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.

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.

But Batman & Robin has, in its short run, always been about striking a balance between the darker side of the Bat-verse and a 60s-esque sense of glorious, adventurous whimsy – which is, presumably, why Morrison has seen fit to include a Geordie villain named King Coal (with chimney sweep henchmen whom I’d called “Dick van Dyke-esque” were it not for assuming that a Tyneside-based villain would surely never call on the iconography of Southern softies) and frequent phonetic representations of his accent that can’t fail to amuse. Or an amusingly witty little exchange between Alfred and Damian, who are fast becoming the book’s best double-act (the rehabilitation of Damian continues apace, and I’m particularly amused by the way he calls the butler “Pennyworth” in an oddly respectful way).

Despite the basic core of the story – the aforementioned Lazarus-pit-related failure and revelation concerning the corpse, complete with brief Final Crisis flashback – there are elements that are slightly tricky to get a handle on, and that I suspect will make more sense when reading the arc as a whole, with the benefit of the final issue. It’s also hard to know what to make of the apparent fate of a certain character – if it’s designed to surprise then it does, considering the known publication plans for said character; but on the other hand, in a story that’s specifically about resurrection, the obvious resolution would seem to nullify the impact of the moment.

It’s been a masterstroke having Cameron Stewart around for this arc, too – I’d still maintain that he’s not quite at Quitely’s level, but what his presence has done is to help restore the book to the thrilling glory of those first few issues. His chameleonic style when it comes to successfully presenting the Quitely version of GraysonBatman and the Williams version of Batwoman help root this in the high-quality corner of the recent Bat-verse, and his choreography when asked to draw what might be something of an action comics holy grail – Batman fighting Batman (even though neither of them are actually Bruce Wayne) – superb. As this often simplistically thrilling yet beautifully esoteric series rattles on towards its conclusion, it’s pleasing that there are only a couple of weeks to wait for another issue. And while The Return of Bruce Wayne is doubtless an exciting prospect of a comic, it’s honestly true that Batman & Robin isn’t really missing him.

To misquote a line from an earlier Grant Morrison epic, we didn’t know how much we’d been missing Batman & Robin until it came back. The book took a hiatus in December, for the rather flimsy reason of not spoiling the “Bruce Wayne’s Skull” fake-out, but in truth, the title had been missing in action since the middle of last year, when Philip Tan took on the rotating art duties. Such weak art is now a distant memory though, with Cameron Stewart’s pages of sufficient quality to merit an “As Good As Frank Quietly, Or Your Money Back” tag on the cover.

After being blind sided by Jason Todd, Dick Grayson is in the mood for taking the initiative. Recognising that the madness he presides over will continue until the steadying presence of Bruce Wayne returns, he ropes in a familiar pair of allies to help his desperate attempt to restore the usual status quo. There’s something of a departure from the first two arcs of the series, where Grayson wore his emotions on his sleeve. Here, unusually never emerging from the cowl, his desperation and recklessness are conveyed in the plot of the story, rather than the usual soliloquies. Morrison’s decision to jump right into the action, following Grayson as he saves London from a not-fully-explained threat, adds to the mood, with the feeling growing that the new Batman is merely spinning plates. While the light-hearted caped crusader is now a comfortable mask for the former acrobat, his doubts about his ability to take charge of the situation provide a compelling narrative drive.

Despite the publicity for the appearance of Batwoman in the pages, with Morrison making a pointed comment on the frequency with which the modern character ends up fulfilling her 1950s narrative role of a damsel in distress, it’s Britain’s resident crime fighters which steal the show. The writer has commented on his policy of adding something new to the world of the Knight and the Squire every time he uses them, but here he excels himself, providing a complete rogues’ gallery for the duo. Taking English folk traditions in the same way that the Batman franchise draws upon American, the book gives a glimpse into a scenario that feels instantly right. There’s even time for an extremely obscure Spike Miligan reference in the dialogue attributed to old King Coal’s henchmen. It’s a dazzling display.

Lest you think I’m doing Sean Murphy a disservice, though, let me clarify – his work is absolutely stellar as well. As strong an artist as he generally is, I’ve never seen him this good before. On more than one occasion in this issue we’re treated to double-page spreads that are simply gorgeously expansive – no mean feat for a book that spends most of its page count living in everyday suburban mundanity. For an artist with such an ostensibly loose and scratchy style when it comes to figures, the level of detail picked out of – and the level of thought and attention put into – locations such as Joe’s bedroom is phenomenal (without ever being done in that slightly over-laboured, Bryan Hitch sort of a way). Panels are constructed, framed, in a meticulous and careful manner. And the icing on the cake is the way it’s given that absolutely gorgeous, washed-out look by Stewart – who copes equally well with the grey and orange of a graveyard in Autumn, or the exciting and lush vistas that open up as Joe’s “fantasy” world makes its ingress into the “real” one. He works as harmoniously with Murphy here as he does with Williams on Detective – and yet in a way so different you’d barely tell they were the same person.

There’s a story in there too, though. Well, admittedly, not much of one so far. Despite being a new Grant Morrison book from Vertigo (always an exciting prospect), it’s not something big and idea-packed and frenetic – instead working from a single (admittedly very good, even if slightly “done before”) high-concept and spending this first issue slowly painstakingly building a mood in a manner that will surely annoy many an impatient reader, but which at least serves an important purpose in truly drilling home a mundane world against which to set the unreal. In a way, it’s not entirely unlike the two issues of his aborted Authority run – quiet, careful and muted in tone, but with enough of a sense that Interesting Things are about to happen – and for the sake of Murphy and Stewart’s stonkingly good work alone if nothing else, we can only hope it lasts for a few more issues than that. On the strength of the art alone, not to mention the $1 price point, it’s hard to call this issue anything other than a must-buy – I’m looking forward to seeing whether the other seven will stay that way.

Best Miniseries: Seaguy- The Slaves of Mickey Eye

Given that doing justice to Slaves of Mickey Eye in the space of four hundred words feels difficult, it’s hard to imagine what its creators felt during the book’s construction. Grant Morrison and Cameron Stewart manage to cram more into three issues than many writers manage in twelve parts of standard arc. The storytelling is so intricate, with metaphor layered on top of metaphor, that it’s a wonder that there’s space for a plot at all, yet Seaguy’s crusade against the dark heart of Comfort Zone Seven feels inevitable as the reader is driven forward.

Managing to continue Seaguy’s unique story would have been no mean feet, but Morrison actually manages to improve on his hero’s debut adventure. Where the second act of the original series felt like a slightly meandering traipse through quirkiness, every element of Slaves of Mickey Eye is integral to the plot. Unusually, the main source of bonding between the start of show and the reader is shared dissatisfaction with events, and helplessness in the face of the situation. At the story’s close, Seaguy has apparently succeeded in all his aims, with Seadog’s plan thwarted and the sinister Eye theme park burnt to the group. It soon becomes apparent, however, that this is not the revolution that had been hoped for, with the controlling force on the moon untouched by the drama on Earth, and Seaguy being co-opted into maintaining the status quo as the new ‘Comptoller’. For all the flying fish and fairytale romance, it’s an unusually mature book, featuring a world with problems more similar to our own than many more pseudo-realistic settings.

The most distinctive aspect of the book is its willingness to let humour and horror sit side-by-side. Mickey Eye in all his forms is easily the most disturbing creation that comics have seen for a while, and lacks the affection with which Matt Groening’s various parodies of children’s cartoons unfold. It’s important not to regard the corporate entity as simply a parody of the Disney organisation which is its most recognisable reference point, with Mickey’s fingers extending into the political religious and cultural areas of Seaguy’s world. Morrison captures the feelings of helplessness which most feel when presented with the various arms of western culture, with only a few cranks shown as being willing to step out of line. There are so many metaphors in each page that the first reading of the book introduces more bewilderment than comprehension. When Death is arrested for spoiling the party atmosphere, as a throwaway moment in a single panel, you know you’re entering deep waters.

With a reach that encompasses sociology, politics, feminism and capitalism, Slaves of Mickey Eye is a breathtaking masterpiece.

Runners-up: Phonogram: The Singles Club, Beasts of Burden, Ghostbusters: Displaced Aggression, The Umbrella Academy: Dallas
Previous winners: 2008 – Kick-Ass

Over the next three Wednesdays, the Comics Daily team will be taking it in turns to pick a comic – a run, full series, graphic novel or even single issue – that we feel defines the last decade in some way. These aren’t necessarily our absolute favourite or objective “best” of the decade (if we could even pick just one of such a thing), just books that we think have been a special part of our comics reading over the past ten years. First up, then, it’s Seb’s choice…

This one picked itself, really. My admiration for Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely individually is surpassed only by what I think of them when they work together – from Flex Mentallo, to the issues of New X-Men that Frank managed to draw, and even the likes of Earth 2, they simply have not done a single run or series that I haven’t loved. In the 2000s, they managed to turn out two works that could easily top any comics’ reader’s “best of the decade” – but while many would claim that We3 is their true masterpiece, I can’t help but hold a sneaking preference for All-Star Superman (even though, unlike We3, it never made me cry in McDonald’s). I don’t know if the same would be true if I weren’t such a fan of the character anyway – although all available evidence would suggest that, like any sane comics fan, I’d still think it a magnificent series – but speaking as someone who owns a t-shirt with the black-and-red Max Fleischer-cartoon-era “S” shield on it, this was a comic I’d been crying out for ever since, as a nipper, I used to run around the house in a blue costume recreating the bit from Superman III where he freezes and lifts the lake.

Because if there’s one thing that any Superman fanboy in their right mind wants to see happen, it’s to have the character treated as if he has any level of relevance and, indeed, resonance. And that’s what All-Star does. In one sense, it’s a pure and retrospective celebration of the myth of Superman, crunching together elements from across seven decades’ worth of stories – but in another, it seeks to establish everything that he represents as significant to us right now, even when dressing it in the trappings of gloriously over-the-top retro sci-fi escapism. We’re no longer afraid of true heroes in the way that we were in the late ’80s and early ’90s – and while the success of certain superhero movies suggests that the majority of people still feel unable to enjoy them without a dose of irony or darkness, the role of the hero as someone who simply wants to help people has become something that we’re less ashamed of. The relevance of Superman in a year that the USA elected a comic-book-collecting President who based much of his campaign on a wave of hope, optimism and promise of change simply can’t be ignored.

A crucial element of the book’s success is that one of the strongest cues it takes from the Mort Weisinger era is to tell stories that could only be Superman stories. The point is, he’s Superman – everything he does should be bigger, better, more exciting, with more at stake, than anybody else around him. It’s why ninety per cent of the time he simply doesn’t work that well in a shared universe – and why he can look “lame” compared to the glut of cooler heroes given movies and TV shows in the last couple of decades. Other heroes can be night-stalking vigilantes, or catch crooks, or stop the odd natural disaster – even save the world every so often, or be an intergalactic policeman. But Superman? Superman has test-of-strength contests with Hercules and Samson, battles his imperfect duplicates, and punches tyrant suns in whatever passes for their faces.

Besides which, it’s not even as if there are any “other heroes” in All-Star. And this is something else that Morrison gets – there has to be that sense of wonder around Superman, and that can only really happen when people aren’t used to seeing other caped characters flying around. But what really drives the series along, aside from that sense of reverence, is Morrison’s unparalleled imagination. This is a world where no idea that pops forth from his head is left without a place to be used – whether it’s background detail or major plotlines. The majority of us will have got into comics at some point because of the excitement, escapism and sheer inventiveness that they offer – and All Star Superman, in offering all of those things while also staying intelligent and insightful, is everything that a great comic should be. And in the end, in turning out to be the most loving and powerful tribute to Superman yet seen in the medium (or, at least, aside from Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?), it becomes as loving and powerful a tribute to the superhero genre and the comics medium themselves as it’s possible to get. We’ve already written about it twice before, but in my book, issue #10 is simply the finest single comic of the decade – no question.

It’s also fair to say, though, that as good as Morrison’s writing is, All Star would be only half the comic it is without the presence of Quitely – and without the unique working relationship that the pair have, each working to each other’s strengths and bringing the best out of each other like no-one else can (I’ll always love Frank’s draftsmanship, but nobody gives him quite the same drive to express his brilliance as Morrison does; and nobody effectively communicates Morrison’s mind the way he does). From the effortless brilliance of his character designs and landscapes (has Metropolis ever looked quite so much like the “City of Tomorrow”?), to moments of storytelling bravura both huge and small (perhaps my favourite set of panels remains the moment in issue #1 when Clark saves an old man by “accidentally” bumping into and knocking him over) and astonishing levels of attention to detail, this is a comic that looks like no other – and frankly, it puts almost all of its contemporaries to shame.

All Star Superman is a comic that can be held up as a shining example of just what comics are capable of – and, perhaps more pertinently, of just what the superhero genre is capable of, and as evidence that there’s still life in the old capes yet. The 2000s have been a wonderfully fruitful decade for comics of spectacular brilliance and levels of enjoyment, but of all of them, All Star is the one that simply makes me thankful, and proud, that I’ve spent the last two decades immersed in this medium. It’ll be a long time before we see its like again.

While Dan Abnett and Andy Lanning have boosted the team’s resources during the final arc of their run on the World’s End book, it’s still a jolt to return to The Authority at something near full power.  The Carrier may be down, but its residents are not so hampered, a point underlined by the book’s opening, with the Midnighter assessing his chances against the US military. For once, the character is big enough to walk away from a fight, in a move singles a distinct change in direction for the story. What looked set to be a tale of the first contact between a real world setting and the gritty but fantastical Authority sharply changes direction, with a hidden sci-fi element introduced into the world. The threat in question is reminiscent of the original writer’s New X-Men run, but it’s hard to shake the suspicion that the story has been diverted towards something more suited to the talents of its new scripter.

It’s more than just this change of story direction which shows the book’s change of writer, with something undeniably lost from the real-world elements which previously provided a human backdrop to The Authority’s Olympian ponderings. Ken is taken from a convincing everyman to a whiny pervert, whose main role is to serve up the new a-story to the Doctor. Darick Robertson noticeably alters his style to mimic Ha’s approach, with his linework much looser than the style which has made his name. The effort is definitely worth it, but let down by a lack of research, with the British Ken’s wife shown to be at home in a distinctly American residence. There’s a similar slip by the writer as well, with the Arabic Doctor responding to the appearance of the main threat with a jarringly Christian piece of blasphemy.

Comics readers may have been denied a story which looked set to become a classic of the superhero genre, there’s no reason to not tie up a loose end. Greater care is needed on the part of both creators, however, if their reborn tale is to become something more that that dismissive description.

Thankfully, it isn’t – and it can. Philip Tan is excused, ironically enough, because his art in this issue isn’t much cop either (although it benefits from a vastly improved colouring job this time out, with the return of Alex Sinclair). But where Morrison’s script felt lacklustre last time, it positively sparkles here. The idea of Jason Todd as a murderous vigilante is finally made to fly – in such a way that you almost feel like this was the plan all along, and all those horrendous Winick and Daniel-penned false starts were just a means towards getting to this point. And it’s with typically Morrisonian bravura that, once again, an in-continuity explanation is given for something that had previously been editorially-scrubbed – in this case, a return to Jason’s red hair a glorious reconciling of his pre- and post-Crisis selves.

A unifying theme for the run (by which I mean the twelve – or fifteen, whatever – issues of B&R rather than MozzaBats as a whole) emerges, too – one of identities, and masks. With new incumbents of both capes, an antagonist obsessed with branding, a sidekick with a distorted face, a mysterious dual-identitied “amateur sleuth” and a villain who eats faces, this feels like a book with purpose, an idea to explore, rather than simply an amusing diversion in the middle of the “proper” Bruce Wayne stories. And the ominous arrival of the Flamingo, meanwhile, is genuinely chilling.

If there’s one aspect that doesn’t hugely work, it’s having the issue narrated from Sasha’s point of view – simply put, I don’t find her hugely interesting – and without someone with the lightness of touch of Quitely (or, say… Cameron Stewart?) the “fun” factor that’s defined the book so far is still lacking, hair colour jokes aside. But it’s at least clear that last issue was an “off” month for Morrison – the unique ideas are very much still flowing in an almost effortless way. It’s just a shame that he’s so rarely paired with artists that are worthy of him for an entire run.

Every month we take turns to delve into our trusty longboxes, pluck out a dusty back issue, and give you our thoughts. We’ll also try and place it in the context of the time it was originally published.

With the ‘final’ pieces of last year’s DC crossover now settling back into place, it’s interesting to take another glance at the miniseries which the firm’s competition tried to sell off the back of its creators’ more high profile gig. Marvel Boy undeniably reads well in the trade format, particularly the closing half of the story, but the knowledge that little of any interest has followed for Noh-Varr in his original writer’s absence somewhat overshadows the series.

 While the Kree soldier’s adventures were hyped as being a bold new take on the Fantastic Four mythos, it’s perfectly possible to simply enjoy the story without knowledge of Marvel Boy’s race, as simply a slice of pop-art sci-fi. A common-sense structure is adopted, with an origin story preceding two stand-alone issues and a three part concluding arc. The writer’s approach to the property varied noticeably through these instalments. Grant Morrison had praised Warren Ellis’s Authority as being the first superhero comic of the twenty first century and these two issues seem very much inspired by the Wildstorm book, with grandiose sci-fi concepts being fought by the hero against an urban backdrop, supported by his otherworldly spaceship. You can’t argue with the imagination deployed, and Morrison was clearly having fun here, but these distractions sadly weaken the story as a whole. We’re left with certain elements of the main tale being rather perfunctory, with Noh-Varr and Oubliette’s attraction to each other being communicated by other characters, rather than shown in the events on-panel. Certain character traits also come off as less than convincing, with the destruction of Noh-Varr’s friends and lover being used rather unconvincing as a reason for light angst, rather than anything stronger.

It’s a little harsh to view Marvel Boy as a failure; JG Jones turns in some excellent work here, and Morrison used this book as a launch pad to inject his sensibilities into a much more high-profile Marvel property. The story itself was clearly influential- the conception of SHIELD here is an obvious influence on Joss Whedon’s SWORD set-up. By destroying the series status quo in the final issue, however, the creators gambled that they’d have time to return to their creation and fully define him. The failure of this bet sadly left Noh-Varr as driftwood in the Marvel universe. Marvel Boy still entertains, but the standard trade format seems more fitting than the hardcover treatment it received.