Oliver Davis reviews 2000AD’s Prog #1892…
Borag thungg, Earthlets! This week’s Prog has diner-based showdowns, Albert Einstein-lookalikes, many trolls a’slayed and that niche, strange Eastern religion called Christianity. But first, we start at the beginning. Even more at the beginning than usual – the cover.
What a lovely display by Judge Dredd artist Colin MacNeil. The circular framing of its three characters and simple palette recall the opening title cards of Looney Tunes episodes. Which leads us right into this week’s Dredd strip, A Night in Sylvia Plath, written by ol’stoney face co-creator John Wagner. The title sounds like one of those celebrity porno tapes. A Night in Paris, A Night in Chyna (eyes…cannot…unsee…). Fortunately, it’s about the ‘Sylvia Plath’ block of apartments in Mega City One – specifically old Mrs Gunderson and her servant robot Walter, both with a few screws loose (figuratively and literal), and the Judge Death impersonating robber who targets them. The script is wonderful, particularly Dredd’s interplay with the faulty Walter, with whom Joe has history. He betrays a rare smile while dealing with the robot. Perhaps Dredd sees a bit of himself in the old, malfunctioning steel-cased operating system. It’s funny, but more importantly, the story has warmth.
Which is what the inhabitants of Brass Sun are lacking – needing to restart their central heating (solar) system. The reason behind the entire Universe is revealed this week by an entity who is not a God. He’s just a powerful mass of conscious energy that happens to look like Albert Einstein and can bend reality. Rooting the fantastical world-building of Brass Sun to our own existence could have been a serious misstep, but Ian Edington accomplishes it with aplomb. The idea that all of creation is an accident is quite a liberalising idea.
Black Shuck is an accident, but more in a one-too-many-ales, pillaging-gone-to-your-head, born-out-of-wedlock way. The strip hasn’t quite found its footing yet, jumping between then and now with not enough difference in the art to easily distinguish the two periods. That everyone seems to have the same hefty beard in this Viking tale only makes things more confusing. The narration is evocatively written of that mythical age, the storytelling just isn’t yet up to scratch.
Which is what most people leave with – at least a scratch – once they’ve encountered Aquila in another period piece (this time Nero-era Rome) Carnifex. Characters’ motivations or backstories aren’t incredibly clear, making it hard to fully empathise with their quests. Oddly, however, you find yourself rooting for the marginalised Christians. Back then, followers of that particular faith had to meet in secret, identifying each other with a fish crudely scrawled on a door. Gordon Rennie writes such moments with glee. “Those guys who did the whole Crusades thing? They used to be the persecuted ones!” he seems to remind us. But the best lesson in reminding this week, a masterclass in exposition, goes to…
Scrotnig Tale of the Week
…Sinister and Dexter in Congo. Sometimes all you need to make a great scene is people tensely talking in a bar, or, in this case, a roadside cafe. So far, Sinister Dexter has been rather disappointing, embracing its more ludicrous, farcical elements (when the fate of the Universe is in our heroes hands, watching them have a shoot-out with a random biker gang feels a bit frustrating). But now Dan Abnett is finally putting the gears in motion.
The plot of this installment is simple: Sinister and Dexter are meeting Shon at a diner, at night, in the rain. It’s delightfully atmospheric. Needless to say, someone got shot at the end. Jake Lynch’s black and white pencils are the best they’ve ever been, greatly contributing to the Noir-tones of the book. Despite being exposition-heavy, the dialogue is tense and well-worked, like the calm before a storm. Very few writers have Abnett’s ear for dialogue. Excellent stuff.
Oliver Davis is one of Flickering Myth’s co-editors. You can follow him on Twitter (@OliDavis).
