading. And while Glorith seems like a pure soul, she's so naive and uninformed about the world that she's entered, it seems incredibly irresponsible for the adults who guide her to have sent her off without some kind of education.

There's an Indiana Jones riff to the race in the Louvre, complete with an evil counterpart reminiscent of the Belloq character from Raiders in the Lost Ark. Unfortunately, the heroes, like the bad guys, come off as profiteers, vultures feeding off society's corpse. It doesn't make for the most palatable protagonists. Again, the problem stems in part from the scant information we're given about the characters' personalities and background. Since we know nothing of these characters' ethics and motivations, they come off as money-hungry thrillseekers. There's also a frat-boy tone to their exchanges. With more depth, the adventure and the premise would have been more appealing.

As a fan of the super-hero genre, I always like it when the diverse array of figures are brought together, but part of that appeal is to see the fun of such colorful characters interacting. Unfortunately, fun isn't part of the equation here. This is a dour story, depressing. The heroes are beaten down, and they never really recover in any satisfying way. No one really wins the day. Mind you, it's not as though this story was billed as a super-hero romp or anything; in terms of tone, Bendis and company deliver what was promised. When it comes to plot, though... not so much. Instead of being a story about heroes overcoming impossible odds, it's about them losing hope and breaking the rules. There's no sense of triumph or accomplishment because they cheat their way out of a jam - and I felt kind of cheated in the process.

There are a couple of interesting ideas at play here, though. Pierro begins to explore the culture of this second medieval age through the romance between a hope-filled, young monk and the girl his calling must force him to leave behind. I also appreciate the fact that there are three different classes of people in this world: those who live in communities, the homeless "Scavengers" and the malevolent Marauders. There's even a hint of political and diplomatic protocols among communities. Still, these intelligent, interesting elements are minor ones in the story, and they're not enough to divert the reader's attention from the derivative nature of the premise and the snail's pace.

Compounding the shortcomings of the story is the artwork. Raffaele Ienco is a new name to me, but it seems obvious he still has some development as an artist ahead of him. He fails to convey the youth of the future Avengers children, nor do their powers seem particularly dynamic here. The reader often has to rely on the script to communicate what s/he is seeing in the visual component of this book. His work pales in comparison with series regular Stefano Caselli, and it just doesn't boast the polish and drama one has come to expect from this usually cerebral take on super-heroes.

I'm guessing the speech Bruce gives in this issue is meant to be the same one as the speech in Batman #1, but the dialogue and the events depicted therein don't jibe at all. Furthermore, another potential breakout at Arkham Asylum in the wake of a similar scene in Detective #1 is redundant and immediately boring. Arkham loses all credibility as a plot element if all of the Batman's enemies are in the midst of breaking out every other day. The scene, however, does serve to punctuate the theme of fear in the narration, and the title character's efforts in conjunction with the cops also serves as an important contrast to the confrontation with the IA investigator. Ultimately, I don't see why this title exists, given the Batman stories that are unfolding in other New 52 titles.

The plot - which seems to be dedicated to providing Oracle/Barbara Gordon with a new start - makes sense. Her character is strongest when operating in secret, so a plan to convince the superhuman world that she's gone works in context. Still, Oracle has proven to be such a smart and novel character over the years, I don't care for the notion that it might come to some sort of end of that it'll be altered significantly. What's really disappointing is the focus on the rest of the team at a strip club. It doesn't add anything to these characters. Furthermore, Hawk and Dove's role in the book still doesn't work for me. The supernatural, even cosmic nature of their powers seems like a poor fit with the more street-level qualities of the other team members. It doesn't look as though I'll be sticking with the book (again), but at least I can still get a monthly dose of Simone's strong writing in Secret Six.

As far as I can tell, DC decided it wanted its own G.I.Joe-like team, and it turned to one of the guys who's been writing G.I.Joe stories in the 21st century. And DC got what it was looking for, complete with sci-fi tech and a cool home base (some assembly required). Blackhawks is G.I.Joe right down to the memorable nicknames and codenames " Attila, the Irishman, Canada, Wildman, etc. What sets this apart, I suppose, is incorporating the elite military unit into a world of super-heroes.

The problem with the scripting and plotting made evident on the last page of Blood Orange, which features an explosion of text in an otherwise quiet mini-comic. It's with that last page that Giampaoli explains everything that happened in the rest of the book. We need that information to not only appreciate the emotional resonance but to recognize it. Still, one shouldn't write this story off. Instead, Giampaoli ought to revise it. I suspect Blood Orange 2.0 would be much more user-friendly than the first version.

This issue marked a major misstep for this burgeoning relaunch, but I'm willing to give it another issue or two before deciding its fate (no pun intended), given my affection for the artist's work and one of the main characters.

To appease readers who mightn't be happy about the inflated $3.99 US cover price, Marvel has opted to include a Golden Age Cap/Bucky reprint story. I would have expected the original version of the Cap origin story, but instead, editor Stephen Wacker opts for a somewhat goofy baseball story. I like that the reprint material isn't redundant or familiar, and the oddball nature of the plot was entertaining. Still, it seems an odd choice, and I would have rather paid $2.99 US for the comic without the reprint. (Actually, I wish I hadn't forked out any money for it in the first place.)

Daniel really doesn't tell the audience much about the new villain who will drive this opening story arc, but we get enough of a taste to whet our appetite. The hint at a familial operation is intriguing, and I'm curious as to the connection between the crude surgery he performs and his "Dollmaker" moniker. The awkward path leading to those little mysteries, those little revelations, though, doesn't make for an enjoyable stroll to the destination.

I was also taken aback by the second story, which offers up the origin of Goofy's heroic identity, Super-Goof. The credits would seem to indicate this is a new piece, penned by screenwriter and comics scribe Bob Gale, but the content tells a different story. Clearly illustrated in a throwback style, the script walks a fine line between the camp of yesteryear and a racist depiction of Middle Eastern culture. What should've been a fun romp instead ended up making me feel uncomfortable.

The biggest problem with this short anthology of real-life silliness is the fact that there are no stories. There are anecdotes and oddities, but a story requires some kind of conflict, some kind of climax, some kind of resolution. There's not as much storytelling going on here as there should be; Valentino just more or less conveys information. It seems as though these are some of these episodes from his life represent some of the writer's favorite ice-breakers or anecdotes, and that they've lost something in the translation from the oral to the illustrated. Some of the more unusual, key moments are non-sequiturs, and those moments - the first sign of something other than the mundane - serve as both beginnings and endings of the non-stories.

Long before this comic book was ever scheduled for release, Radical announced that Spider-Man and Evil Dead director Sam Raimi was on board to direct a big-screen version of this title. The committee approach to the comic's creation - which includes concept creators, writers, breakdown artists and finishers - and the advance progress on other-media adaptation make it clear that this isn't an exercise in storytelling. Instead, Radical is developing a product for mass consumption. That's fine, but as a reader, I'm more interested in a story than a brand. I will give the publisher credit for providing a solid bang for the customer's buck. This $5.99 US comic features 60 pages of story and art. To get that much out of DC or Marvel, someone would have to buy three titles at $2.99 US or more apiece.

As I made my way through the book, I kept waiting for Azzarello to hook me, to win me over. But even the ending left me dissatisfied. In order for it to work, one has to accept that Junk, who's clearly not the brightest guy, is suddenly possessed of a clever mind. His plan to cover his tracks seems beyond his capacity, and I just didn't buy that this bruiser, who always makes the wrong decisions and succumbs to his emotions at every turn, is suddenly transformed into a master manipulator.

The problem with Johns' story is that it's completely inconsequential. Hot Pursuit, the de-aged murder victims" none of it matters. The so-called "Road to Flashpoint" begins in the final two pages of this issue, as the Reverse-Flash makes his next move against his old enemy. Really, those two pages could've occurred right after Flash: Rebirth. I'm at a complete loss as to why Johns introduced Hot Pursuit in this story arc. It feels like I invested in the four-issue arc for little or no return.

Ben Oliver is clearly an ambitious artist when it comes to the craft of comics. He plays with inventive layouts here, just as he did on Alpha Flight #0. Unfortunately, the diagonal, page-overlapping panels make it difficult to determine at times how the action is unfolding. Do I follow this panel into the next page to the one that shares its slanted gutter, or do I continue down the page? The characters aren't terribly emotive either. I think Oliver has the potential to be a great comics artist, but he definitely has some development to do. It's like he's trying to emulate J.H. (Batwoman Williams III in terms of unconventional page construction, but he just doesn't have the experience to pull it off yet.

With such a collection of villains, I found I longed for a more traditional, slightly brighter look to emphasize the fun side of the concept rather than the ultimately empty threat.

The problem with Sirens is this: it's almost unintelligible. I have no idea what's going on in this book. I get the heroines are scattered through time, and that they're allied with an alien reptilian race that's mistaken for dragons in the past. But what they're trying to accomplish, why time travel is involved, some one of their number has lost her memory... it's all so confusing. Adding to that confusion, unfortunately, is the artwork. Prez has always boasted a meticulously detailed style, but this overly complex story structure and verbose script come together with the highly busy artwork to make for a cluttered look. Ultimately, noise seems to overwhelm the signal Prez is trying to get through to his audience. Hey, I still love your stuff, George. I just don't love this particular comic.

Perhaps the most frustrating thing of them all is that the title characters don't solve the mystery. They follow clues from point A to B to C, but there's never a deduction about who commits the crimes and why. It's all revealed at the end by the perpetrator, who never makes an appearance before that moment. The Hardy Boys stories I remember from my youth were whodunits. Joe and Frank would put the pieces together, identify their suspects and crack the case on their own. In this story, they're little more than mice running a maze.

I have to admit, though, that I rather appreciated artist Matteo Lolli's style here. It's softer in tone, somewhat in the vein of the style of Chris (Daredevil) Samnee. It doesn't seem like a good fit for a character as extreme and loud as Deadpool, but I did enjoy his take on Hawkeye. His depiction of the beefy bad guys with which the heroes do battle put me in mind of the work of the late, great Mike Wieringo as well. The double-page spreads are a bit unwieldy, didn't flow well and came off as an effort to pad the length of this issue. I won't be reading subsequent issues, but I will keep an eye out for Lolli's name on future projects.

The art is capable and clear for the most part, but again, there's no fun here. Penciller Neil Edwards tries to render the Hobgoblin in a realistic fashion, and the approach just doesn't suit the character. Hobgoblin looks odd rather than monstrous. I also find it odd that while Hercules' new costume is depicted on both the cover and the teaser for the next issue on the last page, it makes no appearance at all in this issue. He's still in his old, look-at-my-chest-hair togs, and the new outfit should really be here to serve as a visual cue that this is a new direction for the character.

The satire were meant to see in the main story must be effective on some level because the nudity and sex throughout the book isnt at all titillating. And its clear from Strausss introduction, thats exactly what he intended. So the book is a success on that level. But the plot itself is incoherent at times and often inconsistent. At times, the characters are completely laughable, but other scenes are dramatic, taking the ugliness of the human spirit thats at the core of the story seriously. How to Make Money keeps shifting gears, and its in danger of wrecking the transmission.

So setting marketing concerns aside, the question is: did I enjoy this story? Unfortunately, I really can't say that I did. I did appreciate the mythology that Simmons begins to construct here, but the fact of the matter is that this is a story full of villains. There's no protagonist to cheer for. The Revenants are targeted for death by apparently corrupt and cruel forces, but the Revenants are just as distasteful as the "villains" of Simmons's plot. The script is devoid of a character that the reader can connect with, cheer for or from which s/he can derive any kind of amusement. That's a lot of corruption and villainy, sure, but for about five bucks for 42 pages of story and art, it didn't make for a satisfying read.

Messina boasts a fairly clear style, one that was definitely developed with super-hero comics in mind. His art on this book reminds me of the styles of such artists as Matthew Clark, Brian Stelfreeze and the like; it's a photorealistic approach featuring dynamic and even impossibly perfect figures. Messina offers up fairly standard genre artwork, but it's also not particularly remarkable either. It serves the story well, and since the story doesn't serve the readers (or at least new ones) well, neither aspect of the book resonates particularly well with the audience.

No one knows the Milestone characters better than Dwayne McDuffie, so it's no surprise that there's energy and personality radiating from them in this comic book. McDuffie portrays as them as just as smart and powerful as the Justice League, and I'm genuinely curious about what they're trying to accomplish. The writer also makes it clear that while the Shadow Cabinet has a lot in common with the JLA, there's a more intense, harsher quality to the way they operate. Unfortunately, there are little quirks and repeated references to little-known bits of continuity that get in the way of the story. I don't get why Black Lightning recognizes Static's name, and an apparent reference to the "corpse " of the villainous Dr. Light (a character killed only a couple of months ago in Final Crisis: Revelations) are just one of the minute details over which the plot must stumble to move forward.

Mark Bagley's energetic style is a good choice for a series such as JLA; the point of this series should be larger-than-life action and adventure. That being said, I've seen better visuals in the past on other comics to which Bagley has contributed. It looks like inker Rob Hunter's style doesn't mesh all that well with his. I was also disappointed to find that the female characters' faces are rendered inconsistently. Vixen's and Dr. Light's morph over the course of a double-page spread early in the comic, for example.

Ultimately, what I found most distracting about this issue was the makeup of the Justice League roster. I just don't feel excited about Donna Troy as a standin for Wonder Woman or Jade for Green Lantern. And Jesse Quick looks kind of silly in a costume designed in the 1940s for a male character. I can big the notion of the Dick Grayson Batman as part of this team, but not without stronger, more experienced and more imposing presences from senior heroes. Furthermore, the opening scene with Jesse Quick and Supergirl endeavors to get the audience (and the characters themselves) to buy into the League as a family, and that's just not how the concept works. This feels (and is presented like) the Teen Titans dressed up as the Justice League, and while that's a natural progression, it just doesn't feel right to me.

McDuffie taps into the fun of the JLU cartoon on which he worked by amassing a team of villains to square off against the heroes. It's hardly a new concept, but it's still a fun one. There's just one problem: with this book firmly set in current DC continuity, he's faced with the problem that DC villains were teamed together in the Society all too recently. In fact, the script refers to it repeatedly, with characters insisting it will be different this time. But it's not. The fact that other characters keep pointing that out as well doesn't help. McDuffie tries to overcome that challenge by acknowledging it in the story itself, but the effort falls short. Instead, he just keeps reminding the reader of the redundancy.

Though I didn't care for the cold tone of the plot and dialogue here, David Finch's style certainly suits the darker bent of Justice League of America. He seemed to be channelling Whilce (Wetworks) Portacio at times, and I found his over-rendering of characters' sinew to be particularly distracting.

I'm keenly interested in the more nefarious, more mysterious tone writer Geoff Johns is bringing to the Secret Society of Super-Villains concept here, but I'm finding the mechanics of the story and the interactions among the characters to be grating.

Honestly, the best bits in this book are the bonus features in the back. Robinson's thoughts on the origins of the series and the creative choices he made were interesting, and the inclusion of the Congo Bill origin story by Len Wein and Ardian Syaf was a smart move, as it allows newer readers unfamiliar with this obscure character to get a crash course on him outside of the overwrought emotional context of the main story.

Mauro Cascioli's painted artwork certainly conveys the dark, bitter atmosphere that serves as the book's foundation, but it's stiff. And the opening page's focus on Supergirl's breasts and bare midriff is irksome and runs contrary to the intense and tense mood called for by the story. Furthermore, It threatens to undo good will that's been sown by creators on the regular Supergirl series, who have purposefully set out to tone down the sexualization of its teenage title character. this issue includes backup material just as those before did, and while I see the value in presenting extra background on key characters, Robinson's essay and the brief origin story feel more like filler than bonus material.

Some of the storytelling is a bit derivative, but it makes up for its lack of originality with a palpable sense of energy and fun. Where the book goes awry is with the supporting cast. It's just too huge an array of peripheral characters, all seemingly fulfilling similar roles. It seems as though there's half a dozen people training Kid Kosmos and another group just to serve as his entourage of friends. Each one of these aliens is more wacky or exotic than the last one, and there are so many of them that few get a chance to really establish a personality. Furthermore, Ray is the only grounded character with which the reader can connect. There needs to be more of a human side to this cosmic plot.

Mr. Sheldons distorted, extreme designs and linework certainly is in keeping with the surreal, weird tone of the character concepts and settings. His design for Chico, for example, is disgusting, but the character is meant to be a repellent figure. Some elements are far too ambiguous in appearance; I couldnt tell what Mr. Beavs companion was supposed to be, for example, nor could I tell what the creatures that ate the sentient newspaper are either.

Mr. Sheldon's distorted, extreme designs and linework certainly is in keeping with the surreal, weird tone of the character concepts and settings. His design for Chico, for example, is disgusting, but the character is meant to be a repellent figure. Some elements are far too ambiguous in appearance; I couldn't tell what Mr. Beav's companion was supposed to be, for example, nor could I tell what the creatures that ate the sentient newspaper are either.

Levitz's story is guilty of the biggest sin as far as a Legion story goes: it's just not fun.

What bothered me the most about Mail Order Ninja were the characters. Upon reflection, there's nary a single character in the book I really liked. In Vol. 1, Timmy is self-absorbed and basically turns into what he hates: a bully. His cute little sister is reprehensible in the first book, selling out her brother to the meanest brute in school. Felicity and company are understandably irksome, but even her bookish, abused assistant transforms into a distasteful figure. I don't care for how the lovestruck teacher lets her students run wild either. Several characters achieve some redemption in the second volume, but not to a degree that I really felt as though I was on their side. A quick perusal of the first book makes it seem as though Mail Order Ninja would be appropriate for younger readers, but I think it sends the wrong messages with this wish-fulfillment premise.

What made New Teen Titans such a compelling comic book for young and old in the 1980s wasn't the action, the revival of Silver Age characters, or introduction of new heroes and villains, but the interaction among the title characters and the supporting cast. There was such an emotional core to the series, and it was riveting to see how these characters learned and grew as people over the course of the series. Sometimes, the growth was the result of incredible conflict, and at others, it was the result of a grounded storyline practically devoid of super-hero genre elements. The interpersonal dynamics that were such an integral part of the original Wolfman/Perez run are reduced to far-too-brief moments here devoid of the depth and nuance I was looking for when revisiting with these old friends. If anything, the loss of the character-driven plotlines demonstrate New Teen Titans works better as an ongoing serial than the foundation for a self-contained graphic novel.

Edgar Salazar's art boasts a pseudo-realistic super-hero style that suits the darker, conspiracy-theory tone of the story fairly well. There really aren't any visuals in this issue that pop, that really grab the reader. The colors are quite dark as well, and understandably so. Still, given that these characters represent a different time and culture in America (both in the context of the story and metatextually), it's a shame that's not reflected a bit more visually with some brighter colors. Doug Klauba's art for the two-page 'Devil origin in the back of the issue is more striking, but it's also very much in keeping with Alex Ross's style. Unfortunately, it also fails to provide any extra information about the supposedly new incarnation of the Golden Age hero.

Ultimately, this property's biggest problem is its creator's desire to tell multiple stories and to combine multiple genres. The book opens on a violent, weird otherdimensional plane. It sends the signal that this is the primary setting and these are the primary characters. In reality, it's Frame and Ross, introduced a few pages later, who are really at the center of the plot. The cult/organized crime angle is a tangential element that really has nothing to do with the main story. Furthermore, the whole book is a drawn-out origin story that offers little or no resolution. The storytelling lacks focus, and that scattered approach keeps the strengths in Higgins's work from fully emerging.

Andy Kubert's angular, kinetic style is a good fit for the action-packed nature of this comic book, and he certainly conveys the chaotic nature of the conflict. Unfortunately, his linework here seemed rather rough at times, even rushed. Figures often lack definition so as to make it a little unclear of what's happening at times. Ultimately, I think what's working against this comic the most is the fact it really wasn't an intention of the creator who came up with the Damien character in the first place. It appears Grant Morrison always intended for Damien's story to end with his death, but given the most Robin's popularity, this event comes off as an effort by DC to cash in on that popularity.

That being said, I do like the new direction for Marvel unveiled by the end of the issue. It doesn't necessarily make a lot of sense, but it's such a simple, Silver Age idea that logic isn't such a big requisite. I think the effectiveness of the ending (and appreciation of the aforementioned continuity housekeeping) relies a little too much on one's previous knowledge of the Marvel Universe, and I worry that the line as a whole will become so interconnected that enjoying select titles will be a bit of a challenge.

Teen Titans #1 is an example of how ignoring continuity in a story set in a shared super-hero storyscape can hobble a series even before it can take its first couple of steps.

One thing was abundantly clear from the chapter breaks that Allan peppers throughout the book: we have similar taste in music. There are a lot of references to the lyrics of traditional and folk music, and those, along with the Canadian culture references, brought a smile to my face. I also appreciated that this was an intensely personal story for the creator. I'd be surprised if he wasn't tapping into personal experiences to craft Marie and her life. Nevertheless, the story didn't quite work for me. It doesn't really go anywhere. No conflict is resolved. It ends with Marie's cathartic escape into a live wrestling show, but there's no sense that she's grown at all or been defeated by the sadder events she must endure. In other words... nothing happens. Perhaps that's reflective of real life, but it doesn't exactly make for a compelling story. While I can appreciate that Marie feels lost, that doesn't mean the plotting should feel the same way.

Daniel picks up the reader like a hitchhiker with this story, bringing us along for the remainder of the journey while leaving us in the dark as to where he (and the protagonist) came from in the first place.

I suppose writing a review of an erotic work such as this one offers me the opportunity to make a play on words with the term "graphic novel," but it's a bit too easy. Truth be told, while there's plenty of erotic imagery and even explicit sexual content, I wouldn't go so far as to term Crepax's depiction of the pornographic material as too graphic. Some of the sexual play is hidden, especially when it comes to oral and anal interactions. Given that this graphic-novel adaptation was originally crafted just nine years ago, I'm a bit surprised. It's not as though the late artist was subject to community standards from decades gone by. Still, those omissions aren't jarring, though I'm curious to why the artist made them.

The script is incredibly disappointing because it offers no more than information than what's already available to the reader on the cover. Taking the entire issue to show us Gen. Ross recruiting the anti-heroes of the Marvel Universe for a team that will attack evil in a brutal way was a waste of time. We know all of these characters are going to sign on. How they're convinced, why they choose to participate... it's all pointless. The premise requires it of the characters, so dwelling on it and trying to bring some kind of logic to it is an exercise in futility. Other than seeing Deadpool kill a gang of homicidal mimes, this issue wasn't all that much fun to read, as the gathering-of-the-troops approach felt like Marvel was just going through the motions.

I picked up this book fully expecting to love it. It certainly had an impeccable pedigree, given its inclusion of art by Toth and Bernet and being translated by respected industry figure Jimmy Palmiotti. The cover color and design were also crafted by the late Darwyn Cooke, so with such respected creators on board as apparent fans, I figured it was a lock that this would be a great read. Sadly, that proved to be far from the case, at least for this particular reader. Maybe this would have appealed to me in my teens years or in my early 20s, but not anymore.

I was never a Spider-Ham fan during the parody character's heyday a decade or two ago, but when I saw Mike Wieringo's sharp and funny cover and learned that he would contribute to the interiors as well, I just had to pick it up. Man, I wish they'd found someone else to render a more disappointing cover so as to prevent temptation, because this book, though somewhat diverting, is ultimately disappointing. The book opens with a promising six-page sequence in which Spider-Ham realizes he's lost his thought balloons. It's a cute commentary on a shift in storytelling in the medium and the darker tone that's enveloped the super-hero genre. If only that clever riff had continued beyond those initial pages. What follows is a series of short segments and pinups that recasts various Marvel figures - from the iconic to the slightly more obscure, such as the protagonist from The 'Nam - as porcine figures as well. To my surprise, there's nothing in the way of a Civil War parody to be found in this

Rafa Sandoval's art is dynamic and captures the chaotic tone of the action with unusual perspectives and angles, and the artist captures the youth of various key characters nicely. However, the art also isn't as clear as it could be. I initially thought the opening scene featured the destruction of a Roxxon building by way of an explosion from within. It wasn't until Spider-Woman says, "Tell me how to kill it!!" that I realized that it wasn't an explosion, but some kind of organic blobbie thing instead. The regular cover artwork by Ed McGuinness is misleading as well. The main reason I was interested in this comic book is because that cover featured several key characters from Ultimate Comics Spider-Man, but Spidey, Kitty and the Human Torch aren't to be found in this issue.

Despite my disappointment in many aspects of the story, Marquez's artwork serves it well. He does a great job of conveying the title character's tender age; even masked, it's clear he's a kid. I also enjoyed the action sequence at the end of the issue. Marquez depicts the villain as a fleet-footed mountain. The power and rage pop off of the page.

Despite my disappointment in many aspects of the story, Marquez's artwork serves it well. He does a great job of conveying the title character's tender age; even masked, it's clear he's a kid. I also enjoyed the action sequence at the end of the issue. Marquez depicts the villain as a fleet-footed mountain. The power and rage pop off of the page.

The design for this new take on the Frankenstein character is a bit over the top. He's far too hulking a brute to have been cobbled together from the bits of a regular guy. Making him taller than the protagonist makes sense, but he's implausibly large. Mind you, I also acknowledge the entire concept is implausible, but that element, like others, distracted from the story and action.

Think Supernatural meets Ash from Army of Darkness. Theres no clear cue as to what this series wants to be. At times, the writers play it straight, and at others, theres a goofier tone at play.

The creators deliver exactly what was asked of them and have earned their paycheques. All you need to know about this comic book is to be found in its title. It's a typical Wolverine comic, and it's connected to his past with the Weapon X program. End of story. If those elements appeals to you, you've probably already bought and enjoyed the issue. If they don't, you probably avoided this comic in the first place. As I should have. It's not a slight to the people who crafted this comic. I looked to this comic book to find something new, ignoring all the signs that there was nothing new to be found.

From a marketing perspective, Mighty Avengers faces another challenge. Of its seven members, only one - Iron Man - is any kind of an icon or name brand. If this is meant to stand up as a major Marvel team (or even the Marvel team), there need to be more familiar figures with which more casual comics readers or newer ones can connect.

I've enjoyed Khoi Pham's art on other Marvel titles, notably The Incredible Hercules some time ago. However, I really don't think his loose, sketchy style is a good fit for the sci-fi, borderline cosmic adventures of this team of Avengers. He conveys the youth of several characters (such as Amadeus Cho and the young Inhumans in the flashback) quite clearly, but other key players are so loosely rendered so as to make it seem as though the artist had to rush through the job at times.

Despite the weaknesses to be found in this issue, I can't deny there are also bit that entertain and ignite the imagination. The scenes between the Scarred Peter and Mary Jane not only touch upon the Peter/MJ relationship and the challenges they face, but it demonstrates that the real Peter Parker's story could so easily disintegrate into a horrible tragedy at any moment. The distorted vision of Peter really isn't that radically different from the "real" one. Furthermore, it really is a lot of fun seeing all these alternate Spideys running around, and I honestly look forward to the return of the female Spidey and a revelation of whether or not it's a female clone of Peter or if it's some kind of altered or cloned version of Mary Jane.

Bendis has defended this final issue by pointing out that there are two more to come, in the form of a two-part Ultimatum: Spider-Man Requiem series. I don't agree. The title of that spinoff series itself seems to indicate it'll be a farewell of sorts; at the very least, it purports to be about tying up loose ends from Ultimatum. Perhaps it'll be satisfying, but those of us who've been along for the ride for nine years would have preferred this apex/milestone/endpoint in Peter Parker's life to have unfolded in his series.

With the release of last week's Civil War: The Initiative and a slew of Fallen Son specials on the way, Marvel's readers are no doubt getting sick of the fallout from the publisher's Civil War crossover event. The anti-climactic tone of the final issue of the crossover series was unsatisfactory, but this latest one-shot provide a quite sense of closure for the central Captain America/Iron Man conflict. Bendis - with his strongest Marvel Universe script in recent memory - manages to humanize Tony Stark and cast him in something other than a villainous or corrupt light. Stark's dedication to his cause makes sense here; one isn't more likely to agree with him, but at least his behavior makes sense in the context provided here. This is a quiet, emotional story about two friends who feel forced into enmity, and Bendis's script really gets to the heart of the hurt both men feel. Alex Maleev's artwork might seem like a poor match for the sleek, technological qualities of Iron Man, but the dar

If the anti-climactic nature of Civil War #7 hadnt been enough to turn me off of Marvels plans for its super-hero line, then the unsatisfactory emptiness of this volume certainly would have done the trick.

After reading this one-shot, I was left with one nagging question: what was the point? The latter story, featuring the Sentry and his struggle to decide which side of the superhuman civil war to support, seems completely redundant when one considers another writer explored the question in New Avengers and that we've seen the Sentry side-by-side with Mr. Fantastic and Iron Man in the core Civil War title itself. That means we're left with an extended and rather unimaginative fight scene with the Absorbing Man, resolving with the stereotypical revelation that the Sentry has too much power for the villain to leech from him. The main story, though, is the one that's going to have comics fans talking... at least longtime readers familiar with the dead hero returns in these pages. I suspect many will scream that this story mars a rather poignant story of an atypical but rather human death in the Marvel Universe, but what strikes me about it is how unnecessary it is. The connection to Civil W

The greatest flaw of the plot is its predictability. As soon as one sees the cover, the reader knows pretty much where the story is headed from one moment to the next. The premise really didnt merit a full comics worth of space; this would have read much better as a short segment in an anthology, a la Boom! Studios Zombie Tales or old-school EC horror comics.

Unfortunately, the promise in the premise is lost in a script that's heavy on exposition but light on clarity. I read every issue of 52 and World War III (which led up to this story), and I still had trouble following the plot. I have no idea what's going on with Oolong Island. While I appreciated the guilt that serves as one driving force in Dr. Cale's life, her other motives aren't clear at all. Giffen tells us little of her background. I was also disappointed that other residents of the island weren't more clearly identified, and more background on some of the other characters in the plot would have been appreciated as well. The Four Horsemen is burdened by the continuity that spawned it. Even diehard DC readers are going to find this book to be somewhat inaccessible.

Ultimately, I think the flaws in this book stem from the same source: Marcej's creative isolation. It's clearly a personal matter to him, but I think he'd be well served by working with an editor, or even a co-writer, someone who can bring some humor to the mix. The premise lends itself to laughs, and Marcej ought to try and capitalize on that potential. His passion as a creator shines through, but I wonder if it might blindhim to other possibilities.

The good news about Andr Lima Arajo's artwork in this debut issue is the fact it's rather unconventional in tone. He's clearly influence by manga/anime, but his various aspects of his efforts here reminded me of the styles of such other Marvel artists as Nick Bradshaw, Khoi Pham and Ed McGuinness.

I wish the story was as enjoyable as the artwork, though. The convoluted fate of the Wasp is difficult to follow and swallow, as is the seemingly impossible nature of the solution that Hank Pym proposes. In fact, Gage portrays Pym as far too powerful throughout the issue. By the end of the issue, he's elevated to a divine status, and it's just too much. The awkward nature of the character's conversation with Tigra is too strained to believe, and the villain's appearance in the story is forced and the threat he poses is predictable. He escapes from his prison just because the plot requires it of him; no plausible explanation is given. I realize that Gage is trying to explore Pym's character, but far too much history and oddball, incredible super-hero elements get in the way. Furthermore, it felt odd for the focus to shift away from the young, new characters to one that's been around for 50 years. Furthermore, Pym is the co-star of his own limited series right now - Ant-Man and the Wasp

Despite the problems with the plot, it's clear Marvel made the right choice when it tapped artist Kev Walker for this project. His style, tinged with rougher edges and sharp angles, suits the harsher tone of the storytelling here. The 16 young heroes all look young, and his portrayal of the more extreme powers at play here is effective. He offers some gruesome visuals - such as the effect of Hazmat's powers on X-23 and the fate of one of the young heroes at the end of the issue - but such gore is clearly to be expected and is part of the pitch for this series.

Finch's dark and gritty style certainly suits the title character and his world fairly well, and pairing him with Scott Williams, perhaps best know for bringing definition to Jim Lee's pencils, was a smart move. Of course, Williams' work doesn't hide Finch's style, so we're still presented with a number of those squat faces for which the penciller is well known. It's most apparent in the opening scene in the oddly horizontal faces of young Bruce and Dawn Golden. I must admit I do like the artist's grotesque interpretation of the Penguin; apparently, he takes some cues from Tim Burton's vision of the villain from Batman Returns, and Finch's Batman looks as cool and intimidating as he should be. He's clearly inspired by Frank Miller here, but by other artists' interpretations of the character. I was reminded of the styles of Norm Breyfogle and even Irv Novick.

Ryan Sook's art is effective at capturing the noir, Sam Spade-esque atmosphere that the writer endeavors to use as the backdrop for this issue. It would seem Sook didn't have the time to render all 32 pages of art, as Pere Perez fills in for pages 22-31. The shift in styles isn't too jarring, as Perez clearly tries to maintain a consistent tone. Still, there are panels in which the divide between the two artists' storytelling abilities is apparent. Once again, Andy Kubert offers up an image for the regular cover that isn't reflected in the interior art, which is a bit disappointing. I love that three-piece suit with the bat-vest.

That being said, Kruls plot intrigues me in that it touches upon ideas and elements that we havent seen in any of the Geoff Johns-penned Blackest Night comics. Donna Troys infection is something we havent seen outside this limited series, and Doves unique nature in the face of the Black Lantern onslaught is interesting as well. My hope is that Krul didnt overstep with this script and that well see Johns follow up on these notions in the main event series.

Overall, I enjoyed Brightest Day as a whole, but it was far from the cohesive, directed story that it could have been. It doesn't seem as though the various roles that the twelve resurrected heroes and villains were to play were really hashed out all that clearly from the start, and as a result, it felt as though the writers were scrambling to jam some of those pieces into the puzzle they ended up putting together in the end.

Another reason that the Firestorm sequences in this series have been so off-putting is due to the art. It's not that Scott Clark's dark, angular style - which seems to be clearly influenced by that of Jae Lee - doesn't have its strengths. It just doesn't fit the character and this series all that well. For the most part, this is a traditional super-hero comic, and Clark's style isn't traditional. Furthermore, it's inconsistent with the work of the other series' artists (as is clearly apparent when Ivan Reis and Joe Prado take over the linework duties in the last few pages of this issue). Clark also takes some unfortunate shortcuts when it comes to several characters. He handles the Anti-Monitor's meticulous detailed design well enough, but it's incredibly hard to make out any of the Black Lanterns other than the (horribly named) Deathstorm.

Overall, I enjoyed Brightest Day as a whole, but it was far from the cohesive, directed story that it could have been. It doesn't seem as though the various roles that the twelve resurrected heroes and villains were to play were really hashed out all that clearly from the start, and as a result, it felt as though the writers were scrambling to jam some of those pieces into the puzzle they ended up putting together in the end.

It's always a pleasure to see John Romita Jr. taking on a new project. More JRjr art is always a good thing. Klaus Janson's inks make things a little too loose and undefined at times. The other-dimensional minions are too cartoony to seem terribly menacing, and the young girl in the scene doesn't look like a young girl all the time. The train scene doesn't flow all that well either. But despite those glitches in the visuals, the artists redeem themselves with a fantastic portrayal of a classic Cap villain. The big reveal unfolds perfectly, and it draws the reader into the story quite effectively.

I loved the artwork on the opening flashback scene, as artist Butch Guice adopts a throwback style that puts one in mind of the styles of such classic Marvel artists Jack Kirby, Sal Buscema and Ron Frenz. When the plot shifts back to the present, the darker, grittier, foreboding atmosphere thats been part and parcel of Caps adventures since his series was relaunched a few years ago comes back into play, and thats appropriate. I like that theres a consistency in the visual storytelling for the title character. Of course, I also enjoyed the more traditional look that creeps back into the mix during the New Cap/Mr. Hyde fight scene. Im at a loss as to why this couldnt have been presented as a regular issue of Cap, or why Marvel had to charge its readers four bucks for only 25 pages of story and art.

Captain Atom #1 is, unfortunately, a rather boring read, and I'd rather my super-hero comics be campy or cheesy than boring any day of the week.

And then there's the Michael Swann of the latter part of the book. Unlike his other self earlier on, this vision of the super-spy is firmly rooted in the James Bond tradition. The life of a spy is its own reward, offering plenty of sex and a life of leisure. The Bond archetype glamorizes the genre, and it's never something that's appealed to me. Furthermore, while the premise of a possibly defecting rocket scientist suits the period in which the story is set, it seems like rather mundane fare as compared to the dark, death-defying adventure in the first scene.

Scott's affection for these characters shines through in the line art, just as her disinterest in other elements. Kole and Jericho are rendered in far more sketchy detail than, say, Dick and Kory. The generic quality of the Tangent Universe's Doom Patrol pales in comparison with the color and diversity of design of the Titans. Still, I love the youth, personality and energy Scott manages to instill in this classic incarnation of these characters. Scott's artwork for the regular-edition cover definitely evokes a Perez feel and the sort of images one would find on classic 1980s Titans comics.

Given DC's success with its Rebirth line and a number of more traditional, lighter super-hero titles, I'm surprised this first line-spanning event book has been branded with the "dark" label. And the story is undeniably dark. Batman uses allies as pawns here, and those he's not using, he's deceiving. We've seen this before, and it's been well received. Understandable, since it's rather cool. But it's so over the top here, it feels too harsh and not at all heroic.

Dark Engine kind of strikes me like a cross between East of West and Prophet. It's got an interesting contrast going between a cerebral tone and a sense of brutality and savagery that grabs the reader's attention.

DKIII is something of a buddy cop movie - not in terms of plot or genre, but from a creative standpoint. Azzarello is the young (OK, youngish), brash cop partnered with the weathered and cynical detective, and let's be honest, Frank Miller is too old for this shit. He's just two days away from retirement, fer Christ's sake. Whether he's reluctant to give up the badge and gun or DC keeps thrusting them back in his hands, either way, it's time for the gold watch.

Back in 1992, everyone knew DC Comics wasn't really going to kill Superman, not permanently, but the epic caught people's imaginations with the level of the hero's sacrifice, with the introduction of new characters, with an exploration of grief and with the effect of a void no one ever thought would exist. But the stunt's been pulled so many times in the past couple of decades, by both Marvel and DC, it's definitely grown stale. There was a time when readers could ignore an inherent lie such as the one in the title of this limited series, but that time is far behind us.

Damian Couceiro's artwork is clearly taking a number of cues from photos, but neither does it look like he's outright traced or lightboxed the reference material. His work here reminds me of Cliff (Buffy) Richards' sometimes airy style. He crafts some decent likenesses, but his efforts here don't really represent sequential storytelling as we're used to in comics. Each panel is a different moment in history, a visual to accompany the factoid(s) on which the narration focuses.

Of course, the problem is that the setting shouldn't be the star of the show. This is a Die Hard comic, after all, but McClane seems no more important a part of the plot than any other player. I realize Chaykin is setting the stage here; perhaps the story will read better in a collected format. But when it comes to this original episodic approach, he needs to hook the audience in a hurry. This debut comic book needs the attitude and excitement that the readership expects from the Die Hard brand, and it's not to be found... yet.

Fortunately, the Metal Men backup feature redeems this comic book somewhat. Giffen and DeMatteis deliver the same kind of fun they did with their various humor-era Justice League comics of the late 1980s. The Metal Men lend themselves to slapstick comedy, and the creators make the most of it. Kevin Maguire, the writers' artistic collaborator from Justice League demonstrates he's still a perfect fit for their brand of funny. While I've not read any of the original Silver Age Metal Men stories, I think the writers' take on Gold's personality here is a new one, and I like that the team leader now has personality flaws like the others. The running gag about the new team member, Copper, is a blast as well.

While we don't get to know the characters all that well, I realize that Powers's main goals here are to set out the central premise and introduce the main players in the drama. Unfortunately, the slower pace doesn't work all that well in the episodic format. I can't help but wonder if Drafted might have worked better as a graphic novel. A larger format would have suited the larger purview of the plot.

Ultimately, the energy of this seemingly obvious and simple new direction for the Green Lantern brand is more than enough to win me over, and I'm sure the same will hold true for new readers. Johns has been teasing us for quite a while with the Rainbow of Lanterns storyline, and with this special, there's a greater sense of forward movement with the story. The slow build has been successful, though. We've got a sense of what drives Atrocitus, what Sinestro's really up to and the dissent and secret discord among the Guardians. While I do have concerns about the accessibility of this one-shot, in collected form, I suspect this longer arc and those that came before will be clearer and more compelling.

One of the most frustrating aspects of this one-shot is the fact that a pivotal character isn't even identified. I read Justice League of America in the 1980s, so I know who she is. Newer readers, hell, even not-so new readers, will likely not recognize Gypsy, an obscure JLA member who most recently appeared in Birds of Prey. It's a shame Tomasi doesn't use her super-hero name at all in this script. Her inclusion is clearly meant to incorporate the Detroit era of the Justice League, but it's done without really talking about that time in J'Onn's "life." Yet another problem that plagues this issue is poor placement of word balloons; there's no obvious flow to them as the various heroes document their friend's history. If the pointlessness of this comic book weren't frustrating enough, this non-story isn't even executed well.

Marco Rudy's artwork strives for a realistic appearance, but it doesn't quite get there. The penciller hits his mark, though, when it comes to conveying the mind-bending, dizzying nature of the hero's experiences. As was the case with Run, the strongest visual element this comic book has going for it is the cover artwork, this time by Scott Hampton, which captures the darkness and the weirdness of the subject matter within rather succinctly.

The central concept of the backup story isn't entirely original, but the theme - how everyone and every event is interconnected, sort of a social Butterfly Effect - is interesting nonetheless. Hamner plays with some unconventional panel layouts, which works sometimes but not always. The brevity of the story works against the piece; characters aren't clearly established enough for the links suggested on the final page to be entirely discernible. The message at the heart of the plot - that the world is essentially a wonderful place and people are at their core good and of intrinsic value - is a heartening one. The positive tone of both stories is a welcome development, especially in an age in which super-heroes - especially those in DC titles - are being presented in darker ways.

The art adorning this one-shot is unusual, and at first, I didn't really know what I thought of it. Joel Gomez's work here looks like a cross between the styles of Francis Manapul and Bill Sienkiewicz. The loose, exaggerated approach conveys the title character's twisted, corrupt nature pretty well, and I actually really enjoyed the juxtaposition of the dark deeds wrought in the story and the bright and garish colors of the villain's costume. Gomez could stand to learn that sometimes, less is more; for example, the evil grin splashed across the villain's face at one point is too over the top. But overall, I enjoyed his unconventional artwork.

Overall, I'd have to say this was a mixed bag. There were a number of strengths and the weaknesses in the comic were, for the most part, minor in nature. But the other problem was there wasn't much about it that came off as particularly special. Nothing in particular really grabbed me, really struck me as novel or impactful. There's some solid craft to be found in G.I. Combat but little that's particularly dazzling or memorable.

Unfortunately, Dini doesnt seem to do much new with the characters (especially Ivy and Harley), and along with the strong links to Batman stories I (a) havent read and (b) dont care about, it made for a lackluster reading experience.

Overall, I think Graphic Classics: Bram Stoker is an experiment that doesn't quite work, for the main reason I've already stated. However, it does serve another purpose. This is a great showcase for the sort of comics storytelling one might find in better small-press and independent comics, as well as mini-comics. I don't know if these artists have that sort of background, but their work is certainly in keeping with that aspect of sequential storytelling.

After reading this first issue, I have no idea what the series is about. The plot is clear enough: hero beats up super-powered bad guys, but that's all that happens. There's no point to the plot. There's no theme. There's no clear motive for why the hero does what he does. I get that Krul is setting the stage here, introducing the characters, but really, he's just introducing the readership to names. There's little real characterization here. I desperately wanted to love this book, because I'm a fan of the artists (especially Perez), but there's no enough in the writing to get me to came back for more.

Harvey Talibao's art reflects the qualities of Nocenti's writing - it's definitely different, but I also don't know quite what to make of it. He opts for a number of unusual perspective shots, and in a book in which projectile trajectory is a significant element, it's an interesting choice. The action isn't always so easy to follow as a result, but one can't claim the art on this book is ordinary. His style reminds me of the work of Steve (Legion of Super-Heroes) Lightle, but the weird angles and kinetic feel of the linework are reminiscent the work of Damion (Batgirl) Scott, for example. The constantly moving "camera" is rather dizzying, creating a hectic pace even in slower scenes that don't call for it. All of his figures are impossibly attractive, but then again, that's in keeping with the point Nocenti is trying to make. I can't say I actually enjoyed Green Arrow #7, but it was intriguing.

While I'm intrigued by the catalyst for this opening story arc, Bedard's script and plot are ultimately disappointing. It's a shame he didn't spend the opening flashback scene explaining the multiple Lantern Corps concept, detailing the different emotions they represent and powers they possess. Furthermore, I didn't get a sense of where this story is headed at all, why these characters will be considered "new Guardians." Here, we see them in conflict with one another, and I get why they'd fight one another, but I'd rather learn about what's going to bring and keep them together.

Given Robertson's involvement with the project and the hyper-violence that helps to define this property make comparisons to The Boys unavoidable. The first issue of that super-hero satire (and in every subsequent issue) was made palatable by one key character: Wee Hughie. He's a regular guy drawn into an ugly world by a tragic circumstance. His abhorrence was the reader's, and it helped the reader's transition into horrible circumstances while allowing him/her to keep one foot planted in reason. Nick Sax's world of mobsters, serial killers and hard-boiled cops doesn't offer that, and the dark and harsh elements overwhelm the wonder and fantasy that turns up in the concluding cliffhanger scene.

The inside front cover boasts a four-panel comic strip featuring the title character's encounter with the Occupy movement, and despite its brevity, I felt compelled to discuss it - for a couple of reasons. First of all, the strip was done by a couple of friends of mine - Jay Arnold and Mike Campbell - but more importantly, it hints at the potential of such an indy effort in a themed anthology. Arnold and Campbell take the over-the-top violence of the anti-hero and plunk into another only a slightly different medium, but a completely different genre. The tone of the strip is much lighter than the rest of the book. Instead of the bloody, B-movie riff that dominates the rest of the comic, it takes a far more cartoony (as in Looney Tunes or Tom & Jerry) approach. These artists present an Itchy and Scratchy short starring a hobo with a shotgun, and the effect brings some much-needed diversity to the book. I only wish there'd been more such material.

What's unsettling about Holy Terror " or at least about my understanding and interpretation of what Miller offers as commentary through his extreme characters " is how the writer/artist seems to paint all facets of Islam and its believers with the same, blood-soaked brush. Having read the man's work over the years, I know he's an intelligent man, and I have my doubts he could fall victim to such a patently false generalization. But that's how this book reads. Maybe his intent is to demonstrate how the Fixer (and by extension, Batman) sees everything in black and white, how his distorted view of the world fails him. But then again, Miller portrays a mosque as a gateway to a huge, hidden world of violence and conspiracy, so I'd have to contend the impression with which I came away from the book has, at least, a certain degree of validity to it.

Honestly, after reading the book, I realized the most interesting aspect that stuck with me was the introduction by Gary Cohn. Cohn was a mainstay of DCs stable of writers in the 1980s and is best known as a co-creator of Blue Devil and Amethyst (sure, not exactly stalwarts of DCs library of characters, but they certainly had an impact in their day). Cohns story about leaving comics as a career behind spotlights just how engrossing ones passion for the medium can be.

Nevertheless, as a pure source of information, this book can't be beat.Not only would it be great for kids who want to learn, it's also accessible to adults (and sure to appeal to military history buffs).Hama's script never talks down. It clearly offers only a superficial overview of the events, but Hama finds time to include the personal consequences of war alongside the cold logic of planning such conflicts.

When Geoff Johns wrote this title and the one that preceded it (JSA), there were those that criticized that he resorted to shock value too much and that his scripts were too immersed in past continuity (sometimes those complaints were merited, while at times, they weren't, in my view). The blurb on the cover for this new issue proclaims that "a new era begins" here, but that's really not the case. Maybe Willingham and Sturges are trying to ease their readership through a transition, opting to offer more Johns-like plots at first, but it doesn't seem that way. It was recently announced that the team will split in two, leading to two separate JSA titles, and we've already recently seen that team-schism approach during the "Thy Kingdom Come" story arc. Maintaining the same direction wouldn't normally be a problem, but the new writers charge ahead so quickly that there's little in the way of interplay among the heroes, leaving just bull-headed action.

Eaglesham (who's working for Marvel Comics now) once again does an exemplary job of juggling the multitude of characters populating this title, and there's even more than usual in this issue. The circumstances of the story bring a lot of kids into the mix, and the artist does a great job of distinguishing among the various ages of the characters. He also conveys the cramped and oddly chaotic nature of a big gathering of family members and friends in a space that wasn't designed to accommodate so many people. I love the Alex Ross cover image featuring the entirely of the title team's expansive lineup, though I am disappointed that DC opted to release it as three separate covers. A gatefold cover or one printed on a landscape orientation would have been appropriate. That the publisher tries to force fans of the title to shell out for the comic three times is transparent and a bit shameless.

When Geoff Johns wrote this title and the one that preceded it (JSA), there were those that criticized that he resorted to shock value too much and that his scripts were too immersed in past continuity (sometimes those complaints were merited, while at times, they weren't, in my view). The blurb on the cover for this new issue proclaims that "a new era begins" here, but that's really not the case. Maybe Willingham and Sturges are trying to ease their readership through a transition, opting to offer more Johns-like plots at first, but it doesn't seem that way. It was recently announced that the team will split in two, leading to two separate JSA titles, and we've already recently seen that team-schism approach during the "Thy Kingdom Come" story arc. Maintaining the same direction wouldn't normally be a problem, but the new writers charge ahead so quickly that there's little in the way of interplay among the heroes, leaving just bull-headed action.

Kolins' artwork is a lot of fun. Obviously, I have a soft spot for his interpretation of any incarnation of the Flash, and his take on the Golden Age Green Lantern here is as sharp as his past endeavors with the character. I don't much care for the designs for the seemingly unstoppable villain and one of the heroes - Lightning - but to be fair to him, the latter design (Alex Ross' work, I believe) is something he was saddled with. Still, it would be nice if he could tweak or fully redesign Lightning; her look is stiff and a bit plain. I love how Mike Atiyeh's colors add glows to the linework. Kolins has endeavored to establish a dark atmosphere here, but the colors add an eerie quality that adds to the tension.

It's always a pleasure to see John Romita Jr.'s artwork, but this is hardly one of more noteworthy efforts. Lately, I've noticed he seems to reserve his more meticulous, focused and deliberate work for creator-owned projects such as Kick-Ass, whereas his linework on splashier corporate comics is a lot looser. The latter no doubt brings tighter deadlines and more editorial influence, but some of the sketchier, rougher bits in this comic seem to reflect where the artist's creative priorities lie. I tired quickly of the several swooping Phoenix visuals, designed to convey the immense scope of its power, but that's really more of a failing of the script than Romita's storytelling. I thought the artist's exaggerated approach to facial features in the Cyclops/Hope training scene successfully conveyed the dysfunction between the two and signalled just how far gone Cyclops is as a result of a life of hardship and heartache.

While I thoroughly enjoyed the artwork, Paul Levitz's script didn't quite click for me.

One of the highlights of my renewed Mad experience was reconnecting with "Spy Vs. Spy" and discovering cartoonist Peter Kuper has taken over for the property's creator. While Kuper has maintained the same classic style of the strip, he's also managed to instill his own richer, slightly surreal spin on things at the same time. Ultimately though, I think I've outgrown Mad magazine, but that's not entirely a condemnation of the publication. It's more of an acknowledgement of who I was, who I've become and how my tastes have changed over the years. It was fun to revisit Mad again, if only to see some of the evolution and which traditions survived into the 21st century.

I think what most impressed me about the story and what I enjoyed the most about the book is that it surprised me. I expected these monsters to band together to fight a threat; the cover led me down that path, after all. Instead, the conflict is among them. The Starseed is not only benign but potentially benevolent, but these monsters, unable to control themselves (save for Ghost Rider), turn out to be the both the heroes and the villains in their own stories. These monsters are pitiable, and that they unwittingly allow their salvations to slip through their fingers because they give into the monstrous natures they want to cast off is, in an odd way, tragic and a little touching.

Overall, the material here shows promise, even if the execution of the main story is a bit off. The backup feature definitely felt as though it was worth the extra buck. I'm not sure the stories will bring readers back for a second issue, let alone the long haul, which makes me think this might be one of the first entries in the New 52 that will fall victim to the axe.

Greg Land's art tells the story clearly, and his realistic approach makes it easy to see these incredible figures as real people. He's often criticized, though, for apparent lightboxed art stemming from strong photo reference. That appears to be the case again here, notably with his depiction of Spectrum. Her facial expressions in the costume shop scene seem particularly reminiscent of a supermodel photo shoot. It's distracting and takes the reader out of the story.

There seems to be nothing he can't do. His moments of technological triumph and instances of potential peril therefore are random, subject to the writer's desire to advance the story rather than any kind of logic or natural progression.

The strongest visual element associated with this comic book is to be found on the cover, or at least on one of the covers. Mouse Guard creator David Petersen contributes an all-too-rare piece of art outside of his own corner of the industry. The interior artwork by Axel Medellin Machain tells the story clearly, but that's all it does. It comes off as merely serviceable. I also found his figures (other than the title character) to be a bit elongated across the board, and it was a bit distracting.

The storytelling is competent, but I just didn't feel drawn in by the book.

Meyer's got the right pedigree when it comes to presenting a real-life vision of war in a desert. The foreword indicates he's a sergeant in the U.S. Marine Corps (if I'm reading the abbreviations correctly). As such, he focuses on the grunts and the deadly circumstances they face. There's no context included as to why they're in those circumstances, and I can understand why he might be reluctant to do so. As someone with an interest in politics, though, I felt something was missing as a result. Now, that's more a matter of personal preference, I suppose, than a mistake on Meyer's part, but then again, it's natural for one to be interested in the larger perspective of someone who experiences the real cost and chaos of war.

Artist Caoi Oliveira delivers some solid black-and-white artwork. The visuals here look like could be the result of a cross between the styles of Scott (Flash) Kolins and Darick (The Boys) Robertson or Amanda (Power Girl) Conner. The artist's work later in the book is clearly more focused and interesting than it is in the opening scene. I attribute that to a greater comfort with the more extreme characters of the super-hero genre, and the opening scene only includes regular people. Nevertheless, the artist shows a lot of promise here.

Damian Coucerio is the latest in a series of artists with a similar style. It's one we see so often in Boom titles that it's almost like a house style for the publisher. Couceiro boasts a Michael Lark/Paul Azaceta-esque style that suits the darker leanings of this story. It's especially effective in the more grounded scenes; he conveys the characters' humanity incredibly well. He also does a fine job with a double-page spread that conveys the devastation that befell the Big Easy as a result of hurricane Katrina.

This story is missing a lot of things, and one of them is any sense of subtlety. Mind you, subtlety isn't exactly something one expects to find in Loeb's writing in recent years, so it's not really a disappointment. Still, the ham-fisted juxtaposition of a heavily burden teen living in a town called "Carefree" elicited a groan, as did, for example, the cameo of the principal from Back to the Future acting in a similar capacity here. As I understand it, this new incarnation of Nova is meant to serve in part as a replacement for Spider-Man in that Marvel doesn't really have a teenage super-hero going through youthful angst while trying to live up the memory of a lost family member and ideal of responsibility. Loeb has certainly included a number of plot and character elements to fulfil that assignment, but by the middle of the issue, it felt as though I was running through a gauntlet of clichs and conventions rather than immersing myself in an engaging or entertaining story.

I'd heard good things about this French import and was pleased when I got a chance to read this latest release from Archaia Studios Press. The publisher has had a solid track record as of late, launching Mouse Guard and The Killer to critical acclaim over the past year. I enjoy both of those titles, but it doesn't seem as though Okko is going to join them on my must-read list. French creator hub has crafted a story that's clearly Japanese in influence. It's not Amerimanga, but Francomanga, I suppose (will that anger right-wing manga lovers in the United States?). The historical and cultural setting is so far removed from my own so as to seem almost alien, and I just found it impossible to connect with any of the characters. Furthermore, I'm at a loss as to why this series is titled for Okko. Of the four heroes in the story, he is not only the least interesting character but the least heroic as well. The Asian influence in the art isn't overt; Hub doesn't resort to the oversized eyes th

This is the only one of the various "Batman: Battle for the Cowl" comics I've picked up so far; I've little interest in the latest Batman event. Fortunately, Oracle: The Cure seems to have only a tangential link to it. While this comic book is accessible in that regard, it fails to acknowledge that it features one of the leads of Birds of Prey and omits any explanation about what took Barbara Gordon from that endeavor back to Gotham City.

Outer Orbit reads rather a bit like a science-fiction take on filmmaker Guy Ritchie's storytelling style from Snatch or Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. The pace is frenetic, and the tone is zany, intense and never serious despite excessive violence and gratuitous sexuality. The odd-couple riff with the two main characters we meet in the opening scene is quite effective and entertaining, but the storytelling gets a bit difficult to follow at times. However, it's not the creators' use of flashbacks that's dizzying, but the topsy-turvy action sequences that don't include enough dialogue to inform the reader of what's going on and why The dark, angular style in the artwork suits the over-the-top qualities of the personalities and the plot quite well, and I'm impressed that there's a visual consistency throughout the issue despite Howard and Murphy's decision to trade off art duties for specific scenes. The stereotypically sexual design for the fierce female figure who appears later in

DC, Morrison and Williams asked readers to wait an awfully long time for this conclusion, and man, was it not worth the wait. Don't get me wrong - the art is stunning in its detail and diversity, while the script is often challenging and always ambitious. And it's been so long since I read any of the earlier Seven Soldiers material that I spent half of the book completely lost. Ideally, this bookend comic should flow from the original #0 issue that got the whole experiment underway. I don't see such a flow. Morrison also spends so much effort keeping the title characters apart from one another that it interrupts the flow of the storytelling, so much so that at times, sequences seem like they are completely unconnected in the first place. This is most notable with Morrison's take on Jack Kirby's Fourth World characters here. Honestly, I was disappointed there wasn't more interaction among the characters. The repeated shifts instorytelling approaches - both visually and in the script -

I'm sure the framing sequence set in the future will progress with its own plot, with the frustrated surveyor pulling some inspiration from the story he's witnessing telepathically, but at this point, I found it to be a detriment to the main story rather than a benefit. It distracts and detracts, and to be honest, the opening framing scene is of such a length that I thought it was the main crux of the book at first. I also think Ziade might have made a misstep by dressing up his human story with some science-fiction as well. The main story is basically set in the not-too distant future. A relatively poor family has its own robot, for example, but they defend themselves with shotguns as well as rayguns. A conflict with a malevolent, faceless, polluting corporation is something readers could recognize from their own world; why add robots, cybernetic limbs and weird weapons to the mix? I honestly feel the creators could use some strong editorial direction to keep them on track, keep them

The ending, which adopts an uncharacteristically (but cliched) supernatural element as a key element is disappointing. Carstens's ultimate message with this book is about the important of faith in modern society, that secularism is actually an evil that only provides temporary benefits. That belief has clearly led to some passion, and that passion certainly does find its way into this book. I suppose I can't condemn the ending simply because it's not in keeping with my own personal beliefs, but it does seem like an oversimplified answer for the interesting concepts the creator dared to examine.

If ever there was an audience for this kind of deconstructionist super-hero story, it's me. I love Golden Age characters, and I'm a fan of this sub-genre. I was drawn in by the narration and the colorful characters, but I was put off by the hiccups in the storytelling. The script lurches forward, seemingly omitting key information and any effort toward solid segues. The all-too convenient plot device integral to the plot - Pandora's Box - is awkwardly handled as well. It's not clear why one would have to combat the release of evils into the world by bottling up forces for good. I like that there's a suggestion that the Fighting Yank may just be off his rocker, but the supernatural elements and the nature of the super-hero genre pretty much preclude that possibility. In fact, given the characters' likely experience with the supernatural, their resistance to the Yank's claims makes little sense.

Of course, the problem is that the setting shouldn't be the star of the show. This is a Die Hard comic, after all, but McClane seems no more important a part of the plot than any other player. I realize Chaykin is setting the stage here; perhaps the story will read better in a collected format. But when it comes to this original episodic approach, he needs to hook the audience in a hurry. This debut comic book needs the attitude and excitement that the readership expects from the Die Hard brand, and it's not to be found... yet.

Where the creators succeed in their efforts on this book is chiefly in the narration. It's straightforward and cold, and that's effective in establishing an atmosphere of intrigue, personal pain and gravity. I was surprised at how much I cared about Tyler and connected with his feelings of betrayal and anger. This is an extreme character, but the simple script somehow bridges the gap between the audience's mundane world and the edgy, exciting one in which the story is set.

Millar also spends far too much time guiding his heroine to the point of adventure. I get that he wants to reinforce her ironic belief there's nothing waiting for us at the end of life, but it feels drawn out, especially since it's obvious this woman is going to die and is going to discover something wondrous and weird on the other side. I felt myself wishing the writer would just get to the point, already.

To be fair, Milligan's script and plot are executed fairly well, hitting the right notes and taking the title characters where they need to be. It's unfortunate Atrocitus was designed to look like a monster, as these new stories call on the reader to see the humanity in him. Ultimately, at its best, this story is little more than standard comic-book fare. It certainly seems beneath a writer as clever and innovative as Peter Milligan. I have no doubt the momentum behind the Lantern brand will translate into solid sales for the book, but I won't be among those adding to its circulation numbers.

Both Salvador and Mark Texeria are both credited as artists on this series, and what I suspect is happening is that Texeria, the more seasoned professional, is provided layouts/breakdowns. His distinct style rarely peeks through in the line art. Navarro's style is a fairly standard one. He handles action sequences fairly well, but he seems to clearly try to channel a Bryan Hitch-like approach. He tries to make some of the characters look like real-world figures (one can see actors Patrick Stewart and Ed Harris turn up in supporting roles), but the photorealistic approach comes and goes, making for some inconsistent visuals. Furthermore, for some reason, the only physical characteristic separating them is hair color, and even then, the difference is only a slightly different shade of brown hair. That makes for an arduous read.

Also like Sword of Sorcery #0, this debut issue features a scene in which a teenage girl is menaced with a gang rape. The scene in the DC comic didn't strike me as particularly bothersome; it was fleeting, and perhaps it didn't stand out as much since the threat was against a minor supporting character. Here, it's the title character that fights against the potential violation and desperately steels herself for it. It's unsettling, and I don't know that it's necessary. While the overall tone of the story is conventional and familiar, the ugliness of the scene stood out - but in an unfortunate way. I was jarred out of the story, and while rape ultimately isn't portrayed, the extreme violence inflicted on the heroine was too over the top and not terribly believable. No amount of influence would protect the offender from prosecution or outrage.

Writer Jim Zubkavich crafts modern personalities for these characters despite the fact the mercenary action is set in medieval times. That helps to pep things up a bit, but the novelty wears off after a little while. It certainly makes the almost alien setting and circumstances more accessible for the reader, though. I'm surprised at how little we learn about the two main heroes; I found I wasn't given any real reason to care about or follow these characters. Overall, the designs and violence-driven storytelling put me in mind of early Image Comics, especially Rob Liefeld books. Skullkickers is a purely superficial book and at best, it can serve as someone's guilty pleasure.

The greatest strength of this series all along has been the weird, exaggerated and emotive artwork of Scott Kolins, and that hasn't changed with the final issue. He captures the gruesome and powerful nature of the title character incredibly well. Michael Atiyeh's colors add a lot to the visuals too. I love the contrast between the bright but eerie green tones of Green Lantern's powers against the murky darkness of Solomon Grundy's corner of the world and his flesh.

Fans of Japanese and other Asian comics will probably like what he has to offer here. He clearly has an appreciation for the cultural leanings and the formulas used to develop and market such books. Of course, that can be as much of a detriment as it can be a strength. With the third chapter, Babendererde starts loading up the book with new characters and concepts - sidekicks/friends; Civil War ghosts; a lesson in history, faith and mythology. These extraneous elements come along at either awkward or all-too convenient moments in the story, and honestly, I found I didn't care about them. I wanted to get back to the plot and characters that piqued my interest in the first chapter. I also found it odd how Babendererde spent so much time establishing the concept of the seven Soul Chasers and their various powers only to abandon that structure, as well as some of the heroes in the process.

Some might describe Spiessert's cartooning as being crude in nature, but it's quite effective and cute. Will it appeal to younger readers who might be looking for some of the wonder, detail and energy to be found in the source material? I have my doubts. Perhaps the greatest source of fun to be had from the art is from the expressions on the characters' faces. They're quite the opposite from what we see in their original counterparts. I love the perpetually annoyed look on the Kenobi character and the rather stunned, miserable expressions the Luke analogue exhibits.

There's a genuine effort in the artwork to distinguish between the two different Marvel Universes, and Pichelli and colorist Justin Ponsor are successful in doing so. However, I found Pichelli's depiction of the more adult, original Spidey to be a little stiff and too realistic, not in keeping with the energy we're used to seeing in her (and others') take on Ultimate Spider-Man. I was also surprised the original Marvel Universe is depicted as a darker place than the Ultimate Universe. I've always viewed the Ultimate continuity as being more extreme and often mature in the storytelling set there.

Brothers on opposite sides of the law. An innocent soul, infected by technology and driven to commit acts he doesnt intend. The love interest, torn between an allegiance to her family and to the man she loves. All of these elements turn up in this book, and all of them feel like parts of a machine, not storytelling elements that flow from creativity. Strongarm feels like the answer at the end of a formula. At the end of the equation, X equals this. Mind you, this is just the first episode in a series, so theres time for the book to distinguish itself in some way. I did appreciate the fact that Horton throws his readers right into the middle of the action. We dont know why the machine man is after Rob, and ultimately, it doesnt matter. Horton doesnt waste time getting to the point that the reader already sees on the cover.

It seems as though artist Ryan Stegman has adapted his style a bit for this new Spidey series. He's boasted a fairly conventional super-hero-genre style in the past, but here, there's a looser, rougher approach, and I think the reason is clear. Stegman's art is meant to reflect the harsher personality that lurks within the title character now. It looks a bit like the sort of result we saw years ago when Bill Sienkiewicz would ink the work of the late Jim Aparo on various Batman comics from DC. This edgier approach doesn't quite work, perhaps in part because Slott's script doesn't fully commit to the darker tone that's promised. Otto-Peter's dialogue is corny, reflecting the Silver Age megalomania characteristic of super-villains from the 1960s. There's a goofy tone to the action involving the Sinister Six as well, so the harshness Stegman tries to instill here feels a bit out of place.

Still, while this issue had its missteps, there's a lot of potential in the smart, mature script and subplots. This isn't a perfect first issue, but it will get me to come back for the second.

While the script failed to fulfill the promise of earlier issues, the artwork is effective and impressive in its meticulous level of detail. Nicola Scott (and regular series artist Jesus Merino, who was responsible for some previous issues) is clearly taking cues from Perez, either directly or as an inspiration. Scott does an excellent job of instilling a harsh quality into the face of the Angry, Fake Superman and a softer, more human look for the genuine article while still presenting them as being identical in appearance.

Tapping Dan Jurgens to work on this title as part of its new creative team makes some sense from an editorial standpoint. After all, Jurgens helmed some of the most popular and visible Superman comics in history: name the Death of Superman and related stories. Unfortunately, Jesus Merino's finishes over his pencils are overwhelming. Jurgens' art doesn't really look all that much like his art, whereas Merino's rougher style comes shining through. I was also surprised DC left the Helspont designed untouched. It's a typical early-1990s villain design, meant to look Kewl but failing to actually be cool. Why DC continues to mine the wreckage of the industry of the '90s is puzzling, given the fact the New 52 titles incorporating such elements the most are among its poorest sellers.

There's just enough here to get me to check out the second issue of the Johns/Romita run on this title. Other than Grant Morrison, DC's creators haven't seemed to have had a solid handle on or vision for the Man of Steel since the New 52 relaunch. It remains to be seen if this will be a turning point.

Ariel Olivetti's style, with his lantern-jawed heroes and airy colors, is perfectly suited to this guilty-pleasure project. Though there's a rich level of detail and texture in his work, he doesn't aim for a realistic look. Instead, his art tends to take one into a world of gods at the top of the world. There's a mythic, timeless look to the characters and the backdrops. This looks more like a supernatural legend than a science-fiction action story thanks to his approach. The plot... well, it's not nearly as refined as the artwork. Schultz faces an insurmountable challenge when it comes to achieving any level of credibility with this concept, so he wisely doesn't even try to overcome it. The plotting is Silver Age-like in its simplicity, so much so that clunkier elements will spur one to roll one's eyes. Still, I like that he examines the Predators as an alien race with a culture and religion, with citizens capable of reason and communication. The Aliens play an incredibly minor role i

Four different pencillers (two of them women) contribute to this special, leaving one with the distinct impression it was rushed into production. The good news is that the shifts from one style to another aren't all that jarring, but the bad news is that none of the artwork is terribly striking or memorable. As near as I can tell, this comic and Batman: Joker's Daughter's #1 seem designed to spotlight not only female characters but up-and-coming women creators at the publisher, which isn't a bad idea in a time when there's still a need to bring more women into the medium, both as creators and readers. But this Lois Lane special is entirely forgettable - hardly the best showcase for these creators.

Where this comic book goes awry is with its visuals. Don't get wrong " artist Daniel Leister tells the story clearly, and I like that the colors are bright despite the harsher elements that are included in the plot. But Leister's style seems a little" ordinary. The best thing I can say about it is it's fairly standard American comic-art fare. It looked a little rough at times when a sharper level of detail could have reinforced the more shocking, sci-fi aspects of the story. There's a solid performance here when it comes to fundamentals, and as he hones his craft and develops his own unique style, he'll be worth watching as he moves onto bigger projects.

Mind you, the plot and ideas upon which it is founded are strong. The smaller story - Don's effort to find and save Kate - runs parallel to the larger one, as government and a duke of oil fight over the date of the Black Diamond (or really, over the destination of fuel). Young offers action and amusement, yes, but there's some strong commentary about economics, politics and the machinery of Western society. Young's introduction of the characters who represent the military industrial complex and the corruption of the private sector could have been clearer (and Proctor's art further muddied those waters), but I love that it happens on a hunting trip. One can't help but think of Cheney with his shotgun out hunting pheasants or Bush clearing brush on a Crawford ranch. While Don and Kate's story is a classic one, the bigger picture is what helps to set the plot apart and challenge the audience.

McCrea and Burns offer exaggerated, twisted visuals that are in keeping with the excesses of the plot and characters, though it's sketchy at times, lacking in detail when it comes to the peripheral players. The thing is that this story - meant to be an exploration of morals (or a lack thereof) - seems to call for a darker, more cynical tone, but the art is quite bright. That's of course attributable in part to Tony Avina's colors, but the line art is almost devoid of darkness and shadows. It's understandable, given the tropical backdrop, but it feels as though a darker mood is still called for here.

Overall, The Charlton Arrow's affection for past material is easy to see and to which one can relate to some extent, and some of the contributions are noteworthy. But unless one has an appreciation for Charlton comics and the state of the medium from decades ago, this anthology likely won't resonate much for you.

Remender's plot is an ambitious one, and given some positive buzz for the series in the online comics community, it would seem to indicate that there are a number of readers for whom the story has clicked. Still, I found this sort of apocalyptic super-hero story to be too familiar. I think it compares easily to Kingdom Come, for example, but it also pales in that comparison. Projects such as KC at least actually play with the icons needed to make the story work; The End League is stuck with their stand-ins.

Ultimately, what works against this book is that despite its title, it's far from the first to explore such ideas and themes. Uncanny X-Men, Civil War, Powers and countless other comics set in the super-hero genre or its periphery have mined this ore time and time again, and it didn't really feel like anything new was being said here. Nevertheless, this is a promising early effort from these creators, and I'm pleased Action Lab is giving new talent a chance to hone their skills.

While the script is accessible, the plot is hectic. It's surprising how quickly the Spider comes face to face with his enemy in this issue, and it's not as though her crusade against corruption was built up all that much in the first issue. The confrontation stems from convenience in the plotting, not any kind of organic encounter. I think it would've been fun to see more investigation and more of Anput's plotting. Furthermore, the zombie shtick feels tacked on and inconsistent with the villain's other methods. I really didn't care for his over-the-top methods here either. It's one thing to gun down potential killers and rapists, but to blow the fingers off a guy's hand to get him to flee for his life seems... gratuitously dickish.

Berkenkotter's is photorealistic in tone. While his work is penciller unlike Ross's usually painted work, it's definitely presented in what one might see as a Ross house style. It's similar in tone to the linework in Avengers/Invaders and several of Ross's Project Superpowers titles. It tells the story effectively, but it also comes off as somewhat generic and flat at times. It rarely really grabs the eye.

But my real problem with the book is the disconnect between the script and the artwork. Whereas Waid's script boasts a brainy quality that elevates the super-hero genre elements, Chad Hardin's artwork is loud and ham-fisted in nature. He boasts an exaggerated, cartoony style that's inconsistent with the more intelligent, meticulous nature of the dialogue and premise. Hardin's work seems to boast a wide variety of influences, all across the board, from Cully Hamner to George Perez to even Rob Liefeld. It makes for some inconsistencies in the visuals. And the designs for the villains are terribly generic and say nothing about them.

The book's foreword describes this book as "a delightfully improbably mix of Silver Age adventure comics, Jonny Quest, Aquaman, the Sub-Mariner, seaQuest, Star Wars, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" and more. That description is right on the money, but it's not necessarily something to celebrate. Piscopo isn't just inspired or influenced by these fantastic ideas. It's more like he's plucked pieces from them all and has sewn them together. Capt'n Eli comes off as being something of a Pop-Culture Frankenstein Monster. As a result, it feels more like a product than an effort to tell a story. That being said, it should be effective when it comes to appealing to kids (at least I'd like to think so). It's just not something parents will enjoy along with their kids. Instead, they might want to sit down with them and watch a Jonny Quest DVD or give them some of Marvel's Invaders comics from the 1970s.

Sarkar's plot and pacing are by the numbers" too much, really. The story follows a tried-and-true formula from pop culture, but that means it's painfully predictable at times

I realize the answers are probably to be found in the first The Waking limited series, but Gregory definitely should have provided more exposition for potential new readers. A text piece on the inside front cover, maybe a two-page flashback sequence... give me something. That's why I'm left with the impression this Zenescope title (and perhaps many others) is meant to exist as an exclusive club for early adopters. Obviously, I know the Zenescope folks would prefer to expand their reach and their brand, but the execution has the opposite effect.

The denouement offers something intriguing, and that's a new vision of the title character. Sure, it's clear he's going to be the thunderous hero we've seen in the past, but Straczynski seems to grant him (and Blake) a more nomadic lifestyle. It's actually reminiscent of the 1970s era of the Hulk, and since the Green Goliath ain't using that storytelling structure these days, it's interesting to see it applied to such a different character. Ultimately, this issue was something of a disappointment, given the drawn-out nature of the script. However, the art and the seeds of a new premise hinted at in the script are enough to get me to come back and take a look at the second issue.

I've never been a big fan of Paul Gulacy's work, so this title had that going against it from the start. I find his characters' faces are too elongated, and that holds true with this effort as well. He certainly manages to achieve a fairly realistic look for this impossible scenario, and he and assistant inker Charles Yoakum do a solid job of establishing a tense, dark atmosphere. I was also impressed with the artist's depiction of the doomsday virus' physiological effects. But another problem I have with Gulacy's art is that he really doesn't offer much of a variety for body types and faces. Too many characters look far too much alike, and that made it especially difficult to follow all of the action.

Unfortunately, the plot here is not only disappointing, it's a bit disconcerting. We've see similar elements in the source material, but Dan Jolley's seeming civil war among the toys in Andy's room is unsettling. Seeing the adorable Rex and friends trying to doom an unknown toy to exile or even destruction didn't make for an entertaining read. In fact, the overall tone of the plot was rather harsh. Maybe younger readers won't notice it, but their parents might. I did enjoy the reveal of the new toy's true nature at the end, and Jolley also deserves credit for capturing these well-known characters' voices nicely.

Kurt's style makes me see him as something of a low-rent Bryan Hitch, but I can understand why the book's editors sought such an artist for the book. Hitch, after all, was the artist on the series that introduced this incarnation of Iron Man (The Ultimates). He certainly captures the scope of the story and action. The choreography of the airplane assault in the second act of this issue looks great, for example. At times, the visuals struck me as being a bit too ordinary, but the storytelling is always clear. I guess I'm saying the art is serviceable but not something that really excited me either.

I like the notion of a mutant child being adopted by a human couple. I like the idea of a ragtag band of emerging mutants being on the run from an entire country that's terrified of them (which is a premise that one of those variant covers seems to promise). More importantly, I like the idea of a regular kid struggling to cope with inconceivable power and circumstances. Brian Michael Bendis pulled it off nicely a decade ago when he launched Ultimate Spider-Man, and Loeb has acknowledged that served as an inspiration for this new Marvel mutant title. But Loeb doesn't succeed as Bendis did. Jimmy is far too accepting of what's happening. He barely freaks out. Loeb tries to make up for it with a quiet father/son moment to close out the issue, but that alone isn't enough to balance his reactions (or lack thereof) in the rest of the issue.

Despite the problems with clarity, there are some interesting ideas at play here. Lindelof's introduction of "new" character - new to the Ultimate universe, anyway - is intriguing, mainly because I find I'm curious about how he's retooled and changed this familiar character. Furthermore, an intelligent Hulk who devolves into a mindless brute when he loses control of his emotions work well. The madder Hulk gets, the stupider Hulk gets. No one is stupider than Hulk!! However, what Wolverine hopes to accomplish by pressing those buttons isn't clear at all. Facing off against Hulk-sans-brains doesn't prove to be any sort of an advantage.

Loeb also does a good job of introducing the cast of characters here. Ultimatum #1 is something of a crash course on the icons of Marvel Comics; it doesn't really matter that it's an intro to the "Ultimate" versions or not. Of course, at this point in pop-culture history, I think Marvel would be hard pressed to find a reader that really needed this primer on its biggest characters. Film and television have done the work for them, certainly when it comes to the scant detail provided here. Overall, this opening issue just barely gets the story moving. Sure, Big Things happen, but the real conflict and explanations lie ahead. It's really too early to judge this story as a result, though as I mention earlier, I wonder if some readers might make a judgment call about whether or not they got real value for their four U.S. greenbacks.

Ultimately, the biggest problem with this comic book is the marketing campaign. The effort to establish this as an important moment in Marvel history sets the bar awfully high for Remender's plot, and it just doesn't meet the goal. The big reveal on the final page of the villain and his motives establish this as little more than a standard super-hero story. Perhaps it's intended to be epic in scale, but just about every appearance of this particular antagonist has been intended as such for the past couple of decades (or more). Stripped of the heavy continuity and gore, what we're left with is basically an ordinary super-hero story. It's diverting, but not really worth the hype, and barely worth the $4 cover price.

Ultimately, the book is hindered by a lack of clarity. In an effort to maintain an air of mystery, Grant doesn't tell us nearly enough about the title character and her sister. It's not clear what motivates her or how she managed to switch places with her sister. There are insufficient cues to differentiate between the two sisters as well. Instead of teasing and pleasing the reader with tension and twists, Grant and Dzialowski end up confusing him or her.

Writer Mark Millar has been responsible for some rather inventive work over the last few years. Chosen comes to mind, but even his super-hero work has shown some innovative thinking. Civil War, though hindered by problems with execution, was a great high concept, and his new creator-owned title, Kick-Ass, is a strong character study and an interesting deconstruction of the super-hero concept. Sadly, none of the originality is to be found in his latest foray into the world of Marvel's most popular mutant. This quick read is diverting for fans of the genre and the character, but it's not compelling or memorable. Maybe Millar has something twisted and imaginative in store. I certainly would hope so.

I think that illogical dichotomy in the title character is the property's biggest liability, but it's not the only flaw here. The premise is derivative to the point of distraction. An alien escapes from an oppressive culture and escapes to Earth, where individuality is embraced and freedom is an important ideal, only to be pursued by threats from beyond the stars. There's little new to be found in Zipper's story. Supporting players in the drama are really cliches rather than characters. Still, the visuals are strong, but not really strong enough to eclipse the problems or to boost the minor appeal of the association with the Simmons name.

The artwork is a mixed bag. Herman seems to be striving for something of a playful, cheesecake style, reminiscent of the work of Joe Chiodo. I think Herman focuses the reader's attention too much on Zoe's physical attributes. The backgrounds are surprisingly lacking and bland. The absence of any kind of details in the settings is distracting and makes the comic less fun, less visually stimulating. The colors are sadly muted and drab as well, running contrary to the energy of the plot and script that surges later in the issue.

One could see it as something of a commentary on the state of super-hero comics. Johns uses a foundation of a much simpler era of the Superman mythos here. Jimmy Olsen is a keener kid here, following Clark around like a puppy. He's really a one-dimensional figure, representative of a simpler era in the genre. The same holds true of the implausibly cheerful Legionnaires who approach the young Clark Kent in Smallville. While those simpler incarnations are charming in their own way, they don't really hold up as fleshed-out, compelling characters in the context of modern storytelling. Perhaps Johns is saying there is a place for those elements we remember with such fondness but that one also has to accept the state of super-hero storytelling of the 21st century along with the nostalgia factor.

The action doesn't unfold clearly from a visual standpoint, and that's unfortunate, as I really like the aesthetics of Pete Woods' linework. His style has evolved over the years, and here, his crisp, detailed, clean approach reminds me of the style of Chris (Tom Strong) Sprouse. He actually manages to make Larfleeze appear to be a figure of menace and power rather than goofy and pathetic.

David Goyer's story in which Superman renounces his U.S. citizenship is much ado about nothing; the character isn't turning his back on the States but instead dedicates himself to the entire planet. The story itself is oversimplified and overwrought; it's a good think it was a short story and not a full issue of the series. The storyboarded Richard Donner screenplay was quite disappointing. Not only is the plot uninspired, the decision to use rough storyboards instead of reinterpreting the script as a comic-book story was a misstep. The Geoff Johns/Gary Frank Legion story is a fun concept, but unfortunately, they don't really see it all of the way through. The strength my friend told me about is Damon Lindelof's small contribution to the Superman mythos. It's incredibly effective and engrossing, and it's thanks to the misdirection in the piece. Ryan Sook's rich, textured artwork is absolutely lovely as well.

Unfortunately, there are more elements that didn't work for me. Political intrigue and an assassination plot give way to a super-hero time-travel story? It seems to fly in the face of what made this larger story interesting in the first place. Mind you, I can see it as a necessary evil; this is, after all, about a dead man coming back from the grave. It just seems like such a let-down after everything that's led us to this point. Furthermore, while other events in the Marvel Universe occasionally had some impact on Brubaker's Cap, one of the reasons it was such a strong series was that it was, for the most part, its own self-contained story. Reborn, on the other hand, incorporates a lot of recent Marvel continuity into the plotting. The events of Secret Invasion and "Dark Reign" factor in heavily here, and for those readers unfamiliar with those other Marvel plots, it could make for some confusing moments.

Bryan Hitch's hyper-realistic style enhances the flashback/time-travel nicely. Those scenes bring Cap down to earth and drive home the real history that served as the integral context for the character. The realistic look of Prof. Erskine, who's essentially been a throwaway character for decades, really makes him seem like a person than simply a catalyst. Hitch's style, however, doesn't really work as well for the super-hero action set in the present. His take on the Sinister Spider-Man/Venom is surprisingly uninteresting. Those scenes are about exaggeration and flair, so Hitch's photorealistic approach doesn't quite work for capturing the quick, unreal action.

Bryan Hitch's photorealistic art is attractive, and I do like the consistency that inker Butch Guice brings to the mix, making this book appear a bit more like what we got in the Captain America series leading up to this moment. But the meticulously detailed, convincing backdrops and action really aren't necessary for this book. Brubaker has opted for a cliched approach to the plot, yes, but it's also a thoroughly traditional super-hero story. Therefore, it really calls for a simpler and more exaggerate look in the artwork. Colorist Paul Mounts maintains an eerie tone throughout the book with some unusual colors, and that would've been perfect had this story maintained the same sort of atmosphere as the plotlines that led up to it. But instead, the bombastic, ham-fisted approach to the story really calls for a louder, more colorful and vibrant tone. It's not really a failing of the artists, per se, but rather a mismatch between the writing and the visuals.

The bombastic and traditional nature of the super-hero action in this issue probably would have been better served by someone with a more exaggerated, conventional style rather than the photorealistic approach one expects from Bryan Hitch. I liked the idea of and design for the MODOK-like creatures that give the heroes a run for their money, but we really dont get a clear view of them in action here. Hitchs cover art is a bit odd as well, as it features just about the entire Marvel Universe at Caps side when really only a handful of Avengers turn up in the story.

The Protector's dull nature extends to his generic costume; he looks like a starting template for character construction in an online super-hero role-playing game. Fortunately, John Romita Jr.'s work overall is quite strong. He and the other artists working on the issue foster a dreary, foreboding atmosphere, not so much emphasizing the growing danger that the Hood represents but the surreptitious and deceitful nature of the Illuminati's affairs. There are pages that look a little too rushed, such as the double-page spread that serves as this issue's cliffhanger (the linework is far too loose and rough), but key scenes look much more polished. And to be honest, even a rough image from Romita Jr. and his collaborators packs a visual punch.

There's no denying the strength of John Romita Jr. as an artist, but the linework in this issue is incredibly rough. It looks a bit rushed in appearance, but I can't tell if that's due to the pencilling/breakdowns or the inking. Furthermore, the thick, squat design for the future Ultron is ugly but not as intimidating as the creators likely intended, and I've never found Noh-Varr's generic look throughout this story arc to be eye-catching or effective at all.

One of the things I enjoyed about this story was how it ends up connecting to plot elements from the first story arc in the series, bringing the first year of the title full circle. But perhaps the most distracting element in the book was the fact that a captive Spider-Woman is depicted as being naked... again. The story really doesn't demand the skin, and the villains' apparent decision to deprive her of clothing makes them seem more like creepy pervs than significant threats to the world's most powerful super-hero team. And while it was a pleasure to see Bryan Hitch and Paul Neary paired again in these pages, I question whether they were the right choice for this particular comic. I'm not taking issue with the work they offer up here; it's detailed and really brings these characters to life. But given the nature of the cheesy, colorful, Silver Age villains, I wonder if a more stylized, exaggerated visual approach wouldn't have served the fun qualities of those characters better.

Many of my favorite Bendis-written comics are the ones that focus on character interaction rather than action, so suffice it to say I enjoyed this transitional issue of this series. There are definitely some problems. The issue doesn't fulfill the promise set out on the cover - no new lineup is revealed, and the selection process isn't even begun here. Furthermore, the main plot that reveals itself at the end of the issue demonstrates Bendis is simply telling one long, extended story with no end in sight. Nevertheless, the meat of this issue focuses on the disarray in the Avengers' world and how it's affecting the cast of characters.

Daniel Acuna's art is incredibly attractive. It looks like a cross between the work of Kieron Dwyer (a one-time Avengers artist himself) and the already legendary Darwyn Cooke. He maintains a dark, mature tone throughout the comic, but at the same time, there's a sense of tradition and brightness inherent in the super-hero genre. But again, despite the aspects of the book I enjoyed, I think I'm reading this title (and Bendis' other Avengers work) mainly out of habit these days. It's time to break that habit.

Jason Aaron's story of corruption, poverty and misery on a South Dakota reservation continues, and he continues to bring a level of intensity to the characters and plot that engages the reader quite well. We really don't learn much more about these characters in this second episode, which is too bad, because there's some strong potential. Probably the most interesting figure in the drama so far is the villain, Lincoln Red Crow. Later on in this issue, he comes across as a typical crimelord character, but earlier in this issue, Aaron depicts him as a skilled, slick leader (from a public-relations standpoint). Red Crow boasts an intelligent and charismatic quality, and I wish that showed through every time we see the character. One of my complaints about the first issue was that all of the characters seemed so harsh and unlikable. In this issue, a more ethical, centered player is introduced, clearly intended to inspire the main protagonist somewhere down the line. Still, the dominant, ov

Phil Jimenez's artwork has evolved since his first hit the scene. No longer does his style seem like a pale imitation of George (Final Crisis: Legion of Three Worlds) Perez's, though the influence is still apparent. Still, this issue full of gritted teeth and intense glares just didn't hold my attention all that much. I found the design for the X-Men crash suits to be awkward, and the figures often seem stiff. Mind you, the look of the organic incarnation of a previously mechanical foe at the end of the book was appropriately creepy.

The two stories have something else in common, and it's the biggest liability hindering this comic book. Bendis and Aaron both fail to properly introduce the protagonists to their audience. The very nature of this crossover event title will draw X-Men fans who don't read Avengers comics and vice-versa, and it's bound to suck in a few lapsed readers as well. But the scripts are inaccessible. Aaron tells us little about Hope or why she's seen as a mutant messiah. Bendis' script seems to assume we know we need to know about Wanda; I know most of it, but I still haven't read the last issue of Avengers: The Children's Crusade, so I don't even know how she got from there to here. Bendis doesn't even spell out what the Scarlet Witch's powers are in this story. The stories fail to detail who these women are or why they're important, and as a result, they also fail to give the audience a reason to care about what happens.

There's nothing particularly off-putting about the storytelling here, but there's nothing particularly compelling either.

Visually, this issue is pretty strong. Eddy Barrows's art has really developed quite a bit since I saw in such titles as The All-New Atom and 52. It's much darker and more detailed than what I remember of the penciller's style. Actually, if the credits had listed the Blackest Night art team of Ivan Reis and Oclair Albert as being responsible for this issue, I would have had no problem in believing it. My favorite part of the visual side of the storytelling is the colors, specifically how they're being used to convey how the heroes feel about what's going on and about other characters at any given moment. We've seen the technique used in other BN comics, but it's used more extensively here and to greater effect than we've seen before.

In my review of the first issue, I noted I enjoyed Eddy Barrows's work. While he handles the horror elements and the action well in this issue, I found the exaggerated tone in his style here to be distracting. The expressions on the everyday characters' faces on the first page are far too exaggerated and distorted. The barber and customer, for example, look like goofy cartoons rather than average, down-to-earth people. Again, Rod Reis's colors are vibrant and really allows the emotional-spectrum aspect of the plot to really pop.

The saving grace of this book is the artwork. While the plot (especially the unexplained and ugly explosion of anger on Odin's part) is disappointing, the same can't be said of the strong linework and colors provided by Stuart Immonen, Wade von Grawbadger and Laura Martin. It's a lovely book. I was particularly impressed with how Immonen distinguishes the Norse Gods from the regular super-heroes. He brings such stature and presence to Thor and Odin that really sets them apart. There are quite a few characters running around in this comic book, but Immonen and von Grawbadger never take any shortcuts. Every figure - be it a major player or a bystander in a single panel - is crisply rendered. The only visual element in the book that left me cold was the poorly designed regular cover, with its static artwork by Steve McNiven.

Odin's role in the story is an ongoing point of contention. I just don't buy into his short-sightedness and willingness to sacrifice an entire planet full o people, especially since we haven't seen what sort of threat the Serpent and its forces represent. But most frustrating is the fact that nothing really happens in this issue. The same scene keeps repeating, as we see heroes and villains alike transformed after touching enchanted hammers that have crashed to Earth from space. After the second instance, it stops being interesting, especially when one finds out later in the issue that some of the scenes that begin in this comic book will run their course in other titles I don't planning on purchasing. Since the story doesn't advance here, this comes off more as an exercise in marketing than storytelling. I don't mind big crossover event books as long as the story is good, and I'm still waiting for a story after two issues and eight bucks.

Armand Villavert's artwork is highly reminiscent of the style of Michael Avon (Powers, Takio) Oeming. Like the character concepts, the character designs are cute but somewhat derivative. Of course, the creators often explore archetypes here rather than actual characters, so I suppose that's to be expected. I was disappointed to find that the backgrounds throughout this comic were lacking. Given the setting, there's a lot of opportunity for imagination and invention, but there's never a strong sense of place, of what this unusual school actually looks like inside. The most striking thing about the artwork on this book is colors. Colorist Carlos Carrasco employs an exceedingly bright palette. The colors - almost Day-Glo in their brightness - really dominate almost every page, every panel. I get what he's trying to do. It looks as though he's trying to strike a balance between a lighter, more playful look and an eerie, even surreal mood. But the colors end up overwhelming the line art as

The art throughout the book is and full of energy. Villavert also provides the characters - especially the kids - with sharp, iconic designs as well, though I don't get why the Red Octopus is, you know, green and yellow. The surreal colors suit the oddball, corrupt qualities of the characters, but I'm still bothered by the fact that we don't have a strong sense of the school itself, its physical structure and layout. The action seems to unfold in a psychedelic void. It feels as though the artist hasn't mapped out the school, and doing so might lead to a clearer sense of place and dimension.

Bendis sets this series up as a crime book with trappings of the super-hero genre, and it's a wise move. Bendis first grabbed people's attention with his independent crime comics. Furthermore, there's the promise of the exploration of Marc Spector's fractured psyche, and if there's one thing Bendis does well, it's exploring damaged characters (just see Alias for proof). Yes, there's a lot of promise in this first issue - especially on the final page - but as far as this first chapter is concerned, that promise is (as yet) unfulfilled. This was a bit of a lackluster start, but there's enough in it to get me to look at the second issue.

Maleev conveys the several-heroes-in-one-form premise pretty well. The coloring motif struck me as a little odd. When the action unfolds, Spider-Man and the main antagonist in this issue, a woman named Snapdragon (am I supposed to recognize her?), are bathed in shades of red while others around them. I don't really get the effect. It doesn't really add to the mood of the scene, and when other characters are cast in darkness, it makes it a little difficult to follow the action.

Writer Brian Michael Bendis offers up 22 pages of paranoia at 30,000 feet, and I have to admit, it makes for an entertaining read. However, I found I enjoyed it more on an absurdist level than as dramatic tension in the super-hero genre. I get why Bendis and Marvel are setting up the discovery of a Skrull operating in secret on Earth as a big deal; they're building up to a big event. Having the super-heroes eye one another with extreme suspicion while trying together to analyze recent events in light of the Skrull-as-Elektra revelation makes for some snappy and interesting dialogue. But it doesn't quite work in the context of the bigger picture of Marvel continuity. These characters live in a world filled with shapechangers, magicians, telepaths and inventors of impossible technology. They've had cause to be paranoid their entire lives. Given what they've experienced and learned over the years, finding a Skrull spy is hardly shocking. Troubling, yes, but not so extreme a development so

Once again, there's a split approach with the art, and it works in this context. The mystical battle sequences are illustrated by Chris Bachalo, who delivers some of his strongest work in recent memory. Of course, the strength of Bachalo's work here simply emphasizes the comparative weakness of Billy Tan's art, which serves to bring the Avengers scenes to life. Those scenes are so conversational, and the dominant tone is meant to be one of reassurance, of friendship. Tan's style just isn't suited to conveying softer moments.

What really grabbed my attention early on in the book was the "Good Clark Hunting" riff as we watch this extraordinary young man explore the professional landscape of Metropolis. Even though nobody is aware of it, there's nothing Clark Kent can't do, and he's finally reached a point in his life when he plans to put those gifts to use. While his motives aren't selfish - he's determined to find a career that will allow him to provide for his widowed mother - they are self-centered. He's not worried about the world; he's focused on his small corner of it. He's also determined to find a small measure of happiness and fulfillment. In the past, Clark Kent has almost exclusively been portrayed as unrelentingly selfless. Selflessness is admirable, but such a perfectly ethical and wholly giving person is harder to accept than someone who makes the difficult choice to dedicate his life to helping others. Clark is tempted here to use his powers for personal gain, and that temptation is enough to

I love the youthfulness Davis instills in the title character. It's easy to accept him as a young adult, just starting out in the world and confused about who he is and what his place in it should be. The redesign of the Parasite disappoints. The bucktoothed look, with glowing pods, just doesn't have the same visual impact as past interpretations. Furthermore, the decision to present Lex Luthor and his partner complete nude is unnecessary and distracting.

I think I get where Picoult is coming from with her approach to Wonder Woman. She's turned the Silver Age secret-identity plot dynamic on its ear. A staple of comics in the 1960s was Clark Kent's efforts to hide his dual identity from Lois Lane and his colleagues at The Daily Planet. Now, we have Diana Prince hiding her double life from Tom (who, of course, proves to be the ultimate Wonder Woman fanboy). But that's really all we get... a Silver-Age premise and little else. As a result, what we're left with is a comic book with only one character that developed in any way. Diana's new supporting cast are little more than props.

The hospital scene - during which Wonder Woman tries to appease her guilt and Etta makes her confession - isn't the most exciting one I've read in a super-hero comic, obviously. The scene is linked to the previous storylines, which I've already admitted had lost my interest, and furthermore, Etta gets into her background as an agent for an international espionage/security organization, which again I have little interest in. However, the scene does succeed in winning over the reader, not for what it contributes (or doesn't) to the plot, but rather in what it says about the characters. The strength of the friendship between Diana and Etta and the love they have for one another really comes through. The sensitivity of these women pours off the page, but at the same time, it doesn't weaken them. Their honesty with each other speaks to their integrity. Furthermore, Etta`s down-to-earth attitude makes for a nice balance with Diana's more formal demeanor.

Deodato has been regular artist on this title since Stuart Immonen's skills were put to work on Fear Itself, so there's some consistency to be had here. His darker style also suits some of the subject matter, but I still miss Immonen's influence on the book. He brought much more personality to the characters. And Deodato's efforts later in this issue fall a little short, as it's a bit difficult to determine the flow of the "Blitzkrieg U.S.A." scenes. Still, his more realistic style does work well with the character-driven tone of the issue.

Artist Mike Deodato has done some solid work for Marvel over the years, and he's no stranger to Bendis' Avengers, but I'm not sure he was the right choice as artist for this spotlight. Squirrel Girl's softer, nicer side is lost here. Her likeability factor doesn't come through in the art. Deodato employs a lot of shadow and silhouettes here, and the central character just doesn't call for so much darkness. Some of the action sequences are rather vague as well.

Deodato's art certainly suits the complex, conspiratorial tone of the story, though it seemed to me his realistic style subverts the colorful nature of the many superhuman characters in this story. While there's a darker tone to the writing, the art doesn't seem to include any sense of wonder. Furthermore, the cliffhanger is devoid of the visual impact called for in the moment. Throughout the issue, we see the heroes wondering what became of Osborn and what he has planned, and when they finally come face to face with their enemy, the art understates the importance and emotion of the encounter.

What 52 should be remembered for above all else aren't the strengths or weaknesses of the format, the radical character changes that occurred or its setup for DC's Next Big Event. What should be celebrated about the book is its sheer ambition. I don't think anyone thought DC would be able to pull off 52 weekly issues without missing a shipping date or there. Hell, my local comic shop held a contest to see who could guess what week would be the first to miss shipping (the customers who opted for "never" won). Given the strong sales, enjoyable moments and new approach to episodic, comic-book storytelling, 52 as a whole can only be seen as a tremendous success.

Ultimately, the biggest problem with both stories is the need for the reader to be fairly familiar with Marvel continuity. One has to recognize the antagonist from Hulk: Future Imperfect, the hero of Mark Millar's Wolverine: Old Man Logan and the name of the creator of mutant-hunting Sentinels to really get much out of the stories. Nevertheless, these short stories are light and fun, but they're so light and fleeting in nature, they don't seem to command the $4 cover price either.

Thaddeus's effort to find meaning is meant to balance that cynicism, but it fails to do so. The book is so dark and the Afterlife is presented as so hopeless and boring (yet frightening) that one can't help but adopt the miserable perspective that dominates the earlier chapters of the book. Not that there's anything wrong with misery once in a while, and one has to applaud the creators for crafting something that has a real emotional impact on the audience.

I think what ultimately hinders Age of Bronze is that the emphasis seems to be on information rather than entertainment. The comprehensiveness of the storytelling and history is impressive, but the expansive nature of the cast, the multiple plotlines and the complexity of the politics, relationships and warfare are just too much to follow. It feels as though the creator's and reader's attention is spread too thin. A more focused approach to the subject matter, while perhaps not as educational, might prove to be more engaging and entertaining.

Bendis's decompressed storytelling is back here, as the characters spin their wheels. We don't get a glimpse of the Silver Age X-Men (who are splayed all over the various covers for this debut issue) until the very end of the issue, and even then, they're out of costume. This entire issue could've been condensed down to five or six pages, conveying the same information and advancing the story in a much more exciting way while fulfilling the promise of all of the teasers we've seen over the past few weeks. It doesn't deliver on what it promises, and while I'm sure it will in subsequent issues, that doesn't temper my disappointment with this opening chapter.

This property was at its most popular when it first turned up in Uncanny X-Men and when it spun off into its own title for the first time, written and illustrated by John Byrne. It's understandable that the creators behind this latest relaunch would want to capture the same sort of energy and dynamic that made Alpha Flight a success more than two decades ago. The problem is that restoring these characters to their prime, the writers spotlight one of the inherent problems with corporate super-hero comics: nothing changes, and thereby, nothing really matters. One of the things that stood out early on in Byrne's run was his and Marvel's willingness to make some real changes. Remember when Guardian, the most iconic in appearance of the entire team, was killed? It made it seem as though the stories mattered, that with these lower-tier Marvel heroes, creators needn't worry about the status quo. Now the status quo reigns supreme.

Conner's artwork is the real star of the show, and I love the ferocity she instills in the title character. I love how emotive Conner's characters are, and she really brings her A game here. Furthermore, artist Tony Akins does an excellent job of aping Conner's style for the final 10 pages of the story. And then, when we reach the point where Wonder Woman has to wear the skimpiest of outfits for her mission of diplomacy, the comic falls apart. It's so ludicrous and gratuitous, it's almost impossible to get back into the story. Even the heroine herself points out how stupid the anime-inspired "costume" is. What's more frustrating is she's the only character to acknowledge it. I realize the entire Ame-Comi line is built on a foundation of these over-sexualized portrayals of the characters, but it's one thing to produce silly statuettes of them and another altogether to ask an audience to accept them in stories.

Churillas artwork is rather light in tone, which makes for an interesting contrast with the more gruesome aspects of the story. Its quite effective, though. He conveys the raw power that the title character possesses, and colorist Matthew Wilson does an excellent job of reinforcing the depth of the wounds that the Anchor sustains, as well as how that pain is channelled into power. Churillas designs for the demons in hell are rather simple and uninteresting.

Stan Goldberg's art for this milestone is rendered in a classic Archie style, though I found most panels and pages to be rather cramped. It was interesting to see how Goldberg tweaks the looks of the Archie gang as adults. They still look like the characters we've come to know and love over the years, but there definitely is a slightly more grown-up look at play.

I'm guessing this one-shot was designed to bolster the sales and profile of Incredible Hercules, but instead, poor marketing and execution may end up actually hindering those efforts. I hope that doesn't prove to be the case, as Pak and Van Lente have done some solid work on the underdog, unlikely Marvel title for some time now.

Despite the missteps, Astonishing X-Men: Xenogenesis represents some smart comics storytelling, but I must admit I'm relieved I didn't pay full price for the chance to read it.

Hickman is obviously taking some cues from the successful Avengers movie here (or he's taking directives from higher-ups who are ensuring cues from the movie are incorporated into the comic), given his choices for the core lineup of the Avengers: Cap, Iron Man, Thor, Hulk, Black Widow and Hawkeye are the primary team. It really makes little sense that the latter two heroes are dispatched to Mars to deal with otherworldly threats. In the movie, they were plunged into a war; here, they're handpicked for an off-planet mission, so it feels a little forced. Of course, the premise that reveals itself at the end of the book is the Avengers needs to have a broader array of members, with specialists available for specific and unusual missions. Hickman's take on a larger Avengers team actually reminds me a bit of the broader scope that formed the basis of the highly enjoyable Justice League Unlimited cartoon a few years ago.

Adam Kubert's dynamic, angular style seemed tailor-made for the super-hero genre, especially when it comes to larger-than-life superhumans and creepy, sci-fi monsters. Unfortunately, it really doesn't seem like a good fit for this story or Hickman's writing in general. There's always something of an intense, even frenetic quality to his visuals, and Hickman's scripts often call for a more thoughtful tone, even in the midst of the action. Hickman's stories usually seem to work better with a more detailed approach, and Kubert's work here sometimes boasts a looser look (especially when the insectoid appendages of the A.I.M. guinea pig go after the heroes). His work isn't poor or even below Adam Kubert's usual standards. It just seems out of place in the context of a character-focused, brainier script.

I was shocked to discover that this issue was illustrated by Dale Keown, who a darling of the comics industry in the early 1990s with his work on Incredible Hulk from Marvel and Pitt from Image Comics. Now, while I was never a real devotee to his work, it was clear his exaggerated and bombastic style was unique and memorable. But those distinct and over-the-top qualities aren't to be found in this new work, separated from his heyday by two decades. Instead, there's a much more conventional and slightly realistic bent to his linework here. Really, he offers up rather standard super-hero fare, and there's little diversity in his characters. If it weren't for the beard, the reader wouldn't be able to tell the faces of the hero and the villain apart.

Despite my qualms about the necessity for the script or yet another No. 1 issue/one-shot separate from the main limited series, there can be no doubt that the artwork is fantastic. Davis' designs for some of the adult versions of the Young Avengers are striking, tweaking classic designs in a way that brings a fresh quality to them while honoring the work of Marvel's Silver and Bronze Age legends. The revival of some forgotten character designs (such as the Byrne-era Vision and the M2 Stinger) was a treat as well. Davis' portrayal of the classic Sinister Six was a blast as well. The only respect in which he came up a little short is that the youthful characters in the flashback scene don't look nearly as youthful as they should.

The main reason the previous volume of this series worked so well was how Morrison had reversed the dynamic between the Dynamic Duo. In the past, Robin served as a brighter counter to the Batman's dark brooding nature. With former Boy Wonder Dick Grayson in the Batman role and the callous, ruthless Damien Wayne in the Robin costume, the light and dark roles were reversed, making for a new spin on the traditional hero/sidekick premise. But with Bruce and Damien together, that balance is gone. Two doubly dark characters aren't achieving the same result. Their bitter exchanges aren't fun at all; in fact, they're a bit of a downer.

I was pleasantly surprised with what I found within " a story that focuses on supporting characters in Batman's world rather than the title character himself. I was also expecting a simpler approach in the artwork, given the tight publishing timeline on which is series is set to unfold, but artist Jason Fabok has injected a meticulous level of detail into this inaugural issue. The comic definitely has its flaws, but it succeeds in the most important aspect for a weekly serial: it had me curious about what happens next.

Eduardo Risso offers a much different take on the title character than what we saw from Dave Gibbons in the original source material. Moloch always seemed like a tall, lithe figure in Watchmen, but here, he's far less imposing physically. He's almost dwarven in his depiction, small and meek and frail. It reinforces the pitiable nature of the character. Risso exaggerates the pointed ears as well, making Edgar seem far less normal, almost inhuman. His physical inhumanity is mirrored by the behavioral monstrousness of everyone around him. Risso's shadowy style is a great fit for a villain's story.

Risso continues to bring his trademark darkness to a story that definitely merits it, but unfortunately, the nature of the plot here makes his significantly different take on the title character seem off. Since Straczynski has synched his plot up with that of Moore, Moloch now looks wrong. In the source material, he was a rail-thin, lanky, tall, withered shell of a man, but Risso's interpretation of a hunched, troll-like, snivelling figure beaten down by life doesn't jibe with that. In the first issue, it wasn't a problem, because Straczynski's Moloch was only tangentially connected to Moore's. But here, they're meant to be one and the same.

In other words, this is far from an accessible introduction to the property. And it's not an accessible re-introduction either. While I enjoyed some elements in this comic book, I honestly don't know what it's meant to be about.

After the initial recruitment scenes, Simone offers up a prison-escape plot that's fun and helps temper the super-hero elements with more of a military feel. There's a palpable intensity to the plan and action that's a lot of fun.Furthermore, I'm intrigued by the new character introduced on the final splash page of the first story. However, the escape plot hinges on a twist that challenges the reader's suspension of disbelief. It requires a hard-to-swallow ruse and the co-operation of a player who's unaware of what's going on and how things are supposed to play out. The focus on the scheme and the action precludes much in the way of character development for the new members of the team. I'd be interested in seeing how the interplay among these new players will work, and I hope Simone finds a way to bring a couple of them down to earth.

However, that's not to say the homework isn't worth doing. Coates is painting a picture for Western readers of an unstable yet noble African country on the brink of war. A radically different, non-consumer culture is at its heart, and that changes the motivations of the characters and how the audience relates to them. Also laudable is the incorporation of so many strong female players in the drama. While is titled for its main male protagonist, this first issue focuses much more on the women around him: his bodyguards who've been forced into a position to question their core beliefs, his stepmother and her dedication to law and tradition despite her personal feelings, and an antagonist who's skilled at manipulating people in the wake tragedy and trauma.

Nevertheless, once I reached the end of the issue, I felt as though the story fell a little flat. The community-minded vigilante, swearing to protect those who can't fend for themselves while befriending and admiring them... it just feels a bit cliched. The gangster and his son setting a trap for the hero... again, cliched. One could argue that this is an archetypical crime/vigilante story, and the formula exists because it works. Ultimately, I felt that the cliches outweighed the elements that set this book apart. It's enjoyable, though, and given the title character, it's an unconventional experiment. Of course, that approach - having one hero take over another hero's title - is something that's worked for Marvel before, as those still lamenting the cancellation of The Incredible Hercules can attest.

Visually, all three segments are pretty strong. Ordway's bright style is a nice match for the Saint Walker story about a test of faith. He captures a sense of the alien and tempers it with a familiar environment that allows the reader to see humanity in Walker and his people. While I was a bit bored with the Mongul story, I loved the way it looked. Chris Samnee has been doing good work on The Mighty, and he performs well here too. His Mongul Jr. is so cute, but he nevertheless instills a thoroughly devilish quality in him that still allows the reader to recognize him for the villain he is. If there hadn't been any credits on the Indigo story, I would have assumed it was Doug Mahnke's work rather than Rags Morales's. He certainly captures the distant, mysterious and primal qualities of the bearers of the indigo power, as well as the arid, seemingly abandoned look of their home.

In any case, DC and its talent have constructed a solid series with a good chance of connecting with its audience this time around. It's just not clicking for me personally.

As the credits note, Jurgens created Booster Gold, so it's a pleasure to see him return to the character, which is probably at its zenith of popularity these days (and with recent appearances in two TV shows to boot). Jurgens does a solid job of portraying Booster as a well-meaning average guy who's perpetually in over his head. Despite his future-laden, sci-fi origin, he's a fairly relatable character. Jurgens' crisp, clean super-hero artwork is a lot of fun, but to be honest, the more grim nature of the world of Flashpoint really calls for a slightly darker tone. Jurgens doesn't really convey the pall that looms over the world. Jurgens' style certainly conveys a strong sense of place; there's plenty of detail in the backgrounds.

David Messina's artwork tells the story clearly - except when it doesn't, but that's OK, because there's a psychedelic component that comes into play at the end of the issue. Overall, though, he boasts a fairly generic super-hero style. Beyond the apparent influences in his work (I see touches reminiscent of such artists as Terry Dodson and Bryan Hitch here), there's nothing all that distinct to be found here. The designs for the superhuman characters are rather ho-hum as well. The Bounce is OK, but it's also quite forgettable.

Bagley's style has always been perfect for action-oriented, super-hero stories, but that's not what Brilliant is, at least not so far. This story of young friends making a decision to change the world and change their lives should really be about capturing a moodier, more realistic tone. While Bagley's style is attractive and it conveys the characters' youth quite well, the more cartoony elements in his artwork works against the more grounded tone needed to sell this spin on the super-hero genre. The story unfolds clearly in the art; it's not an issue with Bagley's work. It's really more of a mismatch of style and subject matter.

While I was able to follow the larger plotline, I was struck over and over by the same thought: "I'm missing something here." When the returning Buffy villains are revealed, I failed to pick up on the significance. Buffy and Dawn's strained relationship may humanize the unusual characters, but I had no idea from what the rift between them stemmed. Willow's reference to a dead lover was lost on me as well. And the pattern kept repeating. I don't mind being out of the loop for a few moments, but I kept waiting for Whedon to include some exposition in his script. There just wasn't enough there. I can understand why he'd want to avoid interrupting the flow of the plot and dialogue, but the absence of information is glaring. To be fair, I am not representative of the targeted Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season Eight reader. This is designed with the faithful in mind, not me and my review should be considered in that context. Nevertheless, I think Whedon missed an opportunity to win over new Bu

Where this book falters is in the fact that there's no real conflict that presents itself in this first issue. Sure, we see some action, but Straczynski focuses only on the setup and the presentation of lives that have been altered by a single event. This isn't a straightforward What If? type story, as the writer mucks about with more than a single turn of events in the history of the Marvel Universe. Iron Man is no longer associated with Tony Stark, and Peter Parker no longer seems to be a child of the 1960s (his scenes feel more like the 1950s). Ultimately, I was left wondering what the point of the story was, but I have to admit that I'm intrigued enough to check out a second issue with the hope of discovering what that point might be.

That being said, I remained nevertheless impressed with what I found in this small-press endeavor. Both the writer and artist have some solid comics-craft chops. Honestly, I was pleasantly surprised with what I found here, and even the missteps Tallerman makes weren't enough to tamp down that feeling.

Camelot 3000 may have seemed avant garde in American comics in its time, but it certainly doesn't seem so when one discovers the story today. To me, it served as a curiosity, though I must admit I was drawn more and more into the story as it progressed. Ultimately, I found the history that's explored in the supplementary material to be far more engrossing than the dated vision of the future that serves as the backdrop for the plot.

Brubaker's plot is a fairly conventional one, far more ordinary than Cap readers have come to expect from him. Mind you, it's an accessible story, one that casual readers or just Colan fans can pick up without worrying about needing to know what's been going on in Cap continuity (save, perhaps, for the fact that there's no explanation for new readers about how Bucky came to be alive and well in the 21st century). The more conventional nature of the writing is easy to forgive or ignore, as it's clear that Brubaker is writing to the artist's strengths here, ensuring the spotlight remains where it belongs: on Colan.

I would have preferred it if Marvel left this title at its previous $2.99 price point, and adding a backup featuring a Bucky from another reality didnt appeal to me; I didnt read the recent Nomad limited series and hadnt expected to read any story featuring the character. That being said, I was surprised at how accessible and enjoyable Sean McKeevers teen adventure serial turned out to be. This team-up between the new Nomad and Arana proved to be a lot of fun; theres a great deal of energy at play here. While Im not sure the lighter, more traditional qualities of this backup feature is necessarily a good fit with the darker, political and socially relevant elements of the main story, I cant deny that on its own, this Nomad story is entertaining. The brighter tone of the plotting and action is matched by artist David Baldeons style; its comparable to the energetic charm of Clayton (Adventure Comics) Henrys style.

I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the Nomad backup feature when it first debuted in this title. the story of a girl without a world trying to find her place in a new one made for interesting storytelling. Unfortunately, that focus isn't really to be found in this generic, unexplained teamup story. Rikki's inferiority complex in the Black Widow's shadow is understandable but quickly gets old. I also didn't care for Filipe Andrade's work for this story. One of the key elements in a Nomad story is an emphasis on her youth, and one doesn't get a sense of the character's tender age from the visuals here. The Humberto Ramos influence is apparent, but the lacking backgrounds and spastic action just didn't do anything for me.

While I've grown a bit tired of the main Cap storyline in this title, I've never really been all that taken with the Nomad backup. The character hasn't seen any real growth since this feature began. Her convoluted origin and connection to a popular though creatively stunted period in Marvel's recent history make her a tough pill to swallow, and her disconnected nature - her defining quality - denies her any real coming-of-age appeal as a teenage character. This particular instalment consists of (a) a generic confrontation with drug dealers, and (b) an internal monologue that recaps her background but says nothing new about her and promises no new direction either. The art by Pepe Larraz on this backup is adequate, and it's definitely stronger and more accessible than the more exaggerated approaches we've seen in previous issues. His style actually reminded me of Ron Lim's work at several points.

This issue doesn't feature a story so much as a character study. The title of the series tells us all we need to know about the plot here; we know Bucky is going to become Cap's sidekick. So our focus instead is directed to what makes Bucky tick. I found the dichotomy in his makeup - a happy-go-lucky facade that's in keeping with his classic sidekick portrayal, serving as a means to hide the simmering rage underneath - to be well-realized and convincing. Setting the story in the Second World War definitely capitalizes on the subject matter of the Captain America movie, and this introduction to the comic-book Bucky will help new readers to catch up on the differences between different incarnations of the character. Of course, one of the problems with it is that the dramatic tension is lacking, as the reader knows the title characters' future fates. Fortunately, some strong characterization is enough to get me to come back to see what the creators have in store for future issues.

I enjoyed the done-in-one stories that preceded this issue, but they were, for the most part, predictable. Unfortunately, the multi-issue arc getting underway here seems pretty transparent as well. The second Cap's grandson's appearance is all too convenient, and Asmus' script all but tells us his true nature. The notion the title hero or the elderly former Bucky's narration make no mention of suspicions seems pretty ridiculous. Still, I'm always interested when writers explore relatively obscure characters from decades past, and the narrator's voice throughout the issue rings true.

The backup story, set during Hercules's exile in an empty dimension prior to the main crossover event plot, is capable and diverting, and it helps to sum up Herc's character fairly well. Nevertheless, I don't think its inclusion was a smart move. The plot is inconsequential; I'd rather have paid a buck less for this comic book than read the "bonus" piece. Furthermore, it's not necessary to appreciate the main story. In fact, for those unfamiliar with Herc's recent past, it could end up being rather confusing.

I'll give Millar credit for ending this series in a wholly unexpected way. This ending would suggest that it's been Iron Man and the government that's been in the right all along. I don't agree, but I appreciate that Millar brings the story full circle to the ethical debate rather than a huge super-hero fight scene. Marvel gets points for the unexpected ending, though things here wrap up a little too neatly. The sudden appearances of cavalries for both sides at key moments in the conflict are a bit hard to swallow, and the villains' dominance in battle dissipates so quickly that it lacks credibility as well. McNiven's art boasts the same kind of detail and expressiveness that's made it so attractive in the past, but I found the generic costumes for the new, registered heroes to be far too reminiscent of what we've seen in The Ultimates and Squadron Supreme. This final issue sets up an ambitious new status quo for Marvel's America as something of a totalitarian regime, with Big Brothers

What's aggravating about this comic book is its seemingly piecemeal construction. I was convinced until later on in the script that this was nothing more than a series of scenes from upcoming comic books reproduced here. I had the distinct impression there was nothing original created for this comic other than some narration. I'm pretty sure now that's not the case, but if it were revealed to be true, I wouldn't be surprised. I suppose I shouldn't expect a wholly original work for a mere four bits, but that initial feeling that I'd been cheated scratched at the back of my mind even after I'd finished reading and decided otherwise.

Given the dark and mature tone of the plotting and dialogue, Deodato's style works quite well. The various members of this twisted incarnation of the Avengers are all majestic but mad and malevolent figures, and Deodato certainly captures their larger-than-life qualities. I also think Bendis's new take on the Sentry - as a terrifying time bomb with a psychological fuse of indeterminate length - is the best one we've seen thus far. The Sentry has always been portrayed as unbalanced and dangerous, but Bendis is now portraying him as scary. And it works.

So judging from the ads for the second issue of Siege and this issue of Dark Avengers, the real story behind Marvel's latest event is about the Sentry's meltdown, or his and Norman Osborn's simultaneous meltdowns. Honestly, while I found some of the questions and concepts that Bendis explored in this comic book to be intriguing, my ultimate hope for Siege - other than the restoration of a lighter, more heroic in the Marvel Universe - is for the elimination of the Sentry as a character. I think he's run his course, and keeping him around any longer as a catch-all deus ex machina probably won't make for fun or interesting super-hero comics to come.

Still, the ideas behind each story or offbeat spin on familiar characters are a lot of fun, as is usually the case with DC's Elseworlds bits. The highlights of the book are Mark Waid and Ty Templeton's one-page, Silver Age sendups and Kyle Baker's Letitia Lerner story. Of course, the latter's been available online for years, so the novelty probably has worn off a bit for those who were genuinely interested in this comic.

The backup story - featuring Wein's effort to sum up the super-hero legacies connected to ancient Egypt (weird timing, given the real-world events of the past few weeks) - was a surprise, and not a pleasant one. I think this is the first of the backup features in this series that proved to be a big disappointment. It's almost unreadable. It seems as though either the captions are out of order or the panels. There's no flow to the visuals, and Wein's script tries to link characters that really don't have any connection.

Francesco Biagini's art is the real star of the book. The overall visuals are, again, familiar and generic. We get the dichotomy of the harsh devastation outside the walled city and the clean, antiseptic halls of where the privileged reside. We see amped-up, armored vehicles, complete with the greasy, dirty garage where the hero's ride gets overhauled. Even the mad mutant bikers from hell in the opening sequence seem like recycled genre fodder. Mind you, Biagini's two-page spreads, displaying the rubble and destruction outside the supposedly safe confines of Los Angeles, are stunning. He really pours a lot of detail into them, and various snippets from those spreads seem to tell little stories all their own.

While the plot in general is fairly predictable and the notion of a brilliant scientist undertaking an ill-advised experiment in the name of love is familiar, that typical sci-fi scenario usually ends up casting the scientist in the role of desperate villain. Here, we have a hero who made a bad but completely understandable mistake. No doubt the plot will no be about his effort to redeem himself and that mistake by rectifying it. Of course, that's not exactly uncharted territory either, but the creators here work well together to make what could have otherwise been a humdrum, derivative experience into a capable, diverting bit of storytelling.

This new Star Wars comic series has garnered some surprisingly positive reviews elsewhere online. I'm not one for Star Wars stuff usually, but I decided to check this debut out, especially since it seems to focus on new characters (or at least characters that didn't play prominent roles in any of the movies). The greatest strength of the issue is the artwork by Douglas Wheatley. He offers up some photorealistic work that brings a soft side to the otherwise harsh or alien characters. He also brings an impressive level of detail to the backgrounds, be they tech-laden, sci-fi fantasy-scapes or lush, natural forests. Wheatley's work here reminds me a fair bit of Luke Ross's art from Samurai: Heaven and Earth. Hartley and Harrison offer up an accessible story and script, and there are enough iconic sci-fi figures incorporated to foster a feeling of familiarity. Ultimately, the story - about a desperate flight from oppressive forces, and one man's quest to find his family - feels rather form

The best part of this publication is the insight comics writer Warren Ellis shares on Dick's life and writing. His admiration for the man jumps off the page, as does a little bit of pity, as Dick was apparently more than a little unstable.

Bachalo's exaggerated and weird style seems like it would be a good fit for this property, and to an extent, it is. I do find it incredibly cluttered and busy, though, making it difficult to discern what the reader is seeing. Aaron's exposition-heavy script is vital when it comes to translating the visuals into part of the story. The notion of distinguishing between the magical, invisible elements of the world by presenting them in color while the mundane world is in black-and-white is an interesting one, but it never look quite right to the eye.

DeBunko isn't just targeting ignorance and lack of logic but backwards social values as well. Sexuality is a commonly recurring topic in the book, and more often than not, the characters yearn for sexual release or hide their desires and sexual activities from others even though it's all perfectly normal. The opening strip is about death and people's refusal to accept it as normal. The townspeople aren't afraid of zombies or werewolves, but of their own mortality.

Robinson and DC made a major misstep, though, when they called this Earth 2. Clearly, this is a parallel world that's like and unlike the universe in which the rest of the New 52 is set, but the term "Earth 2″ carries a lot more baggage. Packed in that baggage are readers' expectations, and this comic book doesn't live up to them. "Earth 2″ inherently points to classic takes on characters and to traditions. Robinson's goal here is clearly to buck tradition and presumably to bring a cooler and apparently grittier tone to old concepts. The title DC has chosen would seem to tell a different story, and that story's not to be found here. I'm still intrigued and entertained enough to follow what comes next, but the creators and the publisher need to cast off the chains of what's come before so the audience's attention is focused on what's new.

I have to admit" the main reason I'm still reading this book is my fondness of DC's Golden Age characters, but it may not be enough to keep me around for much longer.

Even comics fans will an appreciation for stories aimed at the younger set will probably balk at the $20-price tag for this book. It is worth the price of admission, but really only if one has kids with which they can share the story and the reading experience. And perhaps this graphic novel presented in a format that looks like a mainstream childrens book will help one share a love of comics with those kids as well.

By dividing this story into two parts and asking $6.99 US a pop, Boom! may be pricing this book out of the reach (or at least interest level) of readers. Now, a single, combined graphic novel, ringing in at 88 or so pages of story at a more affordable price such as $9.99 US would be a different matter and potential get the publisher into the larger bookstore market. I certainly suspect this story would read well in a single sitting and appeal to a wider audience.

I do love that Fantastic Four and FF are penned by the same writer. It makes for a stronger link and synergy, and honestly, it's a good idea from a marketing perspective, as it makes it more like a reader of one of the titles will want to follow the other. I hope (and expect) Fraction will nevertheless tell generally independent stories in each book, and the disparate casts of characters promise as much. Nevertheless, super-hero team books don't seem to be Fraction's fort (with the notable exception of the short-lived series The Order). While the art is top-notch throughout, the story has yet to really hook me. I'll give it another issue or two before I make up my mind.

Those criticisms aside, I have to admit I enjoyed the three characters at the heart of this opening episode. Despite his destructive, murderous nature, there's something noble and admirable about Oakheart, and the interplay between Ali Baba and Jonah is a lot of fun. Jonah's modern vernacular plays a vitally important role here, as it brings the purple prose of the dialogue and fantasy elements in the plot down to earth. The script is fun and brisk, but it never feels too light or fleeting either. I'm curious enough to check out the second issue but not yet completely won over either.