Sometimes a comic just exudes an air of class in your hands, before you’ve even opened to the first page. Despite the fact that the pairing of Brubaker and Phillips didn’t immediately excite me as much as some – I’ve read neither Criminal nor Sleeper, while the writer’s work-for-hire hasn’t tended to overlap with my own reading habits – the combination of almost universal exhortation to buy it from creators on Twitter (yeah, I’m cool, I Twit with the comicscenti), and a high-concept hook to die for (the story of what happens to a former supervillain on witness protection when he suddenly gets his powers back), this screamed “must-read” as soon I heard about it. And feeling that this was a book to pay attention to was only helped by picking up a decent-sized package ($3.50 isn’t cheap, but that’s for twenty-three pages of story plus some nice backup material – and, this being Icon, no house ads) with a lovely, classy cover.

And thankfully, Incognito does come pretty close to living up to those lofty expectations. It’s confidently constructed, with a gradual peeling away of its premise that leaves the reader eager to learn more (aside from a first major plot beat, there’s not a huge amount of story that unfolds here, mind – it’s more about establishing mood and setting), and natural if unshowy dialogue with a strong sense of narrator’s voice. If there’s one thing that it wants for, though, it’s an array of characters with whom to identify. There’s no supporting cast to speak of – only Zack’s former and incumbent “handlers” stand out, and then by virtue of being the stereotypical “grizzled nice guy” and “young asshole” types respectively – and Zack himself, while clearly intended to engage our sympathies at some point, struggles to do in this first issue by virtue of being a former super-villain and… well, a bit of a jerk himself (not to mention one who, while you could call it a grey area if you were feeling charitable, essentially rapes a woman in the opening pages).

That’s not to say his story isn’t intriguing, merely that he’s far from the “hero” – and since there’s nobody else in the book to act as our way in, the reader is far more a detached observer than an engaged participant. That doesn’t make it a difficult read, though, and key to that is an absolutely superb turn on art from Sean Phillips. I should probably know his stuff a bit better than I do – the odd issue of Hellblazer is about all I really recall – but this is terrific, highly atmospheric stuff, helped by some great colouring from Val Staples. I’m not sure it really captures the “pulp” feel that Brubaker explains initially inspired the book – save for when Zack puts on his mask – but it’s a moody noirish look, all thick black inks, that suits it well anyway.

While lacking the “instant classic” feel of other contemporary hits like Casanova or Phonogram, there’s a definite sense that Brubaker and Phillips are on to something here – and as the opening issue of a series that looks set to put a grown-up sort of twist on superhero storytelling tropes, it feels a bit like being in on the ground floor on something like Powers or Ex Machina

. It’ll have to work hard to steer clear of too much cliché (the “mysterious” Doctor Lester already has a rather heavy whiff of Gargunza about him), but on this evidence, Incognito is one of the first essential comics of 2009.

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So… is anyone actually reading Powers any more? It may sound like a stupid question, but it appears to have become a series that nobody really talks about. I closed this issue feeling like I’d just read the absolute end of the series – but surely if that were the case, it would have made news somewhere? And with solicitation evidence in the letterpages contradicting me, I hopped online to try and clear things up – only to find barely any mention anywhere that this ish even existed (Comics Daily might, for the first time, be about to hold the distinction of being the only site to review a particular comic – and one, lest we forget, released under the Marvel umbrella).

So is this the end? A recent interview with Bendis suggests not – although the series is due to take a break before apparently relaunching with volume three, next year so that “#31″ solititation would appear to be out of date after all. But to be perfectly frank, even if this issue isn’t the end, its contents suggest that it really should be. Because if the series is to carry on from here, it’s going to have to do so without Deena Pilgrim.

Yes, closure is the order of the day here – while nothing terminal happens to her, this really is the end of Deena’s story. She’s cured of the powers virus, she’s out of the force for good, she’s out of the country. We’re finally given an answer to the long-standing question of whether she really did murder Johnny Royale – and we even see the resolution of some long-standing sexual tension as she and Walker “break an unwritten rule” and share an affectionate, firmly platonic hug. Unless Bendis is planning a major, major fakeout – and even if he were, it’d be hard to see exactly where he could go with the character – then that’s it.

And it’s no surprise that the end of Deena’s story feels like the end of the book as a whole. Despite Bendis’ attempts to lay focus on the background of Christian, she’s always been the real heart of the story. The last time she was out of the book, it suffered – not that “Forever” wasn’t an intriguing tale, but it didn’t really feel like Powers. And neither will any other series without her. But then, you could argue that Powers hasn’t felt like Powers for some time. It’s painful to say it, because every arc up to and including the shocking “The Sell-Outs” was better than the one before (and it started off as one of the best books out there), and as such it’s been a book I’ve been rigidly loyal to. But despite the odd good moment or issue, it hasn’t really felt right ever since the first hiatus and relaunch. Scheduling problems haven’t helped, of course – especially in a book where each arc reads better in one go – but the series has felt increasingly like an afterthought rather than the important, vibrant comic it used to be (for another example of this, see Ex Machina).

Still. It’s perhaps premature to write Powers‘ obituary just yet, so let’s hang fire until Bendis gives a clearer idea of just what he plans to do with it. Instead, I should at least spend a bit of time talking about the issue itself. And as it happens, it’s one of the better ones for some time. With the main plot details of this latest arc all but wrapped up, it’s simply a case of dealing with, and reflecting on, the aftermath. And this is the sort of thing that Bendis does well. The character beats are strong – if subtle, and meaningful only to long-time readers – and there’s tonnes of dialogue (a reader coming to the series for the first time would probably laugh out loud at the layout of one double-page spread in particular – but sod it, it’s Powers, it’s always been like this). Tonally, it does feel like you always imagined Deena’s departure should.

If there’s a disappointing aspect of the issue in isolation, though, then it comes on the art front. It’s not that there’s anything particularly wrong with Oeming’s storytelling, his style or anything else (I mean, I’m sure there are people out there who don’t really like his style – but they’re not going to be reading Powers. Me, I’ve liked his work since day one of this book) – in fact, the issue as a whole is deeply atmospheric, the visual tone suiting that of the story. It’s just… well, maybe it’s the lengthy gaps that occur between issues nowadays, but he seems to be losing his handle on the characters – Christian in particular. Indeed, Walker looks so different nowadays to his “classic” look that I wonder if it’s a deliberate stylistic choice – gone is the chunky, grizzled, square-jawed cop of days gone by, replaced with someone taller (ludicrously tall, in fact), skinnier and, even, younger-looking. The double-page I mentioned earlier actually features perhaps the worst example of this – I know Oeming employs a cartoony style, but like all good cartoonists, he’s still usually spot on with consistency in his figures even as he’s exaggerating them. Here, though, Walker just looks wrong. And if I’ve dwelt on that a bit too much, perhaps it’s just that it’s symptomatic of how different the book feels to the days of “Who Killed Retro Girl?” and “Supergroup”. Deena herself, meanwhile, even looks inconsistent from page to page at times – but then, there are chunks of the issue that do feel like they were drawn a fair amount of time apart, with even the inking weights looking variable.

It’s not as if there’s no hope for Powers. Bendis is still, after all, one of the industry’s strongest talents – the fact that he’s kept Ultimate Spider-Man so consistently good is evidence of that – and this is his baby (it used to be one of two – ahh, remember the glory days of a new Powers AND a new Alias every month?). It’s not inconceivable that he’s had this relaunch idea up his sleeve all along, to give the series new life at a previously-undetermined point of steam loss. But the question remains – without Deena, is there any kind of point? Whatever happens, this certainly feels like the end of the book as we previously knew it – and a surprisingly low-key one, at that.

Kick-Ass #1 launched amid such a massive wave of self-aggrandising hype and viral marketing that yours truly managed to remain blissfully unaware of its existence until about three days before it was released. This, naturally, demonstrates just how perfectly qualified I am to write a comics review column. Anyway, once it had been pointed out to me, the names were of course enough to draw me in – Mark Millar may have his critics, but you simply don’t ignore the man who wrote The Ultimates; while John Romita Jr. remains, for me, one of the absolute greats of the business.

So it was pleasing all round when that first issue turned out to be such tremendous fun. Millar’s clearly working very firmly in that “obnoxious” mode of his, but as the whole thing is comparable to Nextwave in terms of a writer cutting loose and fully indulging their sense of humour, tongue wedged firmly in cheek, for once it actually fit rather well. It’s a shame, then, that the now-much-anticipated second issue has turned out to impress me rather less.

It’s not that there aren’t neat moments. It’s just that the first issue, though not as original as it thought itself, was something of a breath of fresh air, and the consequences of Dave’s first attempt at superheroism were genuinely shocking. Here, though, after being shown his rehabilitation and recovery from his injuries, we know that despite his assertions to the contrary, it’s only a matter of time before he gets back into costume. And sure enough, so he does – but despite the entire story being narrated from his point of view, we never feel like we’re really getting inside Dave’s head, to discover just why he’s persisting with this after everything that’s happened. One simple line of dialogue – “The beast was friggin’ in me, man” – isn’t really enough to explain how he suddenly goes from “Never again” to being back pounding the streets.

Once he’s back in costume, of course, it’s even easier to see exactly where things are going – and, again, so it proves, with a more successful attempt at vigilantism seemingly vindicating his decision to get back on the horse. But part of the problem with following such a straightforward set of story beats is that, so far at least, Dave isn’t really a hero you find yourself rooting for. It’s possible to empathise with his general nerdiness, and I suppose he is driven by a desire to do something of genuine worth – but on the other hand, he’s a bit of a pillock. And for all the hype about this being a “realistic” book about someone trying to be a superhero… well, the idea of a recently-recovered spinal injury victim single-handedly taking on a group of thugs and winning means that the book is still rather more rooted in comic book rules than it perhaps feels it ought to be.

It’s still a very well-made comic, of course – the writing is brazenly confident, and JRJr couldn’t do poor work if he tried. And hey, it’s hard to argue with that front page tagline. But if there aren’t going to be any further twists in the story of Dave going out and kicking the crap out of people, then I’m going to lose interest fairly quickly. It’s the expectation that Millar surely has a lot more in his pocket, though, that’ll keep me reading for now.

Kick-Ass is one of those comics that paints itself as a realistic depiction of superheroes. It’s a trend that many will argue began, and should’ve ended, with Watchmen. Still, even Watchmen‘s premise was fairly forgiving – it was a realistic take on a superhero universe as much as superhero characters. Kick-Ass goes one step further, asking what happens when someone in OUR universe – the real world – tries to be a superhero.

As you can imagine, the answers are fairly simple, and they involve some poorly thought-out violence, a lot of swearing, and a teenager with too much time on his hands. It’s gloriously, painfully bleak stuff. The main character cuts a familiar figure – a comic-obsessed teenager who spends his time jacking off to internet porn and praising Joss Whedon to his friends. I feel lampooned already.

Issue #1 is, naturally, an origin story: David Lizewski is a nobody. After his mother dies of a brain aneurysm, he lives alone with his father, playing video games and reading comics. There’s nothing special about him, no unreasonable trauma in his upbringing, he just can’t understand (and if you ask me, quite reasonably so) why people want to be Paris Hilton and not Spider-Man. The thing that separates him from all of us is that he’s got exactly the right combination of time, boredom and stupidity to take it to the next level. Putting on a wetsuit with a facemask, he goes out looking for crime. For a while, he’s enjoying it, even if he finds nothing. When he eventually tackles a gang of grafitti artists, things go south pretty as fast as you’d expect – he’s beaten up, shivved and left for dead.

And let me tell you this: it’s all hilarious. Seeing Romita really go to town on the violence levels is, in itself, worth the price of entry. He’s been drawing castrated super-hero books for so long that you can practically feel the glee dripping off the page like the blood he’s drawing when David smacks a gang member in the face with his bat. Millar has his flaws as a writer, but he’s definitely managed to rein in his wilder tendencies – in David, he’s created a character who, far more than someone like Peter Parker, represents the everyman. I’m sympathetic with his directionless, entertainment-obsessed plight. The script, though, is where Millar really shines, and the last line of the book is what sells me on the next issue. I hesitate to spoil, but if you’re undecided it sums up the tone of the book perfectly: ”Two broken legs, my spine crushed, and dressed like a fucking pervert. My dad was going to kill me.”