Review: Transformers: Robots in Disguise #9 / X-Factor #243

Transformers: Robots in Disguise #9
John Barber/Andrew Griffith
IDW

John Barber's Robots in Disguise is an odd, inconsistent series that seems to find most of its focus in trying to mend the error-strewn history of IDW's previous Transformers series. Its premise is compelling: following the end of the civil war between two warring factions of alien robots, the interim government is concerned with rebuilding society, maintaining order and preventing various war criminals and ex-soldiers from carrying on their nefarious ways. They are beset by internal disagreements, with the chief of security (a former high-ranking tactician in one faction's army) intent on applying a kind of martial law. While he secretly employs an assassin to take out key trouble-makers, his allies struggle for democratic legitimacy.

But the story often seems simultaneously rushed and slow-moving; individual episodes are wrapped up hurriedly within the space of an issue, leaving dangling plot threads that are then only intermittently referenced. The over-arcing plot is glacial, and for something that seems, on paper, to have all the ingredients of a political thriller, it really doesn't read like one. All the action takes place in a single settlement of indeterminate size – the only one on a battle-scarred planet – and the cast of recurring faces is so small that the book feels more like a sort of frontier tale.

This issue is the second of Barber's first multi-parter. The focus is split between Bumblebee, the leader of the interim government, and events in the wilderness of their home planet, where an expedition has gone badly wrong. Little really happens to move the plot along. Bumblebee is convincingly troubled by various events, while Ironhide (the leader of the expedition) spends most of the issue fleeing attackers. There are two major twists, both of which are going to be largely lost on newer readers. For long-term Transformers fans, one has been heavily signposted and isn't much of a surprise at all. The other, typically of Barber, is a clever attempt to mend an apparent incongruity in the continuity that existed prior to his arrival, where one particular trio of characters turned up alive and well long after their apparent demise on an alien planet.

The dialogue is competent, but characters who really need to have it out in spectacular fashion spend all their time sniping at one another instead. One particular exchange – between Bumblebee and soldier-turned-barman Blurr – is notably enjoyable because Blurr expresses his dissatisfaction eloquently and clearly, and then thinks through his position carefully. This simply doesn't happen often enough in a series where everyone seems to have their own complicated (and deeply flawed) set of principles.

Griffith is improving as an artist with every issue, particularly in his depiction of certain characters. He seems to have full command of the complex designs of Wheeljack and Blurr, while his grasp of Bumblebee is frequently strong (the infamous 'Bumbletoad' only appears in one panel). His facial expressions are also more nuanced than ever, communicating the desired range of emotions – at least face-on. In profile, there are still issues.

There remain two major niggles I have with the artwork. Firstly, the designs of the characters seems to lean towards an extreme stout-leggedness that only works when they're standing still. The action panels look odd because the way you would run/jump/recoil with normal legs is not the same way you presumably would with ones that taper out to inflexible concrete feet, broader than your waist and as long as your forearm. This is almost lampshaded by the final splash page which, due to the slightly dodgy perspective, is about one third lower leg to two thirds six other characters.

Secondly, Griffiths has a way of depicting shearing/sheared metal that looks more like torn paper. In one panel, Ironhide blocks a blow from a massive energy sword with his arm. The sword seems to have cut easily through most of the limb, shredding the edges, but become lodged half way. It doesn't really convince as metal meets metal.

I remain hopeful that this series will edge towards greatness, but at the moment, the various minor problems do add up. Barber hits his stride when fixing other writers' mistakes, but struggles to retrain full control of his own story.

X-Factor #243
Peter David/Leonard Kirk
Marvel Comics

This is the third in David's 'Breaking Points' multi-parter – a sequence of essentially different stories loosely connected by the demise of the titular X-Factor, a mutant detective agency. With each issue, another member leaves or is taken out of commission. This time it's the turn of Polaris, who only joined the team about a dozen issues ago and hasn't spent much time in the spotlight.

It's fitting, given my above review, that David uses this issue to sort out continuity problems surrounding the character. In a way, it's an origins story, with Polaris finding out her own origins at the same time as us, through the means of another character's abilities to get a 'psychic read' from an object (in this case, an old photograph). As with Robots in Disguise, therefore, the major events of this issue will resonate rather less well with readers who aren't long-term fans of the franchise, which is a shame, because X-Factor has always been somewhat apart from other X-titles and is the only one that could conceivably sustain a separate readership of its own. The casual Marvel reader has simply had to shrug his or her shoulders as David has repeatedly made use of various cameos and guest appearances, largely for comic effect. Usually, it's worth sitting through these for the character-based interaction that David does so well, but there aren't many laughs in this issue.

I'm also a little uneasy with how the Madrox/Layla relationship is being over-egged in recent arcs. In this issue, Layla lies naked in bed with roses and burning candles all around her, waiting for Madrox to come to her room. Do women really lay this kind of thing on for the men in their lives? And why, when she realises he isn't coming, does she go out into the hall clad in just her bedsheets? You'd think she'd at least slip a dressing gown on. It's worth remember that this is a character who, until recently (and due to the usual time-related shennanigans in superhero books) was depicted as a child, physically if not emotionally, and David's insistence on emphasising her sexuality seems like something of a dare to the reader to be open-minded. It just doesn't fit in.

Kirk's artwork is serviceable but nothing more. Like so many Marvel artists, he has one standard male face and one female, with characters distinguished solely by their hair and costumes. It's awfully convenient for him that the remaining women in X-Factor have red, brunette, blonde and green hair respectively.

Reviews: Gambit #2 / Steed and Mrs Peel #0

Gambit #2

James Asmus/Clay Mann

Marvel Comics

As a character, Gambit (real name: Remy LeBeau) appeals for the same reason his fellow X-Man Chamber retains a dedicated fanbase: an improbable collision of soft stereotypes mixed with a weird special ability that permits writers to be somewhat creative in its use. In Gambit’s case, he’s devilishly beautiful thief-boy meets gator-wrestling Cajun meets New Orleans riverboat gambler, and his mutant power is to turn any random object into an unstable explosive simply by touching it. In the past, we’ve seen him use tow cables as fuses, spit chewing gum cherry bombs, turn zombies’ heads into grenades, time-charge a cigar to explode in Wolverine’s face and much more besides. Like most thief characters, he’s most fun when he’s using cunning and connivery to outwit his enemies.

Alas, due to a long-running apathy towards the character on behalf of Marvel writers across the board, Gambit has rarely been written as anything other than soldier class. He hurls charged playing cards at enemies, knocking them over without ever doing real harm, and makes occasional quips in that wholly fictional French-Southern bled accent. He falls with the rest of the team when the enemy plays its ace, and gets his licks in when normality is restored. When he’s been brought to the fore, it’s usually to explore his torturous on-off relationship with Rogue, or else he’s given a mysterious new ability that is subsequently dropped before it can be properly explored (see his ‘Death’ persona and, before that, his powers of clairvoyance while temporarily blind).

This is his fifth solo series, following two mini-series and two ill-fated attempts at an ongoing (the first lasted 25 issues and became a victim of internal politics at Marvel, while the second never really got off the ground and was cancelled after a year). Writer James Asmus has vowed to take Gambit back to his root as a character, ignoring completely his convoluted back story involving voodoo, secret guilds and tithing rituals. For Asmus, the ‘root’ of Gambit is the thief persona, and so we have a series which seems - over the first two issues at least - to be firmly in the heist mould. Issue 2 has all the staples: a rival thief, a laser net, a pickpocketing so deft even the reader doesn’t see it happen. There’s some good interplay between Gambit and his new romantic interest, and the art by Clay Mann is consistently strong and fluid (even if his Gambit is a little square-jawed). Remy also benefits hugely from not being surrounded by mutant powerhouses all the time. He shines best when back-up isn’t on its way.

But thus far, both the character and the book overall feel they’re missing something. Stripping Gambit down to the role of mutant thief removes some of the screwball charm of the character, and his drive and motivation in this series are something of a mystery. As of the close of issue 1, he has an alien device embedded in his chest that he’s desperate to remove, but it feels like a naked plot contrivance in place of any real character-based reason to keep getting into scrapes with low tier baddies. I can’t help but find myself missing Fabian Nicieza’s 90s Gambit, with his conflicting allegiances and easy flamboyance. Perhaps that time is past, but there needs to be something else in its stead. At the moment, Asmus simply doesn’t threaten to make any lasting, interesting changes to the character. He doesn’t even seem to be in a hurry to get inside Remy’s head, so it’s difficult to see how this series will find any leverage outside the character’s existing fanbase.

Steed and Mrs Peel #0

Mark Waid/Steve Bryant

Boom! Studios

One approaches with trepidation beloved TV series resurrected as comic books, and this is why. Mark Waid’s script does a decent job of emulating the wit and eccentricity of the 60s Avengers, but the decision to condense a complete story into 22 pages means the plot is rushed and simplistic. Emma and Steed visit the Hellfire Club again after one of their agents turns up dead. Steed falls into a trap, but it doesn’t take. You get the idea. Both characters remain unflappable throughout, and Steed uses his bowler hat as a shield. Waid has nothing new to add to the formula, nothing that makes this straight-laced exhumation seem worth anyone’s while. What do the Avengers mean to us in this day and age, other than nostalgia? No answer is forthcoming.

The real affront, however, is the art. I’m not sure whether Bryant was phoning this in or is inexperienced or what, but he’s singularly unable to find a way of capturing the likenesses of a young Patrick MacNee and Diana Rigg in simple lines. His efforts to do so mean that the characters’ faces distort and change from panel to panel. One version of Emma’s head looks suspiciously as if it’s been lightboxed, and this image is - I’m not joking - copy and pasted into five different panels throughout the comic, only once managing not to appear incongruous. The fight scenes, meanwhile, look utterly static, and are filled with weirdly drawn limbs. Bryant even uses most of one page to show Emma in her famous Hellfire Club outfit, only to miss out the spiked collar and accomplish something singularly unsexy. She actually looks as if she’s crushing the poor snake in her fists.

It’s sad, because I can see an Avengers book working; it just needs a lot more gumption and originality. Ideally, it wouldn’t be a slavish homage to the TV show but something that takes the mythos in unexpected new directions. Why not at least invest in a bold new visual style, rather than try and fail for realism?