Prepare To Meet Your Maker: Ryan Carey reviews GODHEAD by Ho Che Anderson

What do you do when you absolutely love a comic, but think it's undercut by things entirely outside the parameters of the story and art itself? 

Ho Che Anderson's Godhead Volume One (a second is apparently on the way next year, fingers crossed) is a work of borderline-brilliant dystopian sci-fi, a logical extrapolation of the current privatization of every resource under the sun (although hey, watch, the fucking corporations will probably set their sights on the sun soon enough), a breathtakingly cinematic action spectacle, a compelling tale of sleazy boardroom intrigue, and a fascinating character study. It's drawn in a wide variety of styles that vary from scene to scene according to the dictates of what's happening on the page, it moves at breakneck speed, and it has deep socio-political resonances throughout. Sounds pretty well flawless, does it not? 

And when it's firing on all cylinders --- as it usually is --- that's a pretty fair assessment. Anderson is a cartoonist whose body of work has been defined by a kind of full-time restlessness, a refusal to pigeonhole himself down to one "type" of comic --- how else do you explain going from King to I Want To Be Your Dog? In a very real sense, this developing epic feels like the story he's been building up to for the last couple of decades. The near-future world he's constructed here feels incredibly well- thought-through, we're talking down to the last detail, with every character, every interaction, very nearly every line of dialogue rooted in a detailed history we're only somewhat privy to (and rightly so), but that Anderson himself more than likely has broken down, Alan Moore-style, on a massive flowchart somewhere. If this story is a puzzle, then the first of the two chapters in this book puts the outer-edge pieces in place, while the second starts to fill the middle in. That's entirely as it should be, of course --- but it's also a bit of a problem. 

Not an insurmountable one, mind you --- not even close --- but I really do think the "graphic novel" format does this material a disservice. Sure, the oversized dimensions of the book, the glossy paper, etc. are all nice --- but they might be a little bit too nice. Anderson has been doing serialized graphic novels since before pretty much anyone else, of course, so it's natural that he'd go that route again, but I can't help but think that this work would present so much cooler as four individual "floppy" single issues, printed on something a bit closer to newsprint, than it does as two big, fancy books. For one thing, the textured grayscale art would have a much more tactile and "pulpy" feel to it --- and hence a greater sense of immediacy --- on less slick paper stock, and the story really is broken down into single discrete chapters. Which brings us to the second problem not entirely (perhaps not even remotely) of Anderson's making --- 

I'm not one for block-cap "screaming" in my reviews, but DO NOT READ THE BACK-COVER PROMO BLURB ON THIS BOOK UNTIL YOU'VE FINISHED THE FIRST CHAPTER. And DON'T GO ANY FURTHER with this review if you don't want key plot points "spoiled" (and here you thought I was just casually disregarding the old "don't give your verdict until the end of the review" rule, but no, there's a method to my madness here, and I got the "buy this, it's great!" part out of the way first on purpose) --- which is precisely what that back-cover promo blurb does. The first chapter limns the outskirts of an almost unfathomably-complex scenario --- a high-power corporate CEO is kidnapped under mysterious circumstances, then escapes under equally-mysterious circumstances after getting roughed up a little bit; an ex-soldier (maybe an ex-con, too?) is struggling between staying on the straight and narrow for the sake of his relationship with his girlfriend and falling back into what he was trained to do; a scientist is working on a massive project that almost no one even dares speak about in anything other than hushed tones; there's some kind of robot army being built that people do talk about; the CEO's security chief seems to take an extra-curricular interest in both said scientific project and every aspect of her boss' life --- what does it all mean? 

This, of course, would be plenty to mull over as you wait for issue two, but there's no wait, you just jump right into it, and the story nearly does a 180 : we get flashbacks to a war in Colombia some years prior, which Anderson cuts into and out of with deft precision, that ties some of these individuals together; we discover the CEO and the scientist have an "undercover" romantic relationship going on; our former soldier (and possibly con?) goes back to his former ways; the security chief is an agent of some hidden, shadowy, cult-ish power --- oh, and that top-secret project? They're building a machine that allows people to --- I shit you not --- talk to God. 

It's a major plot twist. The crux of the story. The grandiose concept to end all grandiose concepts. And that back cover blurb I won't quit bitching about? It gives it away and sucks all the power out of the book's key revelation. 

Anderson's work deserves better. The title of the book makes sense once you know this fact, of course, but if you go in "blind," I would argue that just why this thing is called Godhead would stand as yet one more enticing mystery among many as chapter one plays out. Letting the cat out of the bag this explicitly is a decision that, for the life of me, I simply can't explain.My other grip, about the format of the book itself at least has one thing going for it : Anderson's original full-color pages, completed before the decision (one that, for both the record and whatever it's worth, I fully support) was made to go the black-and-white route, are presented in the back looking big, gorgeous, and bold. Had they stuck with printing this book in color, this format would make sense, and still does for the "bonus" material. But telling prospective readers about the whole "machine-that-talks-to-God" thing before they even crack the book open? I can't really see any upside to that, I'm sorry. 

Fortunately, the work itself is strong enough to overcome this marketing decision. As you'd probably expect, the "guinea pigs" chosen to be subjected to the titular Godhead machine are all in pretty rough shape, mentally --- that is, if they're even still alive --- and the scenes depicting their abject terror rank right up there with the numerous hyper-violent and impactful action sequences as Anderson's best cartooning in a book full of damn good cartooning that is ultimately anchored, believe it or not, in an (admittedly polished) ethos of individuality. You'd be forgiven for thinking that the human element would be easy to lose sight of in a work this sprawling, this stylish, but no --- everyone here is given such a unique, individual look that their own expressions propel the narrative forward visually every bit as much as whatever they are doing/having done to them does. And speaking of unique and individual, where the heck does Anderson come up with these amazing names? They range from the alliterative (security chief Birdey Brooks) to the too-cool-for-school (former soldier Racer Calhoun) to the inexplicable (female scientist James Fancy) to the appropriately non-descript (the CEO is just, you guessed it, the CEO), to the yes-that's-perfect-for-a-comic-book (deceased company founder Jackson Jackson). This is straight-up genius stuff. 

And “genius” may not be a bad description of Godhead on the whole. It depends on where it all goes, of course, but a first half this imaginative, this confident, this striking, this bold --- I don't think Anderson's going to blow the landing. There's a little bit of a Michael Mann feel to these proceedings with the gut-punch immediacy of the action and crisp modern noir atmosphere, and in terms of tone and content I'm reminded a bit of Joe Casey and Piotr Kowalski's apparently-aborted (which is a real shame) Image Comics series Sex, what with its high-finance intrigues, secret cults, and CEO protagonist, but by and large this feels like something utterly unto itself. A world where the captains of industry are vying for control of every aspect of reality itself and where the idea of talking to God seems like a very real --- and very frightening --- possibility. 

I just hope that if God shows up in volume in two, he or she isn't too pissed off about having their existence given away on the back cover.

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Ryan Carey lives and works in Minneapolis, Minnesota. He writes about comics for Daily Grindhouse, Graphic Policy, and at his own blog. He also maintains a long-running film review blog, Trash Film Guru.

Cutting Deep But Missing The Artery: Ryan C. Reviews SLASHER by Charles Forsman

(Editor's Note: Ryan C. runs his own review site called Four Color Apocalypse which is full of his excellent writing. When Ryan asked if he could write about Charles Forsman's Slasher, I (being a Forsman fan), of course, said, "Please Do." Ryan's look at how Slasher fits into the Forsman oeuvre is insightful and absolutely worthy of your consideration.)

I'll say this much for Chuck Forsman's just-released Slasher trade paperback collection (Floating World Comics, originally serialized over five issues) --- it leaves you with plenty to think about. 

That's a good thing. As is Forsman's crisp, stark, cinematic cartooning and moody, inventive use of color. The book's visuals make the unnerving, the disturbing, both deeply and immediately human, offering no "safe distance" between reader and subject, utilizing a decidedly grindhouse aesthetic sensibility to deliver the goods by turning the world upside-down on page one (which explicitly portrays human beings as meat), then drawing back to something vaguely resembling "normalcy," and then absolutely going for the throat --- yes, literally. The ingredients for a memorable, even a classic, read? They're all here. 

And yet --- 

There's an inescapable sense that we've seen this all before, that Slasher is staking out something of a "middle ground" between Forsman's trademark "all is lost" portraits of alienated youth (The End Of The Fucking World, I Am Not Okay With This) and his genre-themed work (the two Revenger series). Certainly, in Slasher, he captures the flat and affect-less character of suburban American life that his protagonist, a data-entry clerk in her mid-20s named Christine, both internalizes and mirrors, with keen accuracy and clinical dispassion, but that's taken as a given with Forsman at this point. We know he does this sort of thing and does it well, and ditto for the specific details, which are likewise right up his alley --- Christine is sleepwalking through life, her sexual bloodlust providing the only points of exclamation in an otherwise wholly unremarkable existence; the internet, as you'd expect, has to date been the only "release valve" for her admittedly deviant fetish, and that's where she vicariously "meets" Joshua, a 14-year-old handicapped kid from nowhere, suffering through an openly vicious co-dependent relationship with his domineering, religious fanatic mother. Yeah, he's jailbait, but he "gets" her. Even prods her forward. Goads/coaxes her into taking things to the next level, into making her fantasies an actuality. In due course, she outfits herself with a "gimp"-esque leather mask/bodysuit combo and buys the knife of her dreams. Oh yeah --- shit's gonna get real. 

Her first "taste" of bloodletting (okay, bloodtaking) --- an anonymous bar pick-up that her gay "frenemy" warns her to avoid --- isn't enough. Things go a little bit wrong and she lets the poor schmuck live. Sorry, but that just ain't gonna cut it (insert groan here). But there's hope for upping the ante right around the corner. Her sleazy, sexually-harassing pig of a boss invites her over to his place for a bit of "fun" while his wife’s out of town. You already know only one person's coming out of that house alive. 

And so Christine's "career" as a serial killer begins, partly done for her own gratification, partly done to impress her ostensible "boyfriend." Shocking enough on paper, but again, par for the Forsman course. Two hopelessly broken souls come together and bring out the worst in each other. Why not? It's a premise that got him all the way to Netflix last time around (TEOTFW is now available as a streaming series on there in case you didn’t know). 

But wait! There is, as it turns out, a twist. And it's actually a damn good one --- so good that I won't "spoil" it, except to say that when Christine finally works up the nerve to track Joshua down in person, she learns that when it comes to the world of online perverts, well --- there's always a bigger fish. And herein lies Slasher's biggest opportunity --- unfortunately, as events play out, it turns out to be a missed one. 

For a good chunk of this story’s length, Forsman really does throw a spanner into the works. Things could go in any number of directions. We're thrust, at the 2/3 mark of the story, into the unknown. What will happen next is anyone's guess. Christine's bitten -- or cut --- off more than she can chew. All bets are off. And while I’ll grant you that the inherently conservative and moralistic undercurrent here --- "following your own desires is just gonna get you in trouble" --- is problematic, maybe even borderline-offensive, at least Forsman doesn't take the easy route of info-dumping some clumsy backstory onto his protagonist, of "explaining away" her fetish/need by means of some childhood abuse or trauma . Okay, yes, her relationship with her mother is far from healthy (another point of mutual understanding she shares with Joshua), but Christine is who and what she is, and now that we know that, can her emotional survival be negotiated in a world specifically aligned against that very possibility? That strikes me as a very worthy and challenging question. On the other hand, though, "no, it can't, so don't even try or you're doomed?" That's a gutless and far too easily-arrived-at answer. 

And "gutless" is the operative word for Slasher's final act. The inexorable tug begins almost as soon as the previously-referenced plot twist runs its course --- the magnetic pull toward what we've come, in fairly short order, to recognize as a typical Forsman ending. And he just can't resist. Maybe it's not even realistic to expect him to yet --- after all, in the scheme of things,, his career's just a handful of years old. But the simple fact that he shows, just pages earlier, that he’s willing to at least entertain the possibility of breaking his self-cast mold demonstrates that he recognizes it exists, and that some sort of way out of it must exist, as well. Then he seems to shrug his shoulders and admit that whatever that way may be, he just simply hasn't found it yet. For the time being, at least, he's a cartoonist who no doubt excels at taking readers out of their comfort zones --- but clearly isn't ready step out of his own, which is more than a bit of shame --- the opportunity to approach the questions he broaches about alienation and the way it manifests in a person’s pyshosexual urges in a new and more provocative way is there for the taking here, but at this point would it shock you to learn that Slasher ends the same way that The End Of The Fucking World does? The same way that I Am Not Okay With This does? 

Nah --- I didn't think so. 

As stated at the outset, Slasher at least leaves the reader with many questions to think about --- unfortunately, the biggest and most pressing of them is "When is Charles Forsman going to take the leap forward that he's been on the cusp of for some time now"? It very nearly happens here --- but he pulls his knife back at the very same moment Christine thrusts hers in for the final time. If you’re new to Forsman’s body of work, then you may get a lot out of this, but if you’re a longtime reader, well ---- this is just a bloodier version of a story he’s told us a couple of times already.

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Ryan C. lives and works in Minneapolis, Minnesota. He writes about comics for Daily Grindhouse, Graphic Policy, and at his own blog. He also maintains a long-running film review blog, Trash Film Guru.