A decent cover followed by a whole lot of nothing. On display this issue: civilians with pointlessly dynamic postures, a black kid getting helped, unremarkable moments splashed across the page bigger than they should be.

A decent cover followed by a whole lot of nothing. On display this issue: civilians with pointlessly dynamic postures, a black kid getting helped, unremarkable moments splashed across the page bigger than they should be.

The Philippines once boasted of a gigantic comic book industry that saw no less than a hundred new issues a month released across several publishing companies. The most successful titles sold no less than 100,000 copies per issue, coming out on a weekly basis. It was a tremendous industry, which gave hundreds of writers and artists employment, and millions of Filipinos entertainment.
If there was one comic at the inaugural Maine Comics Arts Festival that generated some genuine, non-cliffhanger-related suspense, it would have been that of Jen Vaughn.
I have been in love with crime comics since before I was born: the first time I saw an issue of Lev Gleason’s Crime Does Not Pay as a child, I knew I had to find a way to travel back in time to those glorious pre-code days so I could read more. Ultimately, my attempts to build a time machine were thwarted by failing out of first year physics, and for many years I resigned myself to just tracking down all the precode crime I could. But beginning with the code-obliterating efforts of Frank Miller, the 1990s saw a resurgence of crime comics. For me, the best of them remains David Lapham’s amazingly twisted Stray Bullets, whose demise I am still mourning many years later, but remarkable crime series have continued to emerge over the past decade—most notably, of course, Azarello and Risso’s 100 Bullets and Brubaker and Phillips’ Criminal (Rick Geary’s unique historical crime books also deserve mention, although in truth they constitute a genre unto themselves).
Do Gil Kane’s interviews hold up as criticism? Ng Suat Tong presents the evidence.
Rob offers brief comments on a number of comics: Yo! Burbalino # 1-3, by Greg Farrell; The Regular Man #10, by Dina Kelberman; Candy Or Medicine Volume 10, edited by Josh Blair; and Moral Geometry by Sean Andress.

RIP: John Callahan, Kerala Varma ♦ Carlos Ezquerra recuperating after lung removal ♦ more
It sounds, on the face of it, like a great marketing idea. Find a country that has a thriving comics community, but yet isn’t well known for it by most North Americans comics readers, indy or otherwise (i.e. any place that’s not France or Japan). Then, translate and release a number of said country’s books to the American and Canadian public under the header of “The [name of country here] Invasion.” Voila! Almost half of your publishing catalog for the season is taken care of!
OK, so it’s safe to say that Top Shelf likely had more sincere and idealistic goals in mind beyond merely filling slots in their schedule when they released their “Swedish Invasion” collection of books earlier this year. After all, it’s not like publishing these books doesn’t come with a certain amount of financial risk; there aren’t that many readers clamoring to procure Scandinavian comics as far as I know.

Since its creation by Jimmy Bancks in 1921, the Australian strip Ginger Meggs has been drawn by a number of artists, presently by Jason Chatfield from Melbourne. Each artist drew the cheeky red-haired boy differently, yet he always remained recognizable.