Hate Revisited #2, by Peter Bagge

Peter Bagge is on my shortlist of my favorite cartoonists, and Hate is perhaps my favorite comics series of all time. Since ending the series in 1998, he's periodically returned to these characters in roughly real time, as the series leads Buddy and Lisa had a kid. Bagge has said that Buddy Bradley is a version of him, approximately ten years in the past, so it's been interesting to see him move Buddy into a weird kind of adulthood. Hate was the quintessential Gen-X slacker comic in its day, featuring a rotating cast of lunatics in Seattle right around the time that grunge became a dominant aesthetic. After a certain point midway through the series, Bagge moved Buddy and the cast back to his native New Jersey, where he had to try to figure out what to do with his life instead of just drifting. There was always a restlessness to what Bagge was doing in this series; he could have milked the Seattle scene a lot longer than he did, for example. 

Bagge has done a lot of work since Hate ended, including several series with DC, biographies with Drawn & Quarterly, and tons of political commentary and history. (Founding Fathers Funnies is a particular favorite of mine, as Bagge hilariously cuts through a lot of bullshit in a way that matches the irreverence of Hate at its height.) Hate's always been there, however, and the new Hate Revisted! series is a blend of modern-day Buddy & Lisa (and their now-adult weirdo son Harold) and flashbacks to Seattle and even high school Buddy in New Jersey. 

Looking at issue #2, Bagge returns to perhaps his most memorable character, Leonard "Stinky" Brown. Bagge's perspective on Stinky now from Buddy's point of view is interesting. On the one hand, this delusional loser has an undeniable charisma and almost a sweetness to him, but he's also the kind of loose cannon that as Buddy describes "more often than not, they don't grow up...and that 'charm' wears off fast..They become more of a liability." For Buddy, being around Stinky was a fun adventure, because Stinky had no boundaries and no limits. He was totally unpredictable and capricious, and the first story serves as their first meeting. In the course of the story, Stinky calls in a bomb threat to set up a drug deal, steals two different vehicles, shoplifts half of a record store, and gets stabbed trying to rob someone at knifepoint. But he introduces Buddy to St. Mark's Place, they have a crazy adventure, and Stinky represents this tantalizing sense that anything is possible in an otherwise stultifyingly dull suburban environment. Buddy wanted someone to bring him out of his more cautious tendencies, and Bagge shows how easy it was for Buddy to want to fall in with Stinky.

Of course, the next story sees Buddy in the present day, worried about his son falling in with a Stinky-like character nicknamed "Spam." Spam lives in a tent in a homeless camp, jokes about stealing Buddy's propane, and wants to buy land with Buddy's son Harold. Buddy immediately suspects that he's going to get Harold in trouble the way that Stinky ultimately did. Here, Bagge delves back into one of the more jaw-dropping scenes in Hate: Stinky's accidentally (?) killing himself with a handgun in front of Buddy's younger brother Butch. Even after Stinky's death, shenanigans occurred, as Buddy had to help move Stinky's body multiple times. The entire issue revolves around Stinky, as there are flashbacks to Buddy's old housemates Val and George dealing with him.

This wasn't just a memory lane exercise for Bagge; by centering the story around Stinky, he was able to get at the heart of what made him so appealing and repulsive at the same time. Stealing and lying came as easily to him as breathing, and he never once thought about the consequences of any of his actions. Buddy and Lisa have always been a mix of reactive and impulsive in their actions, and Bagge shows how this hasn't changed even as they've grown older. Buddy's plan to rein in Harold is predictably hair-brained, and Lisa's eventual reaction ("grounding" their adult son) points out her own impulsiveness AND reactiveness. 

Bagge did the flashback stories in black & white and the present-day stories in color. The inking in some of these stories was pretty rough, especially the color sections.  The whole issue has several mistakes, like a misnumbered page and a misspelling, which makes it feel that any editing done here was cursory at best. Still, even if this isn't Bagge's crispest work, his use of body language and the way he arranges particular sets of characters is unlike any other artist. There are many artists who have imitated Bagge's rubbery character design and frantic character expressions, and Bagge's comedic dynamism is as sharp as ever.

Tanya Dorph-Mankey's Count The Lights Preview

Pro wrestling, at its essence, is a kind of carnival theater improv based heavily on audience reactions. Every emotion must be over the top to reach the person sitting in the last row. Every aspect of the story should be told in the ring itself, through the choreographed violence. There's a reason why so many former theater kids become wrestlers these days; the line between burlesque, drag, musical theater, and wrestling is a decidedly thin one. In a musical, a character is moved to break out into song as a reaction a feeling so strong that conventional speech cannot contain; in wrestling, the same is true, except emotion is expressed in violence. 

Cartoonist Tanya Dorph-Mankey understands all of this, and in her preview of her future graphic novel Count The Lights, she immediately introduces us to her principal characters through what else--their first match together. The twist is that this story is also a queer romance, and wrestling has always had a homoerotic subtext (or these days, just plain text) in the most memorable of its feuds. Dorph-Mankey simply takes this out into the open in a classic enemies-to-lovers storyline that has a number of twists and turns. (Full disclosure: I've helped her edit some of this story.)

This preview introduces heel wrestler Alan Jacobs, a member of a faction simply dubbed "Violence." He's an intense prick who's out to prove himself, and he goes up against a funny slacker of a wrestler named Ryan Roberts, who "absolutely hates to put in any effort." His antics are anathema to a sneering heel like Jacobs, as Dorph-Mankey keeps the action of the choreographed matches "kayfabe," meaning that she suspends the disbelief that the wrestlers project toward the audience. Even after Jacobs predictably wins, Roberts notes that it was a good match because it got a big crowd reaction, and then he flirts a little with a fuming Jacobs.

Fans of wrestling will enjoy a number of different easter eggs in here, but what makes the comic compelling is Dorph-Mankey's ability to tell a story through action and impact. She adds an almost expressionist set of backgrounds for hard-hitting sequences, and her understanding of anatomy and the relationship of bodies in space is absolutely crucial in adding stakes for the characters and an emotional connection for the readers. In a story that revolves around a romance, establishing the importance of gesture and body language (albeit in a totally over-the-top manner) early on propels the character narrative without wasting any time. 

mini-kus #112: Gina Wynbrandt's You're The Center Of Attention

As I've said before, when it comes to humor, punching up can feel pretentious, punching down is unseemly, but punching yourself is always funny. Gina Wynbrandt excels at this sort of comedy of self-humiliation, and it's been exciting to see her slowly work herself back into cartooning again after a long break. In I'm The Center Of Attention, Wynbrandt satirizes social media attention-seeking culture in a hilariously blunt manner, interpolating Disney-style platitudes with a magical bug character. 

Wynbrandt uses a kind of cartoony naturalism that borders on the grotesque and exaggerated as a way of emphasizing the artificiality of her environs. The premise of the comic is that she's a contestant on a reality show where she's to be subjected to "a series of silly and embarrassing challenges" in order to win $10,000. Wynbrandt immediately fantasizes that this will lead to worldwide fame, her own TV show, and a harem of guys. She's encouraged by George, a Jiminy Cricket-style talking bug that encourages her. For the initial challenges, she does the chicken dance, acts like a dog, and sings in front of reality show judge Simon Cowell. 

Then she has to read her entire search history (which includes her own name several times and "plus size slut clothes.") Things get worse after this, as one might suspect, but George is there all along--and in the end, he's there for Gina in a way that should have been clear all along. Everything about this comic is unsettling, grotesque, visually disturbing, and hilarious. The use of color is especially off-putting, particularly with regard to the candy-colored backgrounds. Wynbrandt sets herself as the butt of every joke, but it's also a funny series of jabs at every aspect of popular culture, the expectations of society, and the superficiality of desire. Wynbrandt admitting that her own desires are completely base and lazy is the trigger for the final humiliation, but the reality is that she's simply like everyone else. The fact that she gets part of what she wants in the end, albeit in a totally unexpected and over-the-top way, only makes the whole thing funnier. Wynbrandt's satire has only grown sharper as she's become more skilled as a cartoonist and more forward-thinking with her use of color. 

Christina Lee's The Method

Christina Lee's The Method is a Riso comic done in the style of a People-magazine style magazine mixed with scandal sheet sensationalism. The result is three separate stories that focus on the concepts of appearances, internalized & externalized pressure, and above all else societal expectations of women. The Method utilizes a typical Riso color pallette, with a focus on pink & blue for the first story, green & yellow for the second story, and a sort of aqua green wash for the third. These are all rather bright, cheery, and candy-colored hues one associates with Riso comics, but Lee's intentions here are clearly subversive. This comic is one long, satiric wrecking ball, taking on notions of celebrity, misogyny, the concept of effortless perfection.

The first story follows a pop star named Kelly. Interestingly, the reader never hears her speak, nor are we privy to her thoughts. She's in the stage of her career where she's an international superstar with a massive following, but she's feeling the burden of expectations. She's at the point that while she's rich and successful, her worth is entirely tied to what she does next. The story begins with her finishing up a video for her anticipated new album, and Kelly is fascinated by a billboard that defaces her with someone drawing a spurting dick on top of her face. She's obsessed with her weight and her appearance, and not only is she utterly alone at home, she refuses to answer a call from her family about her (presumably sick) father. 

Laying awake, she imagines herself as Sisyphus in heels, hoping for her own failure. A fantasy of being crushed by that boulder finally allows her to sleep, holding a magazine with her cover photo that she's defaced herself. Lee's use of restraint with regard to text and introducing images and scenarios of stressful failure adds to the dreamy quality of the story, where the reader has to discern what's real and what's Kelly's imagination. That final image clarifies everything, as her fantasies of failure are the only thing that comfort her.

The second story is one long gag about an "effortlessly perfect" office drone/receptionist sending out emails and messages written in bureaucratic babble who goes to lunch. Gorging herself on a "420 Burger" and a milkshake, the remainder of the story is her trying to hold in a noxious fart thanks to her meal. There's a great page where Lee uses an interesting grid, including stacking 4 panels vertically on the right side of the page to mimic the elevator ride where she crouches down in agony. The punchline is a hilarious fantasy sequence culminating in a candy-colored two-page spread. This is all a bit of silliness to clear the reader's palate for the much darker final story.

Titled "Superfan," it's about a young woman dolling herself up for a concert and potential meet-up with an aging comedian and actor named Brad Harrison. This has the structure and tone of a horror story, and it is. Alexis is the fan of Harrison who's going to his show--except she's lining up backstage, not for the show itself. The two-track narrative at the beginning sees Alexis getting ready for the show as an interview plays that goes over his career and accolades, with this stand-up tour being a triumphant return. It's also a different kind of triumphant return for Harrison, as Harrison only allows women twenty years and under backstage, and they must sign a non-disclosure agreement. 

There's a funny and disturbing scene where one woman lies about her age and isn't allowed in, and she throws a fit. When Alexis is let in, she sees her idol finishing up his set (and talking to his wife on the phone). However, one of Harrison's handlers directs them to the showers, because "Brad only spends time with clean girls." Alexis fantasizes about what she's going to say to him, telling him he's her comedy inspiration, etc, without a single thought as to what is actually about to happen. 

Lee likes to create striking moments and works big for this effect, as she uses a two-page spread when Alexis sees Harrison performing as a way of emphasizing the sense of awe she's feeling. Signing the NDA agreement is another two-page spread, but this time, it's a way of showing how little she seems to be taking in the implications of this signature. The final image, where she's naked and dripping wet without a towel, is a splash page. She has a rapturous expression on her face as it's just been announced that they are going to "party with Brad," but the dense blacks that surround her tell another story. Or rather, they are a signal for the horror that's about to begin, one that Lee leaves to the reader's imagination. Lee knows that the reader can guess what's about to happen, and it's that moment of tension that she seems most intent on escalating and then prolonging. Lee really puts it all together in this final story, using a wide array of visual tricks to simultaneously continue the brightness of the overall comic and then take it in a more sinister direction.

Nadine Redlich's Doing The Work

Published by German company Rotopol, Nadine Redlich's Doing The Work is on the surface a breezy collection of silly and scribbly single-panel cartoons. Underneath her brightly colored (yellow body and big red nose), bulbous, and frequently absurd stand-in lies a story with a certain sense of lurking desperation and sadness. It's a feeling that leaks out from time to time (like in one strip where the figure is working at a computer, looks at her watch, and utters "Time to cry"), but that feeling is then shunted to the side with strips like a poodle pondering existential questions, a giant walking banana slipping on a stray person, or someone swallowing an umbrella. 

Near the beginning of the book, a pink blob with a big red nose introduces herself as "Nadine's last brain cell," pauses, and then asks the readers if they like her. Later, a creature in a shell declares that it doesn't want to be perceived. (In a later cartoon, it jumps up and says "Just kidding!") This largely sums up the nature of the gags in the book; there's a deliberate and uncomfortable awkwardness present in many of them, as they linger perhaps a beat too long, or a strange, discordant, and sad note to what is otherwise a fairly conventional gag. 

There are several recurring characters: a grumpy boulder who stubbornly resists change; a hairy yellow figure; the aforementioned lecturing poodle; and several variations on the original "brain cell character." For every gag where they are doing something silly, there's another one where the banana has its head in its hands. There's an air of inevitable doom that pervades the book, but there's also a sense that the show must go on. The brightness of the colors feels almost deliberately obnoxious, and there's little about many of the actual drawings that's interesting, even at a minimalist level. Similar projects by Lewis Trondheim like Mister I or Mister O took much better advantage of the actual drawings to make interesting stories, but that doesn't seem to be what Redlich is going for here. This is a protracted howl disguised as a series of candy-colored vignettes, as Redlich constantly lets slip that mask of cheer to reveal the ways in which the narrator is barely holding on sometimes. 

William Chen's Phased

COVID-related comics are a dime a dozen, but William Chen went in some weird directions with the topic in his visually striking comic Phased. This comic is a great example of color being used to advance the narrative, even if its initial implementation seems abstract. The comic features a nameless young man (presumably a Chen stand-in) who has a vivid dream during the quarantine of a nebulous pink-and-blue entity entering his mind. He avoids getting sick and feels great, but he starts to become more and more distant from his body. Without warning, parts of his body "phase" out--briefly dissolving into a miasma of pink and blue before reconstituting themselves. It makes eating difficult and starts affecting him to the point where any kind of contact with others becomes difficult. 

The resolution of the story, revolving around extremely surprising contact with a higher being, is both densely colorful and deeply meditative. I wasn't sure how this short comic would resolve, but I wasn't expecting something this contemplative and deliberately conflict-avoidant. This is a comic about agency but also about how we affect others in ways we don't understand or anticipate. In this case, the unforeseen complications are a result of the actions of the higher being. Their evolved consciousness, as they note, didn't mean they weren't capable of misunderstanding how others might react to the gift they gave. Chen's coloring is stronger than his drawing, but his overall cartooning and page composition is fluid and imaginative. 

The CRAM Index

Here's a quick-link index to my six-part feature on CRAM Books.

1. Andrew Alexander's minicomics

2. CRAM #1

3. CRAM #2

4. CRAM #3

5. Allee Errico's Froggie World

6. Angela Fanche's Me & Night