Comics Fondle

Marv Wolfman does okay his first two issues out. Well, a qualified okay. He has so much narration about running down the street I just stopped reading it after a while.

It’s not his fault, for instance, after an issue of Tom Sutton inking Gil Kane–to great effect–Don Perlin takes over. Perlin doesn’t ruin the art, but he really seems to try.

Wolfman’s got his a-plot–the werewolf versus the Hangman–his b-plot–the kidnapped step-father–and even a c-plot–Jack Russell’s groovy new digs, complete with mysterious neighbors and scantily clad “actresses.” If it weren’t for that verbosity, it’d be a fine read.

The verbosity hides a lot, mostly Wolfman’s lack of a story. These issues, with all the padding, could have easily been done in one. The Hangman’s a nice villain (for once, the werewolf’s enemy isn’t directly related to him by some silly contrivance) but way too time is spent with him. He’s a nutjob, big deal. He’s got an origin, fine. It isn’t worth three pages.

The ending is particularly nice, has a Universal monster movie feel to it, something the series has lost.

Wolfman does go very “Mary Sue” on Jack Russell–he’s independently wealthy, women throw themselves at him four a page–and it makes Jack unlikable. He’s not a character anymore, he’s a Calvin Klein model on a Times Square billboard. All of the conflict Wolfman gives him is physical.

Still, for its era, it’s wholly competent, just unremarkable in its content.

C

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