A few weeks back, I left my generally cloistered existence and headed down to the Big City – NYC, for those of you keeping score at home – where I attended the first day of the fifth annual MoCCA Art Festival. You can read all about it (as well as gape at nearly fifty on the spot shots we snapped with our handy dandy digital camera) if you follow this link over to the page dedicated to the event on my home site, the cleverly monikered Hembeck.com. For those of you with limited attention spans, a quick recap of the afternoon goes something like this: daughter Julie and I had one heckuva time, thanks primarily to our guide for the day, Jim Salicrup, and our friends Rocco, Kara, and Bill, who accompanied us. But when all was said and done, I belatedly realized there was something I’d inadvertently neglected that day:

The comic books.

Everybody had ’em, everybody was hawking ’em. But in case you’re not clear on this point, this was no ordinary comics convention – this was a massive gathering of indy creators (and I’m NOT talking about the current rights holder of Indiana Jones, friends!…). There MAY’VE been a super-hero comic or two somewhere on the premises, but I’m betting you’d have to look pretty darn hard to find it. No, with publishers like Fantagraphics, NBM, and Top Shelf among the more established names, this was definitely NOT the place to catch up on the latest Civil Crisis or what not!

Fellow Quick Stop columnist – and Big Apple denizen – Peter Sanderson expressed mild surprise at my presence, as he figured me as more of a capes and tights devotee (that’s as far as comics go, I’m assuming – otherwise, I’m busted! Heh…). I realize a lot of folks have that impression, due primarily to the various cartoons I’ve done over the years, and while it’s certainly true that I have a long and abiding affection for the genre, it’s not the ONLY type of funnybooks I enjoy. Ever since I first began scarfing up that initial wave of underground comix back in the late sixties, there’s always been a part of me that craved non-fantasy material done by artists completely unfettered by censorship and (in the traditional sense) commercial concerns. Following the halcyon days of Crumb, Spain, Jaxon, Shelton and so many others, I quickly became enamored by the work of such emerging alternative cartoonists as Peter Bagge, Roberta Gregory, Seth, Joe Matt, the Hernandez Brothers, Chester Brown, to name but a few. Thing was, though, each and every one of those artists drew their characters in their own highly individualistic style – often with an already cartoony bent – making it near impossible for me to transform them over into my own idiosyncratic style (I have the same basic problem with such humor icons as Little Lulu, Dennis the Menace, and, to a lesser extent, Archie and the gang). So, given the choice of having Cartoon Fred interview, say, Bagge’s Studs Kirby or Iron Man, Iron Man always won out. I didn’t have the tough task of drawing a character just the way it’s creator did for it to be at all recognizable, y’see – I only had to replicate a costume on one of my own goofy cartoon bodies to get my point across.

Plus, let’s face it, there’s a LOT more to mock (however, ahem, playfully) with the costumed crime fighter set than with characters that are either already satirical or else trying to evoke a sense of reality, so that’s primarily what I’ve done over the years. And along the way, understandably, folks – like Peter – may’ve gotten the impression that that’s ALL I liked.

Nope. Not true.

However, what IS true is that I haven’t been paying much attention to ANY current releases in recent years, whether they feature garishly garbed guys pounding the crap out of each other or slovenly attired anarchists with attitude. Mostly, I’ve been reading reprints, either of material from my childhood or else some of the choicer stuff that predated it. Y’know, there’s just something almost mystically appealing to me about re-experiencing an old Carmine Infantino Flash story from years gone by on crisp white paper, the radiant colors practically shimmering off the page, the sumptuous aroma of “new book” wafting up noseward following the ritualistic breaking of the protective cellophane!

So, even though I met a lot of folks at MoCCA that day (mostly courtesy of Jim), in retrospect, I did woefully little to investigate the multitude of offerings available for sale throughout the hall. Fact is, when all was said and done, I only brought home two major works: Drawing Comics Is Easy (Except When It’s Hard) by Denis Kitchen’s seven-year old (!!) daughter, Alexa, and Box Office Poison by Alex Robinson (there was, apparently, nothing by Alex Ross on sale, much less the late Alex Toth…). I was intrigued by both the novelty aspects – and the amazing quality – of young Ms. Kitchen’s book, but another time for that. Today I’m going to be talking about Box Office Poison.

Why, out of all the possible books I could’ve bought, did I ultimately decide to focus my attention on Box Office Poison? Well, sometimes size DOES matter…

Y’see, I’d come across the massive six-hundred page plus volume several times in the past while perusing with mild curiosity – but with absolutely no intention of parting with any cash – the comics and graphic novels section of my local Barnes and Noble. I’d remembered the name Box Office Poison from back in the nineties because I’d come across it seemingly every issue while filling out my monthly Diamond Previews order form – but even though the name intrigued me, I’d skip right past it each and every time. And why not? It was being published by one of those small companies that I’d never ordered anything from, and I didn’t know this Alex Robinson guy from Will Robinson! Maybe it was good, granted, but hey, there was – and is – so much stuff out there, it’s more than a little chancy investing in a complete unknown, sight unseen. I had in fact tried said sampling method several times in the past, purchasing material that, on the face of things had more than a passing resemblance to Box Office Poison, and generally speaking, it was NOT money well spent. So, as the years went on, my willingness to experiment diminished quickly and surely.

But when I saw a copy of the book on the shelves of Barnes and Noble – now under the aegis of Top Shelf, a well-respected publisher – I couldn’t help but mutter to myself, “Huh – guess this thing must be fairly decent after all” and picked up a copy to page through.

Like I said, dig that massive size! It was like one of those Marvel Essentials, only on way better paper and with far less spandex. And the artwork looked pretty good too. I’ll admit it – I was tempted, but then I remembered: hey, I’m trying to buy less comics these days, not more! So I put it back down, and wandered away to buy the latest issue of MOJO instead. But the memory lingered, and when Jim Salicrup mentioned that Alex Robinson was over at the Top Shelf table, selling and signing books, I knew what I had to do.

Jim took me over and introduced me to Alex (Jim knows EVERYONE, y’see), who, it turns out, met me at a convention several decades back. I’d even done a sketch for him and – luckily for me – was on my best behavior (i.e. I didn’t curse him out and cause him to flee from my table in tears)! He even professed to be a fan of mine, and generously gave me a nice discount on the book (even indy comics artists with books in large retail chains can’t quite afford to give away their wares willy nilly, after all…). I asked him which one he’d recommend, and though he personally prefers his latest endeavor, Tricked, we both eventually agreed that it might be better to start out with the book that made him his name, the aforementioned Box Office Poison.

After a few more minutes of pleasant small talk, I took my leave, and shoved my latest treasure into Julie’s back-pack (and then lugged the increasingly heavy thing around the rest of the @#$%ing day, but that’s a whole “NOTHER issue!…).

Thirteen days later, right on the heels of completing the Ant-Man/Giant-Man Marvel Masterworks (Volume 1), in lieu of moving on to the Sgt. Fury Masterworks as I’d originally planned, I decided on a whim to sit down and read this MoCCA memento thingie instead. That may not sound very impressive to you, but at this stage of my life, that’s pretty much analogous with my ten-year old self tearing open the cover of Fantastic Four #34 in the back seat of my parents car only scant moments after ponying up the shekels to buy it!

Now, please understand something. I’m not a critic, not really. Oh, I’ve tried my hand at the whole analyze and dissect game in the past, but I can’t honestly say I’ve managed to come anywhere near the level established by truly analytical comic book critics like our own Mr. Sanderson. No, I’m mostly a guy who reads (or sees or listens to) something, and then tells you whether he likes it or not, maybe throwing in a few pithy reasons to justify his opinion, but never enough deep thinking to hurt your (or – more importantly – MY) head.

So, given those low-level qualifications, WHAT, you may wonder, did I think of Box Office Poison?

I LOVED IT!

It may not’ve been Maus or Watchmen, but y’know what? I was so enthralled with the thing while I was reading it, it just might just as well’ve been! It took me three nights to get through – the days of wading through six-hundred pages in a single sitting are long gone – but the second night I genuinely regretted the need to put it down, and the third night, well, I vowed I wouldn’t stop until I finished! It’s been a LOONNNG time since I was that motivated to read me a comic, lemme tell ya!

So, what’s it about (besides “about six-hundred pages” – haw, haw…)? Well, don’t expect a rambling recounting of the book’s plot from me – instead, I’ll give it to you in a nutshell. The story follows a group of city-dwellers in their post-college years, and the two most central to the action are former roommates, Sherman and Ed. Sherman is a frustrated writer working a job he hates in a book store. During the course of this epic, he meets Dorothy, and the ups and downs of their uneven relationship is expertly charted by author Robinson. Ed, on the other hand, is an aspiring comic book artist who longs to work for the mainstream, but instead finds himself hired to be the assistant of an elderly cartoonist – one who just happened to dream up the character Nightstalker decades earlier, a creation that he reaps absolutely no benefits from despite the massive success the property now exhibits in a multitude of media. Ed tries to get some justice – and some much needed bucks – for his cranky mentor from Zoom Comics, and only someone conversant with the actual history of the medium as Alex Robinson apparently is could paint as convincing a portrait of the ins and outs of the funny book field as we witness here.

And there’s so very, very much more (a sequence involving a Santa Claus suit brought a lump to my throat, old softie that I am…), but that’s the main thrust of things. The writing is crisp, the dialog convincingly naturalistic. The plot turns are largely surprising, and not at all what one might readily expect. For example, there’s one character that keeps popping up throughout the first half of the book, seemingly unrelated to the main protagonists. When the connection is finally revealed towards the end of the book, it’s done in such a subtle manner as to nonetheless startle the reader (….and how’s THAT for talking around a key surprise without actually giving anything away? It wasn’t easy…)! The author’s rewritten version of comics history is at once, knowing, satirical, and affectionate. Hey, WHO knew cartoonists wore toupees?..

The artwork is very good. Some of the backgrounds in the opening pages are a little funky, but Robinson soon hits his stride, and plops his cast down into a visually convincing environment. The spotting of blacks, grays, and whites seems balanced just right, and the storytelling is always clear, even on those occasions when it gets a little showy (a sequence building up to an illicit kiss, though inventive, does seem to go on a bit longer than necessary, however). Each character in the large cast, even the minor ones, are unique enough to always be readily identifiable (though I found the rather outsized head of ancient cartoonist Irving Flavor to be disconcerting at times, as it seemed too blatantly out of proportion with the rest of the gang. However it was probably just one of those things – once you commit to the way a character looks when he’s first introduced on page 97, well, you pretty much have to follow through on model all the way to the end.).

Like I said, this thing was a joy to read. Despite liberal use of the ever popular “f” word – and intermittent glances at our heroes private parts – this is a very warm group of characters, and their story is mostly an uplifting one, if bittersweet at times. Look, I’m not exactly sure where this would place in the pantheon of today’s most celebrated graphic novels – I haven’t read enough of ’em to offer an educated opinion – but I really, really enjoyed the time I spent with this book, and it only makes me all the more anxious to find a copy of Tricked and give that the once over!

(And y’know, if you’re the sort who looks a little askance at the whole indy movement, and instead feels most comfortable with the fellows in funny outfits, this may well be the perfect book for you to check out, since there’s plenty enough knowing story points concerning the world of mainstream comics to hold your attention! And, along the way, you just might find the REST of the story of interest as well!…)

So okay, maybe I didn’t give most of the wares offered at MoCCA that day enough of my attention, but in the end, I guess I still somehow wound up buying just the right book! Because Box Office Poison just may prove to be my long overdue gateway back into the world in indy comics!

Y’know, Dum Dum, Happy Sam, Pinky, Gabe, Dino, Reb and all the rest may just have to wait a bit – there’s a book over on the shelf that my buddy Rocco convinced me to buy a few years back that I still haven’t gotten to. A little something called Blankets. I think maybe I’ll give THAT a read instead…

Find more of my facile musings over at Hembeck.com, my MySpace page, or contact me directly via this link.

Copyright 2006 Fred Hembeck

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