KILL RAVENS, SMUGGLE BUDGIES

Greetings, largely agreeable human-shaped entities, and welcome once again to a weekly showcase of the eminently affordable floppy treasures lurking in the BARGAIN BASEMENT OF DOOOOOM. I’ve recently been dangerously revelling in the new Savage Hulk series from one of my all-time favourite comics artists, Mr Alan Davis. Which is as sufficiently flimsy an excuse as any to explore one of his lesser-known titles: KILLRAVEN.

Now, the character of Killraven and the world he inhabits do not stem from Davis, nor from this 2002 six-issue mini-series. He originally appeared back in Amazing Adventures #18, in 1973, brought into being by the extremely adept hands and minds of Roy Thomas and Neal Adams. However, his origins and inspirations are actually much, much older. Killraven – real name: Jonathan Raven – lives in a world that has been taken over by Martians. Not the benevolent and thoughtful seven-foot beetle-browed children of Mars presented by DC, but the old-school, Earth-invading, tripod-piloting, human-slaying aliens conceived by H.G. Wells in his pioneering 19th-century novel The War of the Worlds.

In Wells’ story, the seemingly unstoppable Martian onslaught ends [SPOILER ALERT] in ignoble failure, as the invading forces are wiped out by common or garden Earth germs. In Marvel’s take on the story, the Martians return in 2001, presumably armed with Lemsip and hand sanitiser, and succeed in slaughtering or enslaving the entire planet. Only a scant few stand against the ravaging hordes – most notably, the freedom fighter Killraven. A former gladiator in the Martian arenas, Killraven is an exceptional fighter, who, due to unforeseen side-effects of alien experimentation, is immune to his tormentors’ psychic abilities and invisible to their scanners.

While the original Killraven series was set in a possible future for the Marvel Universe (he encounters the Guardians of the Galaxy and is a member of a future version of the Avengers), Alan Davis’s 2003 version is set in a parallel world-slash-alternate timeline. Yes, it’s variant version of a possible future that may or may not come to pass in a fictional multiverse. Take into account that Wells’ Martians also turned up in Alan Moore’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, and you could end up in all kinds of cross-company, pan-universal, inter-dimensional knots. We’re several large steps removed from reality here, so let’s just roll with it. And let’s not even mention the version of Killraven that placed him in the Planet of the Apes continuity and named him Apeslayer. No, really.

The basic plot is this: A young boy called John and his mother are scavenging for food among the rubble of a New York City largely populated by crumbling skeletons. They narrowly evade a Martian patrol only to encounter human bounty hunters, who murder John’s mother in cold blood. It’s then that Killraven and his band of Freemen (M’Shulla, Camilla, Hawk and Skull) arrive and dish out cold, hard justice, in the form of slashy-slashy ultraviolence. The group take young John under their wing, and then essentially charge headlong from one grim-but-weird post-apocalyptic scenario to another, along the way meeting the pyrokinetic Volcana Ash; part-plant bounty hunter Mint Julep; the monster Grok; would-be despot Lucifer; genetically engineered Moreau-style creatures; and a whole host of other bizarre characters – including, of course, those pesky Martians.

To be honest, the story itself is somewhat thin, but it’s nonetheless oddly satisfying, taking in themes of freedom and escape, rising above your destiny, living a life with meaning and dignity in an oppressive world. In an age of decompressed, drawn-out storytelling, it really stands out as a homage to the old school – Davis draws heavily on the 1970s source material in tone as well as content. It’s dense, melodramatic, high-concept stuff, yet for all its speechifyin’ and endless flashbacks and somewhat stodgy wordiness, it really rattles along at an incredible, rollicking pace. And as for the art… oh my.

If you’re not familiar with the work of Alan Davis, a) where have you been? and b) stop reading this and go to a comic shop. A legendary British comics creator, he’s been in the business for over 30 years, and is rightly celebrated for his work on some titles you might have heard of: Miracleman, Captain Britain, X-Men, Excalibur, Wolverine, New Mutants, Captain America, Avengers, Fantastic Four, JLA, Legion of Super-Heroes, some guy called Batman… He’s been in demand for a long time, and to my mind, seemingly gets better and better with age. He’s one of a handful of artists whose name on a book pretty much guarantees that I will buy it – especially when Davis is inked by artistic soulmate Mark Farmer, as he is here. 

One of Davis’s lifelong dream projects was John Carter, Warlord of Mars. When he pitched it to Marvel, they said no, but instead offered him Killraven (which is more or less the same thing). Davis’s passion for the concept is palpable, and the resulting artwork is absolutely, utterly phenomenal. As epic and widescreen as it gets, with incredible, dynamic compositions, explosive action and sumptuously imaginative visual design. Davis even manages to sell the skimpy PVC mankinis worn by Killraven and his fellow Freemen, making them seem like basic, functional battle garb instead of middle-management weekend-gimp fetishwear from Argos. 

There are countless jaw-dropping moments over these six issues, including numerous extended, beautifully choreographed hand-to-hand combat sequences; horrific images of Martian atrocities; the incredible splash when we first see Mint Julep’s eccentric mode of transportation. This is a world in which Davis can – and does – really let rip. It’s an Earth in the future, but one devastated in the present day by forces from beyond, who have perverted this world beyond imagining. He is therefore able to meld together post-Apocalyptic scenes of ruined landmarks and recontextualised 20th-century artefacts; alien beings and technology; weird, misshapen monsters; psychic warfare, bordering on magic; and a load of sinewy gladiators running around with blades. Like Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples’ Saga, it’s a book that’s halfway between sci-fi and sword and sorcery, and revels in its hinterland status. 

Highly recommended for aficionados of gorgeously vivid renderings of near-naked barbarian-type people struggling for emancipation in an endless war against concepts stemming from Victorian literature. You know the type.

(originally published on The Big Glasgow Comic Page) 

WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO BECOME SMOKING PUDDLES

Greetings, true believers and mendacious sceptics alike.

Allow me to introduce myself. I’m M’att M’atzz and this is yet another bloody blog about comics, on which I shall occasionally ramble about things that have passed before my eyes in my 30-odd years as a reader, collector and obsessive.

The first few instalments are modified versions of articles previously published by The Big Glasgow Comic Page, as part of a series called ‘Bargain Basement of Dooooom’. The aim is to highlight to some of the golden nuggets you might find sitting neglected amid the fetid dregs of the discount bins and clearance longboxes. These are the titans of the 50p box, the heroes of the three-issues-for-a-quid heap. The underrated, the untraded and the unsung. The ugly, the unsure and the completely invisible.

First up, for your delectation, I present Strikeforce: Morituri. Written by Peter B. Gillis (Micronauts, What If?, Defenders) and drawn by Brent Anderson (no, not the guy from Suede, but the outstanding artist of X-Men: God Loves, Man Kills and later Astro City), this sci-fi tale spanned 31 issues between 1986 and 1989.

Existing entirely outside of Marvel 616 continuity (aside from a couple of cheeky Easter eggs), S:M has a simple but intriguing concept. Earth is under siege from ravaging aliens. To repel them, an experimental process has been developed that gives people potent metahuman abilities – but there’s a sizeable catch. The process invariably kills the volunteers – messily, mind – within one year.

Despite the big concept, this is very much a character-driven series. Gillis throws together a bunch of naïve young recruits, who we follow from introduction through training to deployment – and eventual demise. Not just anyone can volunteer, as the Morituri process only works on the few people with compatible DNA. Instead of a bunch of gung-ho badass scrappers, we get a motley crew, including a promising young writer, a devout Christian, a self-described wallflower. The series ruminates on themes of sacrifice, change, death and what constitutes a meaningful life. What motivates these people to pay the ultimate price? Altruism? Glory? Self-realisation? Anger? How will their decision affect their lives? And what goes through the minds of those who send these young people to their fates?

It’s not all mordant philosophising though – after all, there’s an enemy to fight, and the Horde comprise a particularly foul and unconscionable antagonist. This lot resemble a distorted reflection of a Dr Seuss creature – think a bunch of jowly, shaved Sneetches adorned with pet spider crabs and the skulls of their enemies. There’s plenty of brutal battles here, and it’s not long before S:M lives up to its tagline – ‘We Who are About to Die’ (based on the pre-combat mantra of Imperial Rome’s gladiators). It’s pretty clear that not only are no characters safe, but no one is getting out of this alive.

With its big sci-fi concept, imaginative, understated powers (particularly the quietly intriguing but effective analytical abilities of Adept) and, most importantly, relatable, sympathetic characters, S:M was a compelling, if under-the-radar series. And Anderson’s art is superb throughout. Clearly an admirer of Neal Adams, his work is solid and dynamic, clear and expressive, with occasional flashes of layout brilliance. For me, the emotional, explosive, multi-faceted climax of #12 is possibly the greatest single page of Anderson’s career.

Naturally, Strikeforce: Morituri’s focus on mortality gave the series an in-built shelf life. By the end of the first year, most of the original cast were little more than smoking puddles (hardly a spoiler, given the circumstances), and the series started to get a bit stale, giving way to a steady stream of paper-thin, unlikeable and similarly doomed replacement characters. After Gillis and Anderson’s final issue (#20), the creative team changed and the series became both unreadable and visually hideous. But those first 12 issues are very highly recommended, and the next eight are worth your pennies too.