Diary of a Comic Book Industry Lawyer
Before we begin: I’d like to apologize for not doing the newsletter last week. One of the perils of running this as a one-man operation is that I am the single point of failure, and so, if circumstances get in my way, everything just stops. I could tell you that I was sick all week, that my complexion and my location made me feel pretty unqualified to drop a hot take on Icon and Rocket Season One #1, or that nothing of much import happened smack dab in the middle of the summer’s doldrums, but the truth is actually much better: I couldn’t do the newsletter last week because I was doing some Actual Journalism. Through back channels, I managed to get my hands on a very sought-after document: the secret diary of one of comics’ most sought-after lawyers. With so much shady business going on in the news, I landed my paws on the motherlode, and I’m ready to disclose what I’ve found to the world, and while I have edited the documents to maintain clarity and the anonymity of my source, they are otherwise unaltered.
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING IS SATIRICAL AND HIGHLY SPECULATIVE IN NATURE. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO EXISTING EVENTS OR PERSONS IS FAKE AND WRONG AND NOT LEGALLY ACTIONABLE. IF YOU’RE A LAWYER PLEASE DON’T TALK TO ME I AM SCARED, THIS IS ALL FAKE, DO NOT SUE ME, IT’S ALL GOOF EM UPS
Thursday, [DATE REDACTED]: Had to go and remind some loser “co-creator” of one of my clients’ books that the paperwork he signed giving up all his rights was perfectly above-board and legal (of course it is, I wrote it). This total loser assumed that, just because he did a couple of doodles, drew most of the first issue, and basically gave the book its entire identity and vibe, he was entitled to any benefit whatsoever. Newsflash loser: you left the book because you’re weak and a loser. Next time you wanna co-create a career-high launching comic don’t get sick you fucking loser. If your loser body can’t fight off chronic illness it’s on you. Told this to the client. We had a great laugh. I’m good at my job.
Sunday, [DATE REDACTED]: Got an urgent phone call from one of my clients. He says that they’re about to announce that he’s contributing to a new small press comic book anthology, and that the allegations made against him might resurface, so I might need to work my magic again, he’ll pay whatever he has to. I don’t have the heart to tell him that sending legal threats is my favorite part of the job. I love turning up in some award-winning journo’s inbox to tell them about the kind of hell I could put them through. I could bankrupt these losers like THAT if I wanted to, and I might want to, since you keep reporting on my client, collating the testimonies of the people he’s hurt, reporting on the fact he seemed so completely unrepentant about the whole thing he made an entire diss comic about his hurt feelings, and that he sent ME to make it all go away. Lucky for him, I am GREAT at my job.
Wednesday, [DATE REDACTED]: Hit the shops! Lots more dudes since the last time I went in. I don’t know why only dudes seem interested in comics. My clients do comics, and they’re really really great! I mean sure sometimes people get hurt along the way but that’s just business, you know? People get hurt. Can’t be that I’ve been enabling rat fucks and abusers for years, can it? It can’t be that the award-winning comic creators I work for are abusing the law to escape accountability for the exact kind of bullshit that makes the comic book industry, and the world in general, a worse place to be in? Am I helping people that are entirely disheartening to watch for anyone that even cares a tiny bit about independent comics? The thing is, I am great at my job, so that would be a fucking bummer.
Thursday, [DATE REDACTED]: Got a check for a lot of money! No problem helping these scum-sucking freaks. I am awesome.
HUMBLE YOURSELF BEFORE COMICS: CATEGORIZED FOR LEGAL PURPOSES AS SATIRICAL IN NATURE
If 2021 is to be a banner year for favorite current DC writer of everyone but me Tom Taylor, and halfway through it really seems like it’s going to be, then I will posit that Superman: Son of Kal-El #1, in which he and John Timms relaunch DC’s main Superman ongoing and put the spotlight firmly on one Jonathan Kent, might be the pinnacle, or at the very least as good as it gets. Taking the reins right as Superman’s continuity is about to get complicated, they deliver a perfect little 22-page done-in-one action comic that tells you everything you need to know about the what, the when, the where, the why, the who, as well as the hows of their take on current events.
It works because it’s an entirely new Superman, without the baggage of several decades’ worth of history. It’s as clean a slate as you will get in shared universe comics, and it gives Tom Taylor all the elbow room he needs to do what he does best, with nothing getting in his way. See for example how he injects pathos, character and humor to the birth of Jonathan Kent, a scene which he gets to write and flesh out from the ground up since the original happened during the complete clusterfuck that was Convergence. It’s beautiful, it’s human, and it’s everything you come to a Tom Taylor comic for.
Alongside John Timms, who’s delivering definitive image after definitive image like house styles were still relevant in contemporary comics, he impresses with simple and clean action that works with the subtlety of a wrecking ball to set up the themes of the run. It’s a new Superman, trying to solve old problems in a new way. The book is very clear about the fact that this can go anywhere, even with “Truth, Justice, and a better world” as a guiding light, and that’s made me very engrossed about seeing what comes next. I dare not say any more because it’s worth reading for yourself. It’s very good and very straightforward, check it out.
I don’t know what to make of Not All Robots #1, a book that is not exactly bad, but which is built on several bad ideas, enough that I can see all the ways in which it could collapse. To get there, I think I have to give you the full setup, so here goes: it’s 2056, and Humanity has survived that disaster thanks to incredible advances in the fields of automation and artificial intelligence. As humans’ reliance on these robots became more and more important, they became more and more integrated into society, to the point where a robot is now assigned to every family in every climate-controlled bubble city. These robots work and earn money for their human families, and occasionally glitch out and go on a murderous rampage, which usually gets covered up by the police, who are also robots. As the series begins, there’s a growing sense of resentment against humans growing among the robots, made worse by the fact that they are made to work on new top-of-the-line androids, who look a lot less bulky and a lot more likable than the robots, who all have a very 1970s look to them.
Now, the more astute among you, as well as those who have read the supplemental material in the back of the issue, will realize that there is a metaphor at play here: this is in fact a book about our ever-ongoing crisis in contemporary masculinity, with the robots taking the place of Men. (See, like in the title, it’s a play on “not all men”, do you get it now) It’s a very loaded metaphor, which Mark Russell connects through the point of view of Donny Walker, the Walker family patriarch, and his zealous empathy for Razorball, the Walker family robot. That’s a fine line to walk on its own, but the event serving as a catalyst for the series, happening at the end of the first issue, is what pushes it over the edge for me, and as such I feel it needs to be discussed. A robot goes haywire and ends up killing the entire human population of ORLANDO, FLORIDA. The same Orlando, Florida, where, on June 12th, 2016, a man killed 49 people and wounded 53 more.
Mark Russell has made a career of invoking heavy imagery, of course, but invoking that particular memory, in that particular book, feels at best overambitious, and at worst outright indecent. I don’t think it works in a book that is otherwise concerned with broad satirical jabs at capitalism, the patriarchy, and the media ecosystem that surrounds them, as well as the occasional bit of slapstick. I don’t think the setup is well-enough thought through for the elements to land, because its concern is firmly set on the “what if?” of it all instead or the “why” or the “how” in a way that feels very self-absorbed. Saying that the patriarchy harms and dehumanizes men is true, but it doesn’t really help and it doesn’t really enlighten anything.
Compounding all these problems is the fact that, one of this book’s many bad ideas is having Mike Deodato Jr. as its artist. His blockbuster style, all in barely-processed photo references and grids calling attention to themselves, coupled with Lee Loughridge’s heavily tinted colors, give the book an air of self-seriousness that saps what little comedy there is to be found in the satire. This is a book that wants to provoke by taking all too familiar imagery and putting walking Daft Punk toasters where the men would be, but it seems so ashamed of the inherent silliness in such a setup that it does everything it can to get away from it. The problem is, all that’s left is a giant fucking bummer.
Do you know why I was disappointed in the last few issues of The Immortal Hulk? Beyond the fact that they were drawn by a completely bigoted pile of shit who laid bare his antisemitism in the background of one issue and got away with barely a slap on the wrist? It was because I knew they were capable of pulling something as completely transcendent as The Immortal Hulk #49 off at any time and chose to spin their wheels instead. Formally, it’s as ambitious as the series has ever been, giving as it does ample space for evocative images full of awe, splendor, and expressive terror. To me, however, the more impressive feat is the way in which it uses the history of the Marvel universe to lay out its case, weaving the respective destinies of its characters into one single tale and making it feel like this was always where it was meant to go. Somehow, the definitive statement on the Fantastic Four that Dan Slott will never be talented enough to write landed in a Hulk book. To me, that’s a display of a remarkable understanding of history. And then it’s also a take on The Divine Comedy, just for the flex. Maybe they can land it after all.
Finally: The Swamp Thing #6 keeps up with the series’ penchant for incorporating horror history in cool and imaginative ways. This month, the Suicide Squad, from Hollywood’s “The Suicide Squad” shows up, and things go extremely Predator. It absolutely rules. Enough said.
And that’s one more OPINION, NOT FACT column down baby! Do NOT send me legal inquiries! I don’t have a lawyer and I don’t have money! This is OPINION, NOT FACT, FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. I’m gonna send out a few more legal disclaimers, in the mean time, here’s all my love and appreciation, you keep sharing, you keep subscribing, and as always, you HUMBLE YOURSELF BEFORE COMICS