Frankenstein, Agent of S.H.A.D.E. #7 – Review

By: Jeff Lemire (writer), Alberto Ponticelli (penciller), Walden Wong (inker), Jose Villarrubia (colorist)

The Story: Someone needs to teach these humanids a thing or two about labor unions.

The Review: Someone—I don’t remember who—made a point about this some months back, when Justice League #3 came out.  In that issue, there’s a scene where Superman, in his battle against a bunch of Parademons, uses a car to bat them aside and then a car tire to cut a couple them in two.  I distinctly recall a person remarking how funny it is we don’t think twice about reactionary, gratuitous violence the less human things look.

Perhaps I’ve been a bit indifferent myself, considering how long it took me to realize it, but so far this series has been a long string of monsters slaying monsters, wily-nily, rarely taking a pause to consider their next bloody move.  The agents of S.H.A.D.E. have somewhat lucked out in their choice of enemies, as the creatures of Monster Planet were essentially parasites and the head-shot of Colonel Quantum was something of a mercy kill.

But how do we rationalize the death doled out to the humanids, who are aware and conscious, however rudimentarily?  Or the recently unsealed, former Creature Commandos, who continue to call Nina their “mother”?  Can the agents continue to get away simply by thinking it’s killed or be killed?  Obviously not; Lemire’s too canny a writer to overlook the borderline hypocrisy happening here, which is probably why he throws in at the end of the issue a new problem that none of the agents, not even Frankenstein, can just kill off.

This is some tough stuff to chew on, but actually the issue has plenty of the unapologetically adventurous spirit as issues prior.  No matter how much angst may come out of this series, Velcoro and Griffith will always keep the humor and gonzo alive.  Here, they slowly develop—let’s not overstate things by calling it friendship, but, shall we say, mutual points of interest, primarily in big, cutting-edge weaponry (admittedly with less subtlety than what the D.E.O. has to offer: “It’s called the exploding sword,” Griffith enthuses).

Frankenstein, Agent of S.H.A.D.E. #6 – Review

By: Jeff Lemire (writer), Alberto Ponticelli (artist), Jose Villarrubia (colorist)

The Story: Take it easy on Frank—back when he was in ‘Nam, he saw some things.

The Review: I think it’s safe to say that, at least in fiction, all golems come to call their own shots in the end.  If nothing else, Frankenstein teaches us that while the idea of creating things in our own image has a certain appeal, we also have to deal with the tough questions such questions might ask of us with their own voices afterwards—and they may not appreciate the answers, either.  It’s not like we’ve ever gotten satisfactory responses from whoever created us, after all.

You’d think with Frankenstein’s monster himself walking around, hoarsely spouting his homilies around the place, all those mad scientists at S.H.A.D.E. would know better than to think freak chance can’t happen.  You’d think Nina, who’s had some experience in science experiments gone awry, could fathom the dangers of thinking you’re in total control.  You’d think the very concept of the Humanids would sound alarm bells that they’d turn on their masters at some point.  You’d think saying aloud, “They are not aware,” pretty much guarantees they are.

Actually, Lemire knows very well that we’d think all that, but since he’s essentially writing an homage to the great sci-fi stories of the past here, he has to stick to tradition and keep the characters blissfully ignorant of the disaster they’re brewing.  The only hint we get of anyone thinking ahead is Ray Palmer, who, despite Nina’s assurances, can’t help pitying and fearing the Humanids to some extent.  Unfortunately, precedent shows that a creator’s pity and fear often has little weight against the unthinking wrath of his creations.

Frankenstein, Agent of S.H.A.D.E. #4 – Review

By: Jeff Lemire (writer), Alberto Ponticelli (artist), Jose Villarrubia (colorist)

The Story: Frank, don’t you think you’re getting too old for this sh—stuff.  I meant “stuff.”

The Review: Frankenstein proves that there’s something to be said for a comic that sets out purely to entertain, and in these trying times, pure entertainment is invaluable.  The plot of this opening story arc, aside from its imaginative elements, can’t be simpler: slay the evil creatures or the planet is doomed.  The whole issue is basically a lot of stabbing and shooting, with a few jokes thrown in.  So why can’t you stop smiling as you read through it?

Perhaps because the action is such over-the-top insanity that you just get dragged along for the ride before you can take exception to it.  Lemire makes no apologies for crafting a boyhood fantasy on speed.  If his dream is to write about parasitic monster Titans who leech off the life-force of a massive sentient entity that only looks like a planet (complete with ocean), then he’s going to go for it and haters be hanged.

And why stop at living planets?  If you’re going to write a government agency composed mostly of mad scientists, you might as well throw in whatever crazy idea your brain can cook up, like the Toybox, a teleportation cube that can be sent through space-time to unleash all manner of goodies upon S.H.A.D.E.’s enemies.  This issue, it packs War Wheels, giant, rolling battle stations that can blast energy beams from ports all over its surface, and a G.I. robot squadron, “a battalion of autonomous android soldiers”—with rocket packs.  Bliss.

All this would be worthwhile reading in itself, but Lemire also injects plenty of enjoyable character moments as well, giving each team member a chance to shine.  It looks like Frank and Nina may have something deeper bubbling under the surface of their business partnership, with our main man turning up the charm as only he can: “I admire your determination, m’lady.  This situation reminds me of one of my favorite Milton poe—”  There’s also Griffith and Velcoro’s ongoing squabbling, which Bride describes as something you’d hear on “some really trashy reality show…!”  You have Bride herself taking charge and proving just as competent a leader as her husband, directing the defeat of a Titan while doing nothing more than “look[ing] good.”  Even the men back at S.H.A.D.E. HQ get some page-time, with Father Time and Dr. Belroy gleefully manipulating the War Wheels from game controllers, while the martyred Ray Palmer sighs, “What have I gotten myself into…?”

Frankenstein, Agent of S.H.A.D.E. #3 – Review

By: Jeff Lemire (writer), Alberto Ponticelli (artist), Jose Villarrubia (colorist)

The Story: Six crazy monsters versus a planet of demon-aliens.  Piece o’ cake.

The Review: If you ever get the urge to review comics (and let me tell you, it’s a pretty good gig), a useful first step is to evaluate whether the story’s primary goal is to entertain you or to make you think.  Obviously, the ideal would be to do both equally, but that’s not always possible or even appropriate.  Take Lemire’s work on Sweet Tooth and Animal Man; not that these aren’t incredibly engaging works, but they tend to emphasize the cerebral over gut emotion.

Here, where you have a chapter titled, “War of the Monsters Pt. 3: The Titans of Monster Planet!” you have to assume it comes with a little bit of camp.  But just because something’s campy doesn’t mean it has to be dumb.  Like anything else in fiction, if you put a little taste and thought into it, you can have your cake and eat it too.

With a whole planet of creepy-crawlies to deal with, this issue could easily have turned into a mere slay-fest, but Lemire balances it with strong character work.  Even the most action-packed panel has little moments for each team member to shine.  You may find yourself picking favorites.  I have a certain fondness for Griffith, whose eagerness to be a team player (“Don’t worry, Dr. Mazursky, I’ve got your back.”) makes this werewolf seem more like a big dog.

Most intriguing is the (mostly) silent mummy, Khalis.  You wouldn’t think it by his slender frame, but he may turn out to be the real firepower of the team, as he demonstrates this issue (“Whatever he did, it seems to have wiped out the entire spider species.”).  No one, not even Father Time, knows much about the bandaged mercenary, but keep in mind: to get a mummy, someone had to die first.

Frankenstein, Agent of S.H.A.D.E. #2 – Review

By: Jeff Lemire (writer), Alberto Ponticelli (artist), Jose Villarrubia (colorist)

The Story: Now you know why I never go swimming in natural bodies of water.

The Review: We tend to understand Frankenstein’s monster from his portrayals in Mary Shelley’s original novel and its subsequent adaptations: as a gross perversion of the human body, composed of parts that long ceased to have human value to them.  He spends most of his artificially-induced life attempting to attain some approximation of humanity; whether he succeeds or fails is left to us to decide on our own understanding of what it means to be human.

That metaphysical question aside, we can all agree that Frankenstein definitely isn’t like one of us.  Maybe his monstrous nature has something to do with it, or perhaps his strict moral code is at fault, but this issue gives weight to Frank’s previous assertions that he works alone.  When he backslaps (for lack of a more conservative term) an old lady essentially for being a liar, you realize he’s not given to the sentimental, give-people-a-benefit-of-the-doubt nonsense we are.