For some reason, in 2004 Joel and Ethan Coen decided to remake 1955’s classic black comedy The Ladykillers, about thieves preparing a London heist by posing as musicians practicing in the cellar of a naive old lady who inadvertently fucks up their plans. The original – like other productions coming out from Ealing Studios at the time – delightfully mined humor from the contrast between British quaintness and the macabre goings-on, whereas the Coen brothers relocated the action to Mississippi and turned every character into a grotesque exaggeration of broad – and mostly stale – stereotypes. I wouldn’t mind them blowing up the tone into sheer cartooniness (which worked just fine in Raising Arizona and The Hudsucker Proxy), except that the result was not only the brothers’ weakest film, but also the least funny, earning less laughs than any of their supposedly serious thrillers and dramas. Still, I guess it’s not entirely without redeeming features… Tom Hanks is a blast as a sinister and verbose classics professor struggling to disguise his mischievous nature, especially through a devilish snicker. Cinematographer Roger Deakins keeps things aesthetically pleasing on the screen and the pacing is nice, benefitting from the gospel soundtrack. The latter ties into recurrent allusions to segregation and to Christian faith, vague themes that I don’t think coalesce into much more than mocking the beliefs of the old lady (here played by Irma P. Hall). Thematically, I got more of a kick out of the various references to Edgar Allan Poe, whose gothic narratives of ghastly ironies can be seen as a distant relative of this type of story, even if here the whole thing is rendered as an outright farce.
I’m not going to recommend the original The Ladykillers, even though I really like it, because that picture’s subtle tone is so far off from the Coen brothers’ remake that you are unlikely to enjoy them both. However, the Ealing production was only one of a bunch of entertaining capers to come out at the time, in the mid-to-late 1950s. For my money, the most hilarious of the lot is Mario Monicelli’s Big Deal on Madonna Street, about small-time criminals in Rome who come across what seems to be a great plan to rob a pawnshop’s safe, yet they have to face constant setbacks, mostly brought about by their own human flaws. With a nice pace and enough sight gags to appeal to any Coen fan (those Donald Duck aprons…), this comedy adds a cast of characters that are quirky but also recognizable people rather than mere caricatures, which actually makes them funnier (a scene at a wake is a wonderful piece of filmmaking, simultaneously touching and amusing). I guess Big Deal on Madonna Street is the kind of film I wish The Ladykillers had been, effectively weaving in social commentary between (or, rather, through) the laughs, in this case by offering a tour of a certain underworld of petty thieves and scammers, where everyone seems to know everyone and they are constantly in and out of prison while dreaming of a big score that will lift them out of poverty, thus exposing a hard reality underneath the lighthearted camaraderie.
If what you find most attractive in the Coens’ movie is precisely the overblown characters, however, you may prefer Wake Up Dead Man, the latest installment in Rian Johnson’s series of cartoony whodunits featuring master detective Benoit Blanc (a Daniel Craig whose drawl and speech pattern sound like a parody of Tom Hanks’). Like most Hercule Poirot stories, those films can be viewed out of order and, like The Ladykillers, they make the most out of their ensemble cast of stars while drawing humor from both visuals and witty dialogue. Wake Up Dead Man would be my pick, because it also contains a strong religious dimension (here we get a locked-room mystery in a Catholic church), although I’d argue this one is a much more accomplished work than the Coens’ extravaganza in the in the way it ties genre to matters of faith, without falling into either sentimentalism or pure cynicism… And, as usual, while the comedy helps with the suspension of disbelief, the plot is pretty clever, including a set of metafictional clues (or red herrings?) when Blanc finds a list of novels from which the murderer probably drew inspiration, thus teasing those of us who know the resolution to those tales.
In a way, 4 Kids Walk into a Bank works almost as an inversion of The Ladykillers, with a young girl deliberately trying to sabotage a heist, again with violent consequences. Yet Matthew Rosenberg’s script for this comic is more caustic and full of surprises, nailing the way kids can’t seem to stay focused on anything for long and the charming fun of a precocious girl messing up adults’ plans (almost a decade later, he has revisited this premise in We’re Taking Everyone Down With Us). Likewise, the art of Tyler Boss – excellently flattened by Clare DeZutti and lettered by Thomas Mauer – is even more inventive than Deakin’s cinematography, using layouts and angles to add further layers of comedy. Not that I think the creators had The Ladykillers in mind when putting together this riotous mini-series: there are nods to all sorts of crime movies in the variant covers, in scattered Easter Eggs (Sidney Lumet High School, Tardi Avenue, etc), and in the chapter titles, which twist classic quotes into the kid motif (‘As far back as lunchtime I always wanted to be a Gangster.’). Apparently, there is a screen adaptation coming out soon and I hope it does with film language the magic that Tyler Boss did with comic book design (perhaps it can also polish the ending, since Rosenberg doesn’t quite stick the landing in terms of tonal shift). Regardless, if you’re into darkly humorous capers, don’t miss this cool book!
Against my better judgment, let’s look at more exciting adventures where shameless brand extension meets schlocky nerdy fun. I know these are cynical, blatantly manipulative works assigned to mercenary creators who could have been in pursuit of more original stories and ideas, but why do these still work so well at a basic junk food level?
PREDATOR VS. WOLVERINE
There is a whole subgenre of crossovers – of which Predator versus Wolverine is a full-fledged representative – built around flashbacks to the franchises’ histories, retconning characters from separate universes into each other’s pasts. The appeal is twofold. Fans get to revisit different eras, including pastiches and callbacks (I’m guessing most of those reading this blog will have recognized the scene being riffed in the cover above), building on or reframing previous hits. And because versions of characters can vary starkly along their timeline (in this case, Wolverine before and after he regained his memory, before and after he joined the X-Men, etc), it’s like getting multiple crossovers for the price of one.
Here, the combination hugely benefits from Benjamin Percy’s robust understanding of what makes the quintessential Predator and Wolverine yarns work. They tend to share a hunter/prey motif, pitting seemingly unstoppable forces against each other, most notably in the form of mega-alpha males. Plus, although Percy plays fast and loose with bits of Wolverine’s continuity (somewhat merging the Chris Claremont and Grant Morrison eras), he smoothly nails the character’s inner voice. Logan’s monologue is what drives the comic, since the Predator, suitably, is at its scariest when presented as a mysterious, quasi-impenetrable foe that cannot be reasoned with and whose motivations are merely discernible from interpreting his actions…
While Ken Lashley handles the present-day action, the neatest thing about Predator vs. Wolverine is that the flashbacks are assigned to various other artists. Each era has a distinctive feel, whether it’s Greg Land and Jay Leisten doing a slick post-Origin western or Kei Zama majestically exploring the flowery setting during a kinetic fight in Wolverine’s Japanese period. The result is an aesthetically diverse, if unpretentious, adventure spanning over a hundred years (albeit at a quick pace) which should be easy to enjoy even by those unfamiliar with the background of either Wolverine or the Predator species (aka Yautja).
If the usual challenge of intercompany crossovers is their blatant inconsequentiality, this sort of backwards-looking approach pushes the illusion of change onto the past, appealing to other major forces in this segment of culture, namely masturbatory nostalgia, the pleasure of recognition, and the reward for specialized knowledge. Thus, as a bonus, those of us who come with a baggage get to geek out over the way Hayden Sherman apes not only the designs, but also the dense page layout style of Barry Windsor-Smith’s Weapon X, as if we’re reading a missing chapter from that brutal, provocative classic… and the Predator turns out to have been there all along!
Because corporate capitalism is unable to leave a good thing alone, Percy soon followed this series with the less accomplished Predator vs. Black Panther and Predator vs. Spider-Man before the saga’s culmination in the full-throttle bloodbath of Predator Kills the Marvel Universe. I’m a sucker, though, so I’m actually looking forward to seeing what Greg Pak does with the upcoming Predator vs. Planet of the Apes.
DIE!NAMITE: BLOOD RED
When Dynamite hired Fred Van Lente to do with this publisher’s intellectual properties a version of what he had done with the string of riotous Marvel Zombies mini-series (where familiar characters bloodily decimated and/or were turned into flesh-eating undead), what we got was even more of a hoot. Unlike Marvel, Dynamite did not have a coherent superhero universe, but rather an idiosyncratic combination of public domain and licensed properties from various places, set in different eras, planets, and alternate realities. In other words, Van Lente, co-writer Declan Shalvey, and the rest of the team weren’t just introducing a zombie plague into an established world, they were also introducing these worlds to each other, including settings and heroes from early 20th-century pulps (like John Carter of Mars), iconoclastic psychos from 1990s’ indie comics (like Evil Ernie), and Dynamite’s own unhinged vigilante Jennifer Blood.
The attitude is plastered on the title itself: Die!Namite. This series of series lives up to the company’s edgelord house style, full of ultra-violence and raunchiness, although essentially played for laughs while still delivering a thrilling fantasy epic. Much of the cast are bastards that constantly insult and betray each other, so the twists keep on coming. Indeed, practically every page has some hilarious lines, plot turns, and awesome action…
What’s more, for the most part, these books don’t settle for mere cameos. They respect each character’s distinct voices and significantly integrate bits of their mythos into the overall story, often in a clear, ingenious way that makes it understandable for the uninitiated. That said, like Predator vs. Wolverine, they are obviously also riddled with Easter Eggs for the respective fans: when Ash Williams joined the tale in the second series, Die!Namite Lives!, layouts and panels paid tribute to a montage in Evil Dead II and the poster from Army of Darkness.
Because they’re written by Fred Van Lente, these comics are smarter than I make it sound, like an even more caustic version of TheLeague of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Heck, they even get away with some proper emotional development (like in the romantic special Our Bloody Valentine, set shortly before Die!Namite #5). And they never get boring, as they constantly throw in new locations and gonzo ideas: the third series, Die!Namite Never Dies, culminates with a game of (un)living chess on Mars!
The fourth installment, subtitled Blood Red, shakes things up once again, throwing us into a baffling new status quo. It also radically shifts the aesthetics, as Vincenzo Carratú’s sexy, dynamic art, with bright colors by Kike J. Diaz, gives way to the more restrained, thick-heavy style of Marco Finnegan, moodily colored by Ellie Wright.
For all the cheesecake visuals in the earlier series (especially the softcore lurid covers), several female figures have stood out at the center of the narrative as both funny and badass, ranging from Red Sonja to the horror/erotic star Vampirella. Engaging with gender issues more directly, Blood Red is set in a post-apocalyptic dystopia (complete with quirky riffs on the Mad Max films) where a variant of the zombie virus only affects those with a Y chromosome, which both intensifies the war of the sexes (women are even more likely to be killed by men) and inverts social dynamics (as the only functioning gender, women fully lead and run society, practically reducing men to slavery).
Blood Red is an Elseworlds take on what was already an Elseworlds saga, so the vibe gets even more meta and dizzier, with deeper cuts. And while it’s generally light on spectacular action compared to its predecessors, the series certainly picks up in the final stretch, when Jordi Pérez takes over the art.
I can’t wait to see what comes next. Regardless of the business considerations that initially prompted this messy crossover, what a delightfully weird project this has turned out to be!
BATMAN/DEADPOOL
Finally, last year brought us the first crossovers between the DC and Marvel universes in over two decades, starting with Marvel’s special one-shot Deadpool/Batman. That one wasn’t bad, as far as these things go, efficiently ticking all the boxes. Zeb Wells has a solid take on both voices and his dialogue is packed with zingers. The Dark Knight acts sharp and cool while the Merc With a Mouth, true to form, seeks to undermine that hero’s seriousness by pointing out how silly Batman’s world actually is, only to gradually fall prey of the latter’s own peculiar dynamics. The contrast works especially well because you’re pulled in both directions, as the story gets kookier but the art plays things straight, with Greg Capullo, Tim Townsend, and Alex Sinclair handling it like any other job – if you don’t read the text, for the most part you could be forgiven for thinking this was an irony-free bombastic superhero action yarn (although Clayton Cowles contributes with some playful lettering, most notably in the villain’s reveal).
The project’s main attraction, though, was DC’s Batman/Deadpool, whose leading feature (‘The Cosmic Kiss Caper!’) was penned by Grant Morrison, one of the most interesting and acclaimed writers of Batman comics (and, let’s face it, of non-Batman comics). As far as I recall, Morrison had never explored Deadpool before, but this work leans towards that franchise’s sensibility by providing a slapstick cornucopia of metafictional gags. Appropriately, then, this time around artist Dan Mora, letterer Todd Klein, and (to a lesser extent) colorist Alejandro Sánchez also throw themselves into a humorous mode. Still, like Wells, Morrison doesn’t settle for making Batman the butt of Deadpool’s jokes. Instead, we get a Caped Crusader with his own sense of humor who mocks his team-up partner’s derivative features.
For fans keener on following authors rather than specific franchises, Deadpool is a mere vehicle/bait here, as the major crossover in ‘The Cosmic Kiss Caper!’ involves bringing together some of Grant Morrison’s creations from the writer’s stints at both DC and Marvel. In fact, even Morrison shows up, having been written into the DCU back in Animal Man #26 (and then bizarrely brought back in Suicide Squad #58). The whole thing is as self-indulgent as it sounds, but I suppose it fits into yet another beloved subgenre: amusing tales about creators interacting with their characters have been a staple of superhero comics going as far back as Gardner Fox’s Flash stories from the Golden/Silver Age (and recently revisited in the sweet The Avengers in the Veracity Trap!).
That said, Morrison, not for the first time, can get a bit annoying when trying too hard show off cleverness, like in the fourth-wall joke you see below (similarly, a dig at Rob Liefeld’s infamous difficulty with drawing feet didn’t make me laugh as much as the cute gag in the background of the film Deadpool & Wolverine).
Honestly, the best part of this whole stunt is that both Batman/Deadpool and Deadpool/Batman came packed with a bunch of zany backups where some of the greatest creators working today also got to play, merging these two universes in various other ways. Scott Snyder, James Tynion IV, and Joshua Williamson have fun contrasting John Constantine’s and Doctor Strange’s approaches to magic. Bruno Redondo draws the hell out of a team-up between Nightwing and Wolverine (Laura Kinney), as does Amanda Conner when hilariously pairing Harley Quinn with the Hulk. Chip Zdarsky and Terry Dodson imagine an alternate history where Wonder Woman and Captain America have been part of each other’s lives throughout the ages (thus joining the subgenre of Predator vs. Wolverine). In the quasi-wordless ‘Catch,’ Kelly Thompson and Gurihu have Krypto playing ball with Jeff the Land Shark. Al Ewing wrote the funniest tale of the bunch (even if it’s just two-pages long), where Rocket Racoon switches places with Green Lantern. In turn, Kevin Smith’s and Adam Kubert’s ‘The Red and the Green,’ pitting Daredevil against Green Arrow, is mostly worth it for the geeky punchline (pun intended). Even Frank Miller joins the party for a vicious punch-up between the Dark Knight and Wolverine (Logan).
The same applies to the other two specials DC and Marvel have just put out, teaming Spider-Man with Superman. While the main stories are OK, the real gems are in the backups. At their worst, creators just have heroes explain their differences and similarities to each other, but the best ones deliver highly satisfying short pieces: Gail Simone, whose comics tend to be especially open about characters’ sexuality, matches Power Girl with the Punisher; Matt Fraction, Steve Lieber, Nathan Fairbairn, and Clayton Cowles reunite for a Jimmy Olsen adventure that is even wilder than their brilliant 2020 book; Dan Slott and Marcos Martin pull off a nifty retro fest in which Spider-Man Noir crosses paths with Golden Age Superman (the one from Earth-2, who can’t fly).
As a fan of both lines, it’s still enough to make me smile from ear to ear.
Having done their take on film noir with The Man Who Wasn’t There, Joel and Ethan Coen then put a modern a spin on another Golden Age genre, namely romcoms that had fun with marriage conventions, often involving Hollywood’s most charismatic stars getting together, cheating, falling out, and getting together again after flirting with other partners. Although Intolerable Cruelty (2003) isn’t a period piece, it shamelessly unearths many of the old tropes for a twisty – and twisted – farce that pits Catherine Zeta-Jones as an irresistible gold-digger against George Clooney as an unbeatable divorce lawyer (with an oral fixation). On the surface, the result may feel more mainstream than usual, but the Coen brothers’ rowdy humor and wordplay are all over the film, along with their penchant for sumptuous aesthetics. Visually and thematically, Intolerable Cruelty emulates classics of the 1950s such as Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, but I think the overall tone feels even closer to the wave of screwball comedies in the 1930s about beautiful couples engaged in bouncy battles of the sexes, inside and outside the courtroom.
I suppose I could suggest a more recent romantic black comedy, like the daring The Drama, but I truly think the closest experience to Intolerable Cruelty are the light, snappy, aforementioned 1930s’ comedies of remarriage. The Awful Truth has a well-deserved reputation as the most sophisticated of that lot, but there are plenty of other really good ones, including some with more of an irreverent, Coen-esque edge (Twentieth Century, It’s Love I’m After, Bluebeard’s Eighth Wife). My main pick is Jack Conway’s Libeled Lady, where a newspaper faces libel charges after mistakenly reporting that a wealthy businessman’s daughter had broken up a marriage… and so the paper’s managing editor (Spender Tracy as a crazed workaholic) tries to frame her into actually breaking up a marriage, but of course everyone soon falls in love with the wrong person. This fast-talking, underrated gem has enough sudden weddings, cynical marriages, and discussions over divorce procedures to leave the Coens breathless.
Then again, Zeta-Jones’ man-eater would fit even more comfortably in George Cukor’s masterly written, acted, and directed comedy-drama The Women, from 1939. This one is not so easy to recommend, as it contains some cringeworthy stereotypes, but that’s also part of what makes it so fascinating: it’s a female-centric project (not a single male actor, not even the dogs) steeped in patriarchal values, its approach to gender coming off as both progressive *and* conservative (I wonder what caused a bigger impact at the time?). In that sense, The Women is not entirely unlike Sex and the City – except that in the late ‘30s characters weren’t allowed to swear or openly talk about sex, so they had to rely on witty innuendo delivered at a hilariously quick pace. The film only slows down for a bizarre six-minute fashion show in the middle (in Technicolor, unlike the rest of the movie, presumably to properly show off the clothes). While the large cast showcases multiple feminine perspectives, I doubt The Women would pass the Bechdel test, as everyone spends their time backstabbing each other over men and feeling validated or demeaned because of their relationships. It helps if you see it less like a misogynistic generalization and more like an acidic satire of a specific social milieu… (In any case, I guess Cukor redeemed himself ten years later by directing the proto-feminist courtroom comedy Adam’s Rib.)
Romance used to be one of the most popular genres in comics, back in the 1950s-60s, but it’s rare to find a good example in the 21st century of creators pulling it off without their tongue in their cheek (which is why Love Everlasting doesn’t count). Still, Jamie S. Rich and Megan Levens did just that in 2015, with the charming Ares & Aphrodite: Love Wars, about an idealist divorce lawyer and a pragmatic wedding planner literally betting on the success of the latest Hollywood marriage.
Rather than a campy throwback, this mini-series (published and collected by Oni Press) is a slick, modern comic with smart, unmelodramatic characters, expertly visualized with a grounded yet light touch via Levens’ delightful art and clear compositions. The overall sweetness may seem more in line with your average Meg Ryan vehicle than with the Coen brothers’ rambunctious work, but this still feels like an appropriate companion piece to Intolerable Cruelty, as it’s a fun tale with sparkling dialogue set in pretty much the same world of LA revolving-door marriages.
