This week: Reviews of Amazing Spider-Man #622, Ms. Marvel #50, X-Factor #202 and X-Men Legacy #233! (continue reading…)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that in each of Batman and Robin’s three-part arcs, the middle issue is slightly weaker compared to its brethren. Issue #8 – part two of Blackest Knight – reviewed here but a fortnight ago, certainly wasn’t a bad comic by any stretch of the imagination; but the concluding part of what might just be the series’ best arc so far makes it look positively Liefeldian in comparison.

This is a stormingly good comic. For one thing, it reveals the truth behind #8’s feint – the suggestion that, having had one issue of a mindless Batman clonezombiething wordlessly fighting our heroes, we were going to get more of the same this time out. Not a bit of it. The creature coming to terms with the scraps and remnants of Bruce’s own memory being eaten away by the physical collapse of its brain is an inspired bit of writing, and if certain stretches of “dialogue” are perhaps retreads of the same sort-of-but-not-quite-speak that Morrison has used before in the likes of We3 or All Star Superman (”AAA. HEER. U. RRRR.”), it nevertheless makes for a compelling – and somewhat terrifying – menace.

Not that the monster gets all the best lines, you understand. That this is an issue running on the pure unabashed joy of comicsness is clear even as the protagonists are fighting the rotting cloned corpse of their beloved father. The Damian and Alfred Show continues apace, and it’s startling just how much the former has become a three-dimensional and entertaining character since his father’s death; while the latter has always been a three-dimensional and entertaining character, and gets the line of the series (”Your delirious rampage is at an end, sir!”) while wielding a cricket bat. At the tail end of our jaunt to the UK, there’s even time to fit in a little bit of character work with the Knight and Squire (can we have their miniseries yet?), and Morrison also seems to have remembered to write Dick Grayson a bit more, with a couple of lovely moments here and there.

More than anything, though, this issue (and this series as a whole; and, come to think of it, Morrison’s entire tenure) is a comic about Batman – the idea, the legend, the icon – even though the character of Bruce Wayne doesn’t appear in it. Whether it’s the clone’s half-constructed memories (in a really quite excellent spread by Stewart that merges and splices various famed Bat-characters and imagery), or Dick growing into the role (a proper smile on his face as he swings in to rescue Damian and simply enjoys his team-up with Batwoman) even as he’s acknowledging that the time is near for him to hand it back, this is about Morrison finding putting the core elements of the mythos through a new and exciting – and ever-so-slightly cracked – looking-glass. And yet, that it’s still so purely and unashamedly enjoyable entirely on its own merits – and entirely devoid of any external context or prior knowledge – is probably its greatest strength of all.

There’s a crazy wave of self-cannibalising nostalgia going on at Marvel, which seems about as recklessly insular as any comic has dared to be since X-Men: The Hidden Years. And yet, the problem with all these very bad idea for comics is that they’re actually turning out to be pretty decent. X-Men Forever has Claremont writing some of his best material in years. X-Factor Forever looks fantastic. And even Spider-Man: The Clone Saga has turned out to be, well, reasonably entertaining. Especially for a comic with Howard Mackie’s name attached.

Of course, on its own terms, Spider-Man: The Clone Saga has completely discarded its original premise of “telling the Clone Saga the way it was supposed to go”. The final issue has a few twists which are nothing short of complete madness – particularly in a Marvel Universe where Norman Osborn has been nothing but the world’s most amoral, psychotic villain for a good year and a half now. And it’s well documented that the Clone Saga was supposed to end with Ben taking over and Peter retiring to raise his child. That isn’t remotely the situation that we’re left in here.

In fact, the issue ends with a status quo that couldn’t reasonably have existed in the Spider-Man comics – Peter and MJ have their baby, and Ben rides off into the sunset as the Scarlet Spider. It’s never definitively established which is the clone – not in a way that’s sufficient for me, and not in a way that would be sufficient for the characters. Peter doesn’t quit being Spider-Man. May doesn’t die. It’s all gone a bit wrong, really.

There are some good moments – Kaine gets his redemption, the twist of who was masterminding the entire plot wasn’t entirely unsuccessful, and there is a level of coherence to the entire plot that was completely missing from the original. Overall, though, it’s hard to know what to make of it. There’s a suggestion that it could turn into some kind of “Scarlet Spider Forever” spin-off, and based on the events of this series, it’s likely that the series wouldn’t be entirely terrible either – but it brings us back, once again, to the question of these comics’ origins. Who, precisely, are they for? Spider-Man: The Clone Saga has been technically competent but also creatively bankrupt. A nice nostalgia trip, perhaps, but one that went on just long enough. Let’s hope this is the last of it.

My interest in DC’s straight-to-DVD animated features – New Frontier, Green Lantern: First Flight and the like – has been piqued recently with the release, to a generally positive reception, of Justice League : Crisis on Two Earths. I’ll hopefully be getting hold of it to review here at some point soon (along with, possibly, some of the other films), but in the meantime, reading about it gave me the impetus to look back over one of the comics upon which it’s loosely based – and an early work from one of my favourite creative teams, to boot – namely, this Morrison and Quitely standalone OGN from 1999.

Only the second collaboration between the pair – following 1996’s Flex Mentallo – Earth 2 sees a slightly rawer Frank Quitely than we might be used to nowadays. The traditional and thicker inking calls to mind his work on the likes of New X-Men and Authority – as does the occasional bluntness in some of his facial work, a feature that’s undoubtedly improved over the course of his career. But there are nevertheless some cracking examples of the unconvential storytelling and point-of-view placement that would later define his work, and he’s helped also by an excellent colourist in the shape of Laura Depuy. And the group plane rescue sequence that introduces the JLA to the action is wonderfully choreographed, and the sort of thing you could imagine opening a Justice League movie.

The story itself, meanwhile, is something of a fun romp – perhaps a shade lightweight (if well-suited to the book’s length, which feels roughly equivalent to a three-part miniseries) but nevertheless constructed around a cracking hook. It’s not just that it’s a parallel universe where everything’s flipped, as there’s a long tradition of that in the DCU anyway (whatever you might say about DC in relation to other comics publishers, alternate realities are something they’ve always done best) – but rather, the individual, smaller high-concepts and twists that Morrison is able to tease out of that larger premise. It makes sense that even a “good” Luthor would have a certain level of arrogance about him, for example; while the realisation that an “opposite” world would mean a reversal of standard comic book rules about just who tends to win is an inspired moment, shown best by the subtle hints about how even the “good” Commissioner Wayne may be susceptible to unchecked power. Still, the inevitable stalemate brought about by that twist does leave the book suddenly grasping at a fresh antagonist – for both sides – to give its final act some dramatic impetus, and the threat doesn’t wholly convince. But it’s a minor quibble in what is otherwise a terrifically entertaining little story.

Though often overlooked in favour of later collaborations, Earth 2 nevertheless stands as a fine example of what the Morrison/Quitely partnership is capable of. It’s a strong continuation of the lively, well-characterised and idea-driven tone of Morrison’s earlier JLA run, and as a spiritual sequel to that series, stands up there with its finest stories. Whether the film can live up to it (or whether indeed it takes much inspiration beyond the superficial) is another question, but there’s no denying that it’s a cracking bit of source material to want to draw from.

At this point, any semblance of a “rotating” creative team structure for Amazing Spider-Man appears to have collapsed entirely, leading “whoever’s available” to take over, but actually it’s working out quite well in terms of getting top talent on the book, however briefly. In this issue, Slott wraps up his Mysterio arc with a single-issue coda featuring the Black Cat – but far more interesting than that is the presence of Michael Lark on pencils.

Lark has recently been seen pencilling Daredevil with Ed Brubaker, so it’s little suprise, given that title’s noir-ish and gritty tone, that this story is about Spidey and Felicia stealing something from Mr. Negative. What is surprising is that Lark’s pencils are considerably more polished, perhaps representing a more mainstream approach. Despite the textual connection to the previous issues, there’s absolutely no attempt to emulate Marcos Martin’s style (nor would you expect one) but as a version of itself, Lark’s work looks fantastic.

Writing-wise, Slott has never quite lived up to the boundless energy and humour he displayed in his first few arcs on the title, but it’s still well-plotted, well-paced and well-structured. Under Slott’s direction, Spidey is startlingly competent as a super-hero, and yet retains as put-upon by the world as ever. Sadly, the one area where the issue falters is in Aunt May’s “negatived” subplot, which has already stretched beyond believability after only a few weeks. If it doesn’t get wrapped up soon, it could get tedious fast – so far all we’ve seen is the same scene over and over, in which May chews out a member of the cast, who stand by the wayside looking stunned.

On the plus side, Carlie Cooper finally gets to do something other than hang around looking a bit glum. It’s good to see a prominent new member of the cast come into her own, and her scenes with Peter finally suggest some chemistry between them that’s actually interested to read about. If this trend rapidly develops, she might actually start to stand alongside the former favourites – probably not Gwen or MJ, but it’s possible she could be at least a Brant. Let’s just hope no-one’s out there thinking “right, the readers are finally interested, let’s kill her off entirely.”

All in all, Amazing Spider-Man remains consistently good. If every issue was this brilliant, the series would be considered unmissable – as it is, it’s merely a reliably decent diversion from week to week.

Captain America’s a rather curious blend these days, mixing provocative, big statements with a distinctly old-school tone and feel. Granted, the recent controversy over the use of Republican slogans in the racist Watchdog movement’s demonstration was an unintentional way of bringing one of the book’s lower-key arcs back into the spotlight, but there’s a general canniness to the way the old and new are combined here, which doesn’t always play out in the way that would be expected. The resolution to the ‘Death of Captain America’ scenario had the retrograde step for the book being the headline attraction, with Steve Rogers’ return all over the news-stands, while the unexpected element of allowing Bucky to retain the title and shield was relegated to a footnote. The outcry over the first part of Two Americas has shown the delicate balance that Brubaker is striking, injecting modern relevance into an apparently traditional tale of Captain America battling a separatist movement.

This second instalment continues to present an outwardly conventional face, with Bucky’s plan to infiltrate the Watchdogs going awry and the insane 1950s duplicate of Steve Rogers receiving an unexpected addition to his arsenal, but there a degree of subversiveness under the surface. Much of the conventional feeling comes from the artistic partnership of Luke Ross and Butch Guice. It’s hard to pinpoint whether the pencils or Guice’s heavy, near-noir inks imbue the book with it’s old-school vibe, but there’s an interesting feeling of the middle of the twentieth century in the Falcon’s attempted flight trough the fire escape of a run-down hotel. The narrative has given the fifties Cap the upper hand, and the art reflects this by adding an element of his lost era to the action.

What sets the book above its pulp inspirations is the occasional moments of sophistication, such as the 50s Cap’s fleeting recognition that the world he desires is long gone or continued re-writing of Bucky’s origin to increase the character’s plausibility. The stand-alone components of Brubaker’s Captain America may sometimes slip of the radar, devoid of reference to the broader Marvel Universe, but there’s a steady vein of richness running through the apparently inconsistent book.