Thirty One Days Of CCS #29: Ocean Jones, Bread Tarleton, and Kevin Reilly

Ocean Jones and Brandon "Bread" Tarleton collaborated on a book called Big Grungus, which seems to be a collection of sketchbook-style zines where each artist traded the pages back and forth with each other. There's an aesthetic that I've seen developing among some young cartoonists that combines a scribbly, mark-making style of art with any number of genres, including autobio, fantasy or in this case, wise-cracking anarchist cats. That aesthetic is often closely aligned with punk/anarchist sensibilities, and that's certainly the case here. The loosely-constructed stories follow the cats Big Head George and Big Stinky as they lie around, go skateboarding, get in arguments, go on quests, brag, philosophize, and insult each other.  It's punk absurdism, with every mark on the page as important as any line of dialogue. There's a whirlwind of styles here, with some sections carefully rendered and others looking like ink is slashed across the page.

Jones' own Big Jumps 1 is very much in the vein of Big Grungus, only these are personal observations. That scrawled, expressive line and warped perspective fills every page as they talk about wanting to personally transform their body, piss on the government, and try to get up. Tarleton's The Woods is different: it's a silent work about a small person traversing their way through some thick, mysterious forest land. Tarleton's line here is dense, with lots of gray shading and cross-hatching. When the traveler sees a series of bug-like creatures marching in a row and then sees one of them devoured from above by a monstrous creature, they decide to leave the same way them came from. It's a strong sequence that manages to convey emotion through some subtle use of body language, and the visceral surprises in the story sell the reader on that shock.

I reviewed Mothball 88 earlier in December, but I have a few other Kevin Reilly comics to consider. Reilly's collection of short stories, Obscure Imperatives, sees him working in a number of different genres and styles. “The Birthplace Of Saints” is a story that sees him working through a number of different influences, yet coming out with a style all his own. It's been noted that his thin, wispy line is reminiscent of CF's, but I see more of Olivier Schrauwen (in terms of color and forms) and Dash Shaw (in terms of the fantasy) content here. That said, this story of a roller-skating keeper of the faith who protects a temple important to pilgrims is entirely its own thing. Reilly has a knack for not just world-building, but creating entire ontological systems for his characters. The way he has the belief systems attached to his worlds play out over the course of the narrative is fascinating, especially since so many of them wind up being horrific or lethal in some way. The way he ties those systems into sports and competitions is also interesting, as self-actualization as a believer is directly tied into one's own athletic prowess. 

There's a little Mat Brinkman in his “The Obscure Imperative”, a quest story with tiny panels, unusually shaped figures, and a starkly steady line weight. Again, Reilly's stories play out as narratives with a lot of stake, and in this case it's survival and memory. He creates a set of rules, lets the reader know just enough to follow the story, and then takes those rules to their logical (and frequently disquieting) end. “Fifteen” is an unusual mix of genres. It starts as a teen romance, with a mysterious girl named Molly encouraging the narrator to run away with her. She's too cool for him, but she gives him a mix tape that may have magical effects. There's a steadiness to his line here that is unchanged despite the frequent and weird scene changes, where the narrator goes from chasing her to becoming a member of a marauding, anthropomorphic rock band to fodder at a mental institution to running free.  

A Thousand Times is Reilly's take on the Ed Emberley assignment, where an artist draws a story using the simplest of geometric shapes. It's the story of a horse that keeps running and running, trying to find its girdle. It's another example of Reilly creating a world with its own dream logic that inexorably leads to a horrific end. Halcyon Bike Shop is a piece of cleverly-designed commercial work that doubles as a guide for how to maintain one's bicycle and an advertisement for the shop itself. It's beautifully constructed and designed, and it points out a constant in Reilly's work: absolute clarity in his storytelling. It's obvious that he has a big future ahead of him as a cartoonist, especially if he finds a publisher that believes in his work.

Thirty One Days Of CCS #4: Kevin Reilly & Sean Knickerbocker

Mothball 88, by Kevin Reilly. This delightfully weird comic is a triumph of design, a fascinating trip through the mechanics of games and sports with its own internal language and logic, and a political statement about the way spectacle is used as a societal anesthetic. Every detail of this Ignatz-nominated comic adds to its aesthetic, from the orange-and-blue spot colors, to the quality of the paper,and the stippling effects that add a gritty quality to the storytelling. The story itself is not just a game, it's a game televised worldwide on the planet Bombyxia. Reilly gets the unctuous patter of the announcers just right for the 88th Mothball Championship as he slowly unfolds how the game is played.

At first, the absurd action of the comic is whimsically delightful as the three competitors each enact their own strategies. The game involves pre-teens using various methods to hatch special moths in order to score points. The mechanics of the sport are fascinating, and Reilly spins a genuinely gripping story where the outcome of the game produces suspense. That makes the conclusion so fascinating, as the initially vaguely creepy details (a silent crowd comprised of what looks like clones described as being "glued into the action") start to become horrifying. Two of the competitors are disintegrated by a bathtub full of a corrosive that happens to be part of the field. The teenage winner wishes only to kill Mothus, the alien ruler of the planet. It quickly becomes clear that the humans on the planet play this game to amuse their rulers, who frame the whole thing as entertainment for all. There is hope implied at the end but no real resolution, ending the comic as it began--right in the middle of a larger story. This is very much in the tradition of using violent sports as a political/cultural social satire, like Death Race 2000 or Rollerball, and it succeeds because Reilly's precise art and storytelling nails every tiny detail to provide a level of authenticity that feels lived in.

Rust Belt #4, by Sean Knickerbocker. Knickerbocker smartly writes stories about frustrated people in dead-end situations in Midwestern small towns. Most have been about younger people looking to leave town and improve their situations. This issue, "Internet Persona", is an incisive look into the life of a small-town, alt-right type Trump supporter and his burgeoning internet fame. The thing that really stands out about this issue is the way that Knickerbocker resists turning the vlogger, Jason, into a caricature without making him a sympathetic character. He's just a regular guy with a nice wife who hosts her family on Thanksgiving. He even takes the hint when his wife suggests everyone leave their politics behind at the dinner table.

Knickerbocker has a wonderfully ratty line, and his design for Jason--a pickle nose, patchy stubble, and squinty eyes--is absolutely spot-on. The story is fascinating because what it's really about the way that internet provocateurs take advantage of gullible dupes to further their own agendas (read: money and fame). Jason records right-wing rants on facebook (using typical language like "snowflakes" and "facts don't care about your feelings"), and one of his videos gets picked up by a right-wing media troll nicknamed "Burnt Toast". It goes viral as a result, and the undercurrent of the comic changes from his personal frustration and desire to speak on it to his delight that he's become famous.

Burnt Toast contacts him, flatters him and gives him advice. When he comes to Jason's town, he invites him out for dinner. He invites him to "contribute" to his website, providing content without being paid, other than a vague offer of "we'll see." There's a fascinating sequence where Burnt Toast has Jason watch a "reenactment" of a "stolen valor" video, one where a veteran confronts someone wearing a fake uniform looking for handouts. It's the kind of manufactured crisis that alt-right sites love to propagate and got to the heart of the shit-stirring, disingenous provocative nature of this kind of media in a naturalistic way. When his wife points out the general creepiness of Burnt Toast, it's less an affront to Jason's beliefs than it is his vanity, and it's pointedly the first time in the book that they have a significant argument. A provocateur's job is to make people angry ("own the libs!"), not to make cogent arguments--it's all about heat, not light. Knickerbocker demonstrates just how easily a frustrated person can get swept up into this kind of rhetoric, no matter how extreme it might become.