2021’s book of the year

First, a disclaimer: Rutu Modan’s latest graphic novel, Tunnels, has been translated to English and published by Drawn & Quarterly last year… and whenever a new Modan book comes out, the chances of it being my favorite comic of that year are pretty high. Alas, I still haven’t managed to get my hands on it, so let’s talk about some of the awesome comics I did read!

As 2021 raced towards the finish line, my choice for Gotham Calling’s book of the year kept switching back and forth. Even though, when push comes to shove, I tend to privilege compelling writing over innovative aesthetics, I was sure the top place was bound to look amazing, since we’ve gotten so many impressive examples of visual prowess throughout the year, from the Hedra-ish science fiction of EPHK’s Mawrth Valliis to the Afrofuturism-by-way-of-Tartakovsky of Juni Ba’s Djeliya, not to mention the ultra-dense tapestry of Barry Windsor-Smith’s Monsters. For a while, the best candidate was James Harren’s Ultramega: Stand with Humanity, which managed to unironically inject the kaiju genre with renewed vitality through smart, gutsy storytelling whose blood-splattered images are the quintessence of a certain branch of wacko post-apocalyptic/cosmic fantasy comics that flows straight to my pleasure centers…

Looking back, though, despite the resonant subtext (about dealing with a deadly disease that can affect thousands of people around each infected person) and the jaw-dropping artwork (with jaw-dropping colors by Dave Stewart and jaw-dropping lettering by Rus Wooton), Ultramega’s epic romp couldn’t quite match The Department of Truth: The End of the World, which was the one book I ended up compulsively revisiting, recommending, discussing with friends, and mulling over more than any of my other reads.

the end of the world

This paperback, published back in February, collects the first five issues of the ongoing series The Department of Truth, effectively establishing its captivating high concept: it turns out truth is literally a product of hegemonic consensus and it changes – on the material plane – according to what the majority of people believe, so the US government has set up the Department of Truth to prevent the spread of fake news from actually altering reality.

This notion raises so many intriguing questions that I can’t see the series running out of steam any time soon, as there is so much to explore… Before the scientific consensus over the earth’s shape or its position in the solar system, was the planet flat and static? If so, what was the basis to develop the current models of geography and astronomy? And does this mean that collectively denying climate change, rather than an irresponsible attitude with devastating consequences (because nature doesn’t care what you think), would turn out to be a solution to the problem, retroactively making it unreal?

On another level, should the materialization of mass delusions be considered the ultimate embodiment of democracy, a justification for faith-based wars, or an inspirational encouragement to will utopias into existence? And does this premise give the comic carte blanche to develop endless alternate timelines that have been wished out of existence, like a perpetual motion machine of speculative fiction (a subgenre I love so much that I had a blast watching For All Mankind, despite all the corniness)?

In a classic move, the series starts by following a newly recruited agent as he is introduced to this underworld, namely Cole Turner, a former FBI teacher specialized in online communities of right-wing white supremacists who now finds himself in an ironic position: he becomes part of what is essentially a deep state-ish organization secretly fighting a meta-conspiracy – going at least as far back as the Kennedy assassination – aimed at disseminating conspiracy theories. Predictably, it’s a matter of time before Turner starts wondering whether he is truly working for the forces of order and security or just for one of two sides locked in a lasting war for the determination of a dominant truth… After all, if facts are so subjective to the point that they can be radically overturned, that means he isn’t protecting reality itself, only a specific version of it. In other words, defending the established truth is inherently reactionary, since it reifies the status quo (including the existing power structure).

James Tynion IV

The same set-up could’ve led to something playfully surrealist or broadly satirical, but the approach is closer to Vertigo-style horror, which makes sense given where writer James Tynion IV comes from. The horror here is both of the supernatural kind and of a more psychological, paranoid strain, owing a clear debt to The X-Files yet pushing that show’s themes to the next level.

In fact, let’s get the references to other works out of the way. The result is more mind-bending than The Matrix, less absurdist than Men in Black, and more metafictional than JFK, albeit borrowing superficial elements from each of these. So far, it’s not as erudite as Umberto Eco’s dense novels about this sort of conspiratorial rabbit holes (most notably the phenomenal Foucault’s Pendulum, the horrifically gothic The Prague Cemetery, and the comparatively lighter Numero Zero), but its ambition keeps growing with every new issue.

As far as comic books go, naturally I have to point out the Dark Knight’s neat contribution to this subgenre in the form of Conspiracy, written by Doug Moench (who is obsessed with this type of fringe theories and often wove them into his Batman comics). Provocative takes on the Kennedy shooting have quite a rich tradition, with memorable tales by Peter Milligan (in Shade, the Changing Man), Brian Azzarello (in 100 Bullets), Gerard Way (in The Umbrella Academy), John Ostrander (in Blackhawk), and Steven Grant (in Badlands). Although less creatively successful, 9/11 truther fiction has popped up in the medium as well, from Rick Veitch’s one-shot The Big Lie to the final volume of the Franco-Belgian black comedy/cop series Soda. Above all, though, I’d say The Department of Truth follows the path of Grant Morrison’s, Jonathan Hickman’s, and Warren Ellis’ many intricate spy-fi thrillers (picture a less unhinged update of The Filth or The Invisibles), with blatant visual echoes of Bill Sienkiewicz.

best comic 2021james tynion

And yet, The Department of Truth: The End of the World manages to never feel like a mere recycling job, if nothing else because it’s so damn topical, tapping into the subjects of most of my conversations throughout 2021 while also feeding my interest in the complex workings of ideology and imagination. Not only does the book engage with post-truth populism, social media bubbles, coronavirus negationists, and QAnon’s collective text interpretation game, it links these ideas to older threads (like the 1980s’ satanic panic), historicizing them while dissecting their inner logics and perverse appeal. For instance, the third chapter is a twisted spin on Nick Drnaso’s Sabrina: it follows the harassed mother of the victim of a school shooting dealing with accusations that she’s a crisis actor participating in a false flag hoax… and the heartbreaking twist is that she gradually chooses to doubt her own memories because it’s more comforting to believe her son might be alive somehow.

Indeed, more than dramatizing old debates about empiricist positivism versus postmodern relativism, The Department of Truth cleverly works thought-provoking readings of contemporary politics into its narrative. By treating belief as active rather than reactive (i.e. as creating rather than merely apprehending and reflecting an external world), the comic’s starting point appears to validate the crusaders against science (or, rather, against official science) while also presenting them as sinister, since their nightmarish fantasies stem for fear and prejudice. For example, at one point, the head of the Department of Truth insightfully argues that Pizzagate and Trumpism are logical extensions of the Birther Movement – if JFK’s assassination opened the door for skepticism about mainstream accounts of the truth, it was Obama’s election that pushed a vast section of the North-American population over the edge:

Martin Simmonds

Between all these fascinating ideas and the sprawling scope of the story, Tynion’s scripts deserve praise for producing something that generally feels like more than an illustrated chain of exposition (although it does feel like that, at times). He keeps the cast’s dialogues and inner monologues snappy and cool, breaking them down into digestible chunks that generate a consistently gripping pace.

This task is crucially complemented by artist Martin Simmonds and designer Dylan Todd, who give each cover and page a strikingly original look, with collage-like visuals, loose watercolors, and constantly shifting layouts that invite you to get lost in (and later revisit) each scene. The backgrounds are just as likely to be abstract as to be figurative; they can be snapshots of what’s on people’s minds or even purely symbolic (in one of the less inspired choices, a double-spread juxtaposes the US flag with flying bullets and dollar bills, which isn’t exactly subtle!). Thematically, this lack of realism obviously suits the comic… The scratchy drawings and blurred figures literalize the notion of foggy, shadowy forces at play. The ink drips, the irregular coloring, and the imperfectly aligned shape of the word balloons around Aditya Bidikar’s letters all evoke the sense of a destabilized reality where everything is in flux and nothing fits naturally into its place.

I make it sound too conceptual and emotionally removed, but TDoT proves capable of delivering touching moments among all this chaos. Most notably, in the brilliant third issue there are several ‘silent’ passages depicting the loneliness and alienation of the grieving mother. One page just has her entering her home and switching on the light, somehow lending a powerful gravitas to this everyday gesture, as the gradually illuminated page channels the character’s own growing sense of safety from the dark world outside. A few pages later, the contrast between the light inside the house and the threatening silhouettes seen through the window is worked into this haunting sequence:

department of truth

A second volume, titled The City Upon a Hill and collecting issues #8-13, came out in late October. It continued to explore the paradoxes that come from fighting lies through deception, using fiction to make people believe in reality, and protecting the truth by hiding truths. Along with the other independent series James Tynion IV has coming out at the moment (The Nice House on the Lake, Something is Killing the Children, and House of Slaughter), this book confirms he’s becoming one of the great masters of intelligent horror comics, simultaneously scaring readers and urging them to think about how their fears operate (this reflexive attitude towards the genre can also be seen in his Batman work, like the Clayface origin he did for Detective Comics Annual #1).

Indeed, besides giving more weight to cyberwarfare and twisty intrigue, The City Upon a Hill is quite focused on religion and magic (i.e., the art of manipulating ancient symbols) and a bit more prone to lengthy lectures, to the point that one of the chapters closely resembles the most esoteric issues of Promethea (I know I was supposedly done with the references to others works, but this one is pretty hard to dismiss).

the department of truth

What about issues #6-7? Those were a couple of flashbacks set in the Department’s archives, likewise written by Tynion but rendered in more conventional visual styles – despite some nifty pastiches – by the fill-in duos of, first, Elsa Charretier and Matt Hollingsworth (the artistic team behind the cool crime comic November) and, then, Tyler Boss and Roman Titov. These detours from the main narrative can be read out of sequence, so they’re bound to be collected later on.

Besides telling relatively standalone stories that are quite entertaining in their own right, such issues deepen the world-building, gradually filling us in about the weird history of TDoT’s universe. In doing so, they also assuage a complaint I had early on, which was that the series seemed too focused on the USA… After all, in this age of Russian bots and China viruses, I want to see The Department of Truth’s take on international cover-ups!

Elsa Charretier

All in all, The Department of Truth is an imaginative distillation of all the reflections over the past years about how to make sense of the Trump administration’s embrace of alternative facts, the assault on the US Capitol, or the rise of an anti-vaccination movement in the middle of a pandemic. In fact, the series is so anchored in the current zeitgeist that I’m not sure how well it will age when looked at from the vantage point of the upcoming decade or so. Such timely resonance, however, is precisely what makes this Gotham Calling’s 2021 book of the year.

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COMICS CAN BE AWESOME (10 January 2022)

A psychedelic reminder that comics can be awesome…

George PérezMike AllredAlex Zirittsteve ditkotradd mooreTom SuttonNorman SaundersLouis ZanskyKalutaDick Giordano

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If you like Blood Simple…

Earlier in this blog’s life, I did a series of posts recommending comics for fans of specific Batman films and, later, another couple of lists with suggestions for fans of Quentin Tarantino’s work. Over the years, I’ve been getting such a nice response to these lists that I’ve decided to do something similar for the Coen Brothers’ filmography, on a monthly basis. Instead of sticking to comics, however, I’m expanding the format somewhat by suggesting other cool movies as well…

Joel and Ethan Coen are probably my favorite writer-director-producer team of the last decades, leaving their mark across various genres with their dazzling camerawork, offbeat sense of humor, cherished story beats (like their obsession with ransom demands gone awry), and recurring visual motifs (such as placing character actors in the role of powerful figures behind desks, probably because, as argued by Roger Ebert, ‘like all filmmakers, the Coens have spent a lot of time on the carpet, pitching projects to executives’). Since their oeuvre is quite varied, there are plenty of connected works worthy of exploring (some of them inspired by the Coens, others a source of inspiration for the brothers), so this should be a nifty way to highlight a wide variety of films and books I’m fond of!

coen brothers

The Coen Bros kicked things off with Blood Simple (1984), an atmospheric neo-noir thriller about a Texas bar owner who tries to kill his wife and her lover. The plot is noir as hell (virtually everybody wrongfully interprets each other’s motives at some point in the story), but it’s shot almost like a giallo movie. Indeed, despite its stripped-down look, Blood Simple already displays the Coens’ trademark ingenious cinematography and sound design, not to mention their love of double-crosses and ironic plot twists. Moreover, while the dialogue is generally more minimalistic than in the brothers’ later works, you can already hear both their flair for amusing repartee and their concern with giving each character a distinctive speech pattern. Other high points include the slimiest private eye ever (played by M. Emmet Walsh, who viciously nails his closing line) and a nightmarish sequence in which a guy desperately tries to dispose of a dead body (I’ll never forget the sound of that shovel hitting the road…).

neo-noir  blind terror  noir comic

Although Jim Mickle’s Cold in July clearly draws most of its inspiration from the likes of John Carpenter, it also recalls the Coens’ debut effort in several regards. For one thing, they’re both incredibly tense slow-burners set in 1980s’ Texas. And, once again, an idiosyncratic detective steals the show (here wonderfully played by Don Johnson). This synthesizer-scored thriller, based on a Joe R. Lansdale novel, follows a man who accidentally shoots an intruder in his house and gradually sees his life spiral into more and more violent scenarios. Besides being a provocative meditation on issues of masculinity and the relative meaning of violence in different contexts, part of what makes this such an absorbing watch is the fact that the plot and mood keep shifting directions every ten minutes or so – unlike most movie experiences these days, you can never fully tell where Cold in July is heading, but it sure is one heck of a ride.

Then again, perhaps what appeals to you in Blood Simple isn’t its labyrinthine crime story as much as the many touches of psychological horror, ranging from the voyeuristic shots of the leading couple to the super-suspenseful final sequence in Frances McDormand’s apartment. In that case, you may get a kick out of Richard Fleischer’s See No Evil – also known as Blind Terror – in which Mia Farrow plays a blind woman trying to escape a psychotic killer (following the footsteps of the classy suspenser Wait Until Dark and playing almost like the reverse of the sleazy shocker Don’t Breathe). There isn’t much more to the plot than that, as most of the film is an intense cat-and-mouse game between these two characters, but it’s full of cheap thrills and imaginative camera angles. And if you think Blood Simple goes a bit overboard with its cowboy-boots fetishism, you haven’t seen anything yet – in a neat visual choice, See No Evil mostly shows us the killer from the waist down, starting with the memorable opening credits.

As for comic book recommendations, I’m going to go with Eric Skillman’s and Jhomar Soriano’s Liar’s Kiss, a brisky graphic novel about a private detective whose shady professional ethics rival those of M. Emmet Walsh’s character… Sure enough, he too tries to cheat his client and soon ends up embroiled in a sordid web of murder.

eric skillmanJhomar SorianoLiar’s Kiss

Although Liar’s Kiss is more talky than Blood Simple, the dialogue is so snazzy that I can hardly complain. Between a mystery plot where the fedora-wearing PI keeps getting severe beatings and the high-contrast black & white artwork full of stark shadows and venetian blinds, the book has a somewhat ‘classic’ surface, genre-wise, but it boasts more than enough irony, squalor, and cynicism to be of interest to any fan of the Coens’ first feature.

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COMICS CAN BE AWESOME (3 January 2022)

In 2022, Gotham Calling’s weekly reminders that comics can be awesome are going to spotlight ten incredible covers every Monday, thus once again celebrating different artists’ ability to conjure up maximum excitement and fire up readers’ imagination through a single image.

Behold!

Edvard Moritz

Bill EverettJoe ManeelyBill Molno

KalutaHarry Anderson

Gil KaneBernard Baily

ross andruOgden Whitney

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Have a Gotham 2022

new year

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Animal war comics – part 2

If you read last week’s post, you know I’ve been discussing war comics that prominently feature animals.

This week, let’s start by looking at 2004’s science-gone-wrong mini-series We3, about a trio of weaponized animal cyborgs (a dog, a cat, and a rabbit) on the run from their military masters. Here is a project that was clearly written not just as a vehicle to touch upon themes that are close to Grant Morrison’s heart (animal rights, callous capitalism, post-human technology), but also as an experiment in pushing the language of comics… or at least in showcasing the kind of mindboggling stuff Frank Quitely can draw when given enough space and freedom.

grant morrisonWe3 #2

The dialogue is pretty sparse and, although there is a satirical edge to the sci-fi, We3 doesn’t devolve into preaching. Instead, the riveting hyper-violent action is front and center, as Frank Quitely reworks manga techniques to break down time and movement, creating an intense reading experience that still feels fresh after all these years. Along with Quitely, inker/colorist Jamie Grant gives every image an impressive shine (while slickly stressing the contrast between the organic world and the coldness of metal) and Todd Klein once again proves he’s by far one of the best letterers in the business, evoking a range of tones through different fonts. As a result, between the deceptively simple story and the flashy artwork, We3 manages to strike an emotional chord, giving its animals a distinct personality, dignity, and resonant feelings without going the easy route of fully anthropomorphizing them.

We3 became such a modern classic that it was bound to inspire successors. Some of these are quite impressive in their own right…

Brahm Revelvietnam comicsGuerillas #1

Set deep in the Vietnamese bush, in 1970, Guerillas follows Private John Clayton as he runs into a rogue platoon of genetically-enhanced chimpanzees who fight with the same guerrilla tactics as the US enemies. Like in Cat Shit One, there is an alluring strangeness in watching one of the most visualized – and therefore recognizable – wars in modern history being reimagined with uniformed animals… However, rather than merely replacing human soldiers with animal versions in some kind of alternate reality, Guerillas adds its primates to a realistic depiction of the conflict, managing to excel both as a harrowing – if often humorous – indictment of the Vietnam War and as one hell of an adventure yarn. Brahm Revel draws incredibly kinetic combat scenes in a Kurtzman-esque style (albeit progressively scratchier) that anticipate – and rival – much of the imagery of War for the Planet of the Apes while also developing a quirky cast that you actually come to care about. Despite Clayton’s recurring narration, many of the panels are wordless (or merely onomatopoeic), so the visuals do a lot of heavy lifting, which Revel pulls off with aplomb.

Guerillas’ first mini-series, which came out in 2008, already hit the ground running. Although reveling in the pulp appeal of chain-smoking chimps with machine guns kicking ass, the comic was quick to establish in-your-face central metaphors: ‘man must become animal to wage war,’ the vicious conflict in Vietnam made us ‘embrace our primal past’ in the jungle, soldiers were ultimately treated as ‘trained monkeys.’ The subsequent volumes invested more in the characterization of both simians and humans… well, at least of the American soldiers and of a couple of German scientists, since for the most part the Vietnamese remained little more than cannon fodder (in this regard, Guerillas isn’t more egregious than most of its peers in the genre, although it’s disheartening that US creators still find it easier to imagine a baboon’s personality over that of a communist).

As far as recent comics go, though, animals in combat aren’t merely the stuff of science fiction. A couple of graphic novels have addressed the real history of how animals have been used for military purposes. The first of these was 2013’s Dogs of War, which features three separate tales of canine feats in conflicts across the 20th century…

nathan foxDogs of War

On the surface, Dogs of War may seem like a throwback to those Lassie-like strips I mentioned at the beginning of last week’s post, but Nathan Fox’s expressionist artwork pushes the material to a whole other level, creating images that are pure comic book magic (as you can see in the scan above). Crucially, Fox gets to shine because writer Sheila Keenan sets each story in a markedly different landscape, namely the muddy Ypres trenches of World War I, a snowy base in Greenland during World War II, and the humid-looking terrain of 1968 North Carolina and Vietnam.

Although getting mileage out of readers’ presumed sympathy for dogs, curiously the book isn’t as dog-centric as the title suggests. In fact, the whole thing has a committedly humanist sensibility. Take, for instance, the first tale, which nominally stars a Red Cross rescue dog called Boots. That tale does a striking job of rendering the sense of pointlessness, claustrophobia, and overall (physical and psychological) dirt associated with WWI: Keenan’s dialogue is packed with gallows humor and Fox’s splash pages touchingly capture the vastness of the corpse-filled ditches and No Man’s Land. Yet Boots isn’t much of a central piece or a POV character – the book is much more interested in the diverse ways the men deal with the extremely harsh conditions around them. If anything, Boot’s seemingly well-adjusted attitude and moral purity serves as a contrast to the pervasive atmosphere of doom… on top of providing a comic relief:

world war I comicsdog comicsDogs of War

All this brings us to 2021’s Four-Fisted Tales: Animals in Combat, a nifty, fascinating graphic novel written and illustrated by Ben Towle, who truly expanded my understanding of the functions animals have served in war. For one thing, the book doesn’t stick to American armies or to conflicts of the 20th and 21st centuries. Oscillating between descriptive non-fiction and short period pieces (they’re essentially vignettes), Towle goes back to Ancient Rome, to Genghis Khan’s mounted cavalry, and to the Battle of Trafalgar while also engaging with South African, Polish, and Castilian forces, among many, many others. And sure, we get more comics about dog soldiers (in the US Civil War and in WWI), but Four-Fisted Tales is also highly diverse in terms of all the species it covers, ranging from horses and bears to seagulls and slugs…

animals in combat

The book rarely takes an openly moralistic stance on war or on animal abuse, treating most episodes with a certain matter-of-factness that – in theory – leaves it up to readers to judge things for themselves. Because the focus is more on the victors, the result does implicitly justify the use of animals in battle, but the provocative opening quote (and the accompanying image) nudges readers to take into account that these aren’t stories about military courage or sense of duty or any other ideal, since the animals never made a conscious choice to participate in the conflicts anyway.

While this subtext is there if you look for it, on the surface Ben Towle doesn’t seem all that keen to editorialize or directly problematize the implications of enrolling these creatures in the fighting process. Rather, he digs up plenty of curious, lesser-known instances of armed forces deploying animals’ strength, instincts, and/or unquestioning obedience, which you can read either as exposing the sad exploitation of nature in the service of human-driven violence or as an inspiring celebration of animals’ value in people’s lives and of their decisive importance in major historical events (not to mention an ode to the military’s resourcefulness in the field).

Likewise, Towle isn’t interested in allegories or in speculative fiction, but in the fantastic stuff that actually happened. The most obvious comparison in terms of comics, then, would be Dogs of War, although Towle’s writing lacks the dramatic punch and relatively nuanced psychology of Sheila Keenan’s scripts, which are more ambitious on the emotional front, even if they have a much less informative scope (curiously, though, Dogs of War has a useful ‘Further Readings’ section, while Four-Fisted Tales: Animals in Combat lacks any bibliography).

That said, Towle excels not just as a researcher, but also as an artist, using the medium of comics to vividly – and synthetically – communicate the actions and features of creatures in radically different contexts, like in this panel about mine-detecting rats:

four-fisted talesFour-Fisted Tales: Animals in Combat

I love how Ben Towle explores the medium’s possibilities as he keeps trying out new formats throughout the book. Four-Fisted Tales: Animals in Combat opens with straightforward narratives, shifts to text-heavy illustrated entries, and later switches back and forth between variations of these two approaches, including a particularly action-packed WWI story in the middle. Between this and the fact that Towle’s designs owe a clear debt to Harvey Kurtzman and Jack Davis, the title ends up being more than a playful pun, fully justifying the intertextual nod – the result feels like a modern, animal-themed special issue of EC’s classic anthology Two-Fisted Tales!

High points include a finely-crafted tale that follows parallel storylines set in the Vietnamese jungles of the 1960s and 2010s (drawn with contrasting thickness of line and shade, to great effect) as well as one that is framed by a court trial over military programs involving sea mammals. A tale in Iran is essentially ‘silent.’ A piece about carrier pigeons is told mostly through gloriously detailed splash pages.

At the same time, there is a visual coherence ensured by Towle’s smooth cartooning and by the minimalistic olive green/grey palette, which also help keep the book surprisingly light – and even fun – given the disturbing, depressing, and gory subject matter. Indeed, like Dogs of War, this can be safely shelved in a library’s YA section, confirming once again that many of the most visually engaging comics out there aren’t aimed exclusively at adult audiences, regardless of genre (having recently come across Luke Pearson’s kids-geared comedic fantasy series Hilda, I was likewise blown away by its action scenes).

ben towleFour-Fisted Tales: Animals in Combat

I know what you’re thinking and, yes, I totally agree, the Vietnam War’s swimmer nullification program does help explain Batman’s paranoia about dolphin assassins during this period:

batmanDetective Comics #405
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COMICS CAN BE AWESOME (27 December 2021)

It turned out Spider-Man: No Way Home was the final positive surprise of 2021. After the disappointment of the tired, hacky Black Widow and Shang Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, we’re finally back on track with a movie that not only lives up to the zesty entertainment and visual imagination of the best MCU entries, but it also delivers the kind of genuine laughs that have always been a big part of the Spider-Man franchise. Such laugh-out-loud humor could already be found in the earliest blockbusters: 2002’s Spider-Man often felt like an unabashedly corny rom-com and 2004’s Spider-Man 2 saw director Sam Raimi return to the brand of horror slapstick he had perfected in the cult classics Evil Dead 2, Army of Darkness, and Darkman… and which he later revisited in Drag Me to Hell. (Hell, Raimi’s Spider-Man was clearly the main inspiration for David F. Sandberg’s charming Shazam!) The last couple of films have added a political edge to the proceedings (Far from Home stretched post-truth satire to the limits, spilling over into both post-credits scenes…), which carries over into No Way Home, with its potshots at the culture wars and unobtrusive subtext about asylum policy.

As for the multiverse angle, you’d think it would be a bad idea to try to compete with the most delightful – and funniest – of the recent Spider-Man movies, Into the Spider-Verse, but No Way Home manages to pull it off by carving out its own intertextual niche, engaging with the live-action films that preceded Spidey’s entry into the MCU. What makes this work is that, instead of settling for stunt casting or gratuitous cameos, No Way Home actually mines the pathos and angst from its guest-appearances, ultimately bringing closure to arcs that began almost two decades ago. Plus, on a meta level, the interaction between characters from different continuities inevitably generates further layers of (geeky) gags and ideological readings, since cinematic reboots – particularly of the Spider-Man series – tend to interestingly channel shifts in the cultural and political climate.

Anyway, without further ado, we close the year with a reminder that Spider-Man comics aren’t the only ones that can be awesome:

Calendar ManBatman 80-Page Giant #3
Stephen R. Bissette 1963 #2
Silver AdeptAstro City (v3) #40
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Animal war comics – part 1

Once again, the folks at Dead Reckoning have sent me one of their graphic novels to review: Four-Fisted Tales: Animals in Combat, in which Ben Towle spotlights the historical role of different creatures in various wars. Like last time, I thought it might be fun to put the book into context, namely by placing it alongside other cool war comics about animals. After all, there are a number of great ones out there, as the clash between animals’ natural fierceness and their ideological innocence (in regards to the motivations of human warfare) lends itself to powerful drama, inventive action, symbolism, and even comedy!

The tradition of throwing animals into the battlefront actually goes way back… In the 1950s and 1960s, for instance, creators militarized the Lassie formula in comics such as The Adventures of Rex, the Wonder Dog and the recurring ‘Gunner & Sarge’ strip from Our Fighting Forces:

Gunner & Sarge   pooch   war comics

At their best, these series combined the grim reality of war with two-fisted adventure, achieving a fine balance that is not entirely unlike the one in John Sturge’s The Great Escape or in those kickass WWI episodes of The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles. At their worst, they tended towards propaganda and sentimentality, dehumanizing foreign enemy combatants while schmaltzily playing up the empathy towards the canine characters. As far as I’m concerned, the best take on this sort of premise only came in 1979, with Battle Action’s running feature ‘War Dog,’ which followed the journeys of a German Shepherd in World War II, told in a much grittier and drier – if often exciting – tone.

By the time ‘War Dog’ came out, a whole other trend had already begun to emerge in the comics that shared the shelf space with Battle Action on the British newsstands. With a much more caustic understanding of the animal kingdom (not to mention of war itself), rather than focus on dogs’ usefulness and loyalty towards their masters, Pat Mills and Ramon Solá worked together on a string of gory thrillers – drenched in deadpan black humor – about animals fighting back against cruel, selfish humans. With their heart openly on the side of nature, they invited readers to root for fierce creatures on deadly rampages.

Shako2000 AD #20

Part of that crop, the cult-favorite Shako follows a man-eating polar bear who finds himself on the CIA death list after unknowingly swallowing a top-secret capsule that, if it falls into enemy hands, risks shaking up the balance of power in the Cold War… True to the formula, the American agents come after the titular bear and keep getting slaughtered in vicious, sometimes ironic ways.

Co-created by writer John Wagner (who shared Mills’ fearless willingness to embrace the ridiculous) and with further stark artwork by Dodderio, Cesar Lopez-Vera, and Juan Arancio, Shako was originally published on the pages of 2000 AD. Like many of the other series in this anthology’s earlier years, Shako is anything but subtle, tasteful, or particularly thoughtful, but its creators display a characteristic instinct for raucous entertainment. And yes, the bear comes damn close to starting World War III!

For a more melancholic take on war, the obvious alternative would be DC’s Enemy Ace. Created in 1965 by Robert Kanigher and Joe Kubert, these comics focused on the chivalrous German fighter pilot Hans von Hammer (aka the Hammer of Hell), whose troubled soul served both to evoke compassion even for historical enemies – in this case, for those who fought for the losing side of World War I – and to tell tales about the dark morality of military conflict (without directly challenging American heroism). One of my favorite choices in this series was how the protagonist’s loneliness was conveyed through the fact that the only creature he felt comfortable with was, quite literally, a lone wolf:

Enemy Acestar spangled war storiesOur Army at War #151

(Get it? Part of him feels like a wolf, which makes him a metaphorical werewolf, so of course he is drawn by the full moon. Comics!)

This black wolf kept reappearing throughout the years, usually popping up halfway through each story to help Hans von Hammer solve his latest moral dilemma or just generally reconcile him with all the death he’d caused in the sky by reminding him that killing was a part of nature. The comparison between the two was pretty explicit and quite twisted (the wolf killed to hunt or in self-defense, not for nationalist or imperialist ideals), the implication being that Hans used the beast to rationalize and somehow justify his own anti-social impulses, which gave these moments an almost poetic sense of despair.

In 1969’s ‘Luck is a Puppy Named Schatzi!,’ Hans von Hammer briefly adopted a cute little puppy, letting a glimmer of hope and positivity into his life. The balance between his more compassionate and his misanthropic sides was beautifully illustrated by an encounter between the titular puppy and Hans’ other four-legged companion:

Enemy AceStar Spangled Stories #148

And if you think Schatzi survived this tale, it means you’re not familiar enough with Enemy Ace’s views on what warfare does to any symbol of innocence…

Indeed, as Aesop established thousands of years ago, animals don’t always have to represent just themselves. Art Spiegelman famously used humanoid mice, cats, pigs, etc. to depict the Holocaust in his massively acclaimed Maus, which chronicled how his father survived Auschwitz.

holocaustMaus

To be fair, Maus is as much about WWII and the war’s legacy/memory/trauma as it is about Art Spiegelman’s difficult relationship with his father, blending oral history-based reconstitution with psychoanalytical autobiography.

With a less neurotic and introspective attitude, Motofumi Kobayashi, rather than have felines stand in for Nazis, had them stand in for Vietnamese and fight adorable American bunnies:

Motofumi KobayashiCat Shit One #1

The three-volume manga Cat Shit One obviously gets a lot of mileage out of the oddness of watching the atrocious Vietnam War fought by extremely cute creatures (who, as you can see above, swear a lot and brutally slaughter their enemies). Like Spiegelman, Motofumi Kobayashi also counterbalances the harrowing historical reality with surprisingly playful touches, including the introduction of other animal species, such as bears (Soviets), pandas (Chinese), and chimpanzees (Japanese). In fact, from what I gather, the choice of recreating the United States’ soldiers as bunnies is a pun on the Japanese word for rabbit, ‘Usagi’ –> USA G.I.

Kobayashi plays up the sense of oddness by injecting realism into this surreal scenario. As a writer, he delivers detailed accounts of scrupulously researched military fiction (complete with footnotes explaining technical terms). As an artist, despite having the cats stand on two legs, the rabbits pull triggers, and the various animals share similar sizes, he manages to keep the visuals relatively naturalistic…

VietnamCat Shit One #1

(I haven’t read the sequel, Cat Shit One ’80, but apparently it follows the bunnies’ special forces – and other animals – into conflicts from the 1980s, including the Soviet war in Afghanistan…)

The thing is, of course, that neither Maus nor Cat Shit One actually treat their cast as animals. Whether more or less anthropomorphic in design, the animal features merely serve as icons that correspond to people’s different ethnicities and nationalities, thus addressing a fully human perspective and experience. By contrast, more recently, Brian K. Vaughan took a slightly different route: he perceptively saw in a news story about starving lions who had escaped from the Baghdad Zoo during the American bombing of Iraq, in April of 2003, the potential for an Animal Farm-like allegorical fable about Iraq’s brutal conflation of liberation (from Saddam Hussein’s tyrannical regime) and military invasion (by the United States and a few allies, based on false evidence).

Vaughan has always had a knack for neat – if blatant – symbolism, often culminating in touching endings, as seen in the likes of Y-The Last Man, Paper Girls, The Escapists, and the first volume of Runaways (in turn, Ex Machina finishes with a dark punchline). In the 2006 graphic novel Pride of Baghdad, he gets really carried away, as practically every single sentence and situation has some kind of double meaning.

Iraqbrian k vaughanPride of Baghdad

Like the best allegories, Pride of Baghdad does work on multiple levels. The animals are obvious stand-ins for specific elements of Iraqi society, but their tale can likewise be read as a more general parable about freedom, self-determination, and foreign intervention. You can even engage with the lions as individual characters and focus on their personal drama amidst the larger warfare – an approach that’s helped by the fact that Niko Henrichon draws each animal’s body and gestures with physiognomic accuracy, creating a curious contrast with BKV’s writing style (which gives them a human personality, albeit informed by their species’ traits).

Pride of Baghdad was hardly alone in mixing animals with war in the 21st century. Whether informed by growing social consciousness about animal issues or just seeking to take advantage of new storytelling techniques, the last couple of decades have been particularly prolific in this regard. I will be discussing some of the most remarkable works next week!

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COMICS CAN BE AWESOME (20 December 2021)

Another reminder that comics can be awesome… and another tribute to Nick Fury’s title pages:

Frank SpringerNick Fury, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. #7
spy comicsNick Fury, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. #14
Gary FriedrichNick Fury, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. #10
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Gotham Calling’s top 50 westerns

This is Gotham Calling’s 500th post!

I like to mark these round numbers with humorous tours of Batman’s quirkiest villains but, since I’ve already done one of those earlier this year, this time around I’ll go for something more original and nail down the top 50 movies of a genre that doesn’t always get enough love in this blog: westerns.

It’s surprising how little westerns show up in Gotham Calling, given that they’re one of my default sources of entertainment whenever I need undemanding comfort food for the brain… Between films and comics, I must’ve digested hundreds of tales of this – admittedly limited and repetitive – branch of storytelling. And I’m still not tired of it!

western   jonah hex   alex toth

What is a western? For the purposes of the list below, it can be any movie set in the Old West (i.e. in 19th-century North America) as long as it includes some of the main tropes associated with the genre: horses, gunfights, outlaws, comradery, frontier life, and the violent construction of ‘modern civilization’ (from genocide to resistance against emerging values and institutions). It’s a tautological definition, I know, but I’m not going to pretend I invented this genre – I came to it after it had been fully-formed for almost a century, so I’m more interested in recognizing patterns than in enforcing a strict conceptualization.

There are recurrent themes, such as toxic masculinity (usually embodied by John Wayne or Lee Marvin) and competing understandings of justice. On a surface level, though, these are stories about the United States of America as a colonial nation built by firearms, alcohol, and fucked up racial politics. Plus, since circulation across borders has been a key part of American history as well, the list includes a bunch of films set in Mexico, including some that take place in the 1910s and 1920s (which, besides sharing landscapes and other motifs, tend to feature gringos representative of US society and politics, establishing a clear continuity between these realms).

La danse des vautourshermannunder a western sky

So, yes, unlike film noir, when it comes to westerns, my definition rests on the movies’ setting (time and place) rather than on the specific context in which they were produced (in the case of noir, the post-WWII years). In fact, part of the appeal for me is seeing how different eras recreated the past, from Hollywood classics nostalgically romanticizing national origins to the Italian entries of the 1960s – the so-called ‘spaghetti westerns’ – dirtying up American mythology while reframing the genre’s cinematic style to the sound of Ennio Morricone’s offbeat soundtracks.

The latter films ended up having a huge influence all over the world, from Japanese chambara pictures (Zatoichi’s Pilgrimage) to Australian post-apocalyptic fiction (Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior). They even had a lasting impact in the USA itself, both on the big and small screens (I’m looking at you, The Mandalorian), as well as in comics (especially those starring Jonah Hex). Hell, there is an entire issue of Hitman devoted to the awesomeness of Sergio Leone’s The Good, the Bad and the Ugly:

The Good, the Bad and the UglyHitman Annual #1

In contrast to what I did with the film noir lists, here I’m not very concerned with tone. Most movies below are bound to be two-fisted crime yarns in one form or another, but this list also accommodates spoofs and melodramas. The point is precisely to celebrate all the different ways one can imagine such a narrow slice of history, repeatedly revisiting the same character types (and even the same characters, in the case Wyatt Earp or Pancho Villa…) and the same situations with new lenses.

Sergio Leone1. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966)

Tommy Monagham is right. The pioneer of spaghetti westerns, Sergio Leone, had a special knack for balancing iconoclasm with elegiac moments. There are westerns with richer characterization and less histrionic acting, but The Good, the Bad and the Ugly – with its tale of ruthless desperadoes searching for gold against the backdrop of the US Civil War – heightens the intensity of what this kind of movie can be to a level unmatched by anything else I’ve seen. As a bonus, you also get a dark comedy, a war epic, a treasure-hunting adventure, and a parable about capitalism!

spaghetti western2. For a Few Dollars More (1965)

Just before The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, Leone had already teamed up with Morricone and tough-guy actors Clint Eastwood and Lee Van Cleef for a horse opera that was just as brilliant (or almost). Like its successor, For a Few Dollars More also concerns a trio of badass killers strategically forging precarious alliances in a maze-like plot, but here the stakes are less grandiose and more intimate, as gradually revealed by a series of brutal flashbacks. There are more memorable set pieces in this movie than in your average dozen westerns combined, from the amusing one-upmanship duel involving Cleef’s hat up to the tense countdown to shoot determined by a pocket watch’s hypnotic music…

john ford3. Stagecoach (1939)

A marshal, an alcoholic doctor, a prostitute (driven out of town by an intolerant women’s league), a whiskey salesman, a gambler, a corrupt banker, a vengeful outlaw, and the pregnant wife of a cavalry officer (in other words, a selective microcosm of US society) find themselves on a perilous stagecoach trip through territory where the Apaches are on the warpath. Exciting, funny, compassionate (except for the Native Americans), John Ford’s and John Wayne’s first collaboration turned out to be their finest – in fact, it’s the apogee of the Hollywood oater, pulling off the most satisfying version of all the classic tropes. (To be fair, these top titles are all so strong in different ways that, on a day when I’d be more inclined to privilege humanistic characterization over sensorial intensity, Stagecoach could’ve easily made it to the first place instead.)

western4. The Professionals (1966)

A rich rancher hires four experts (who happen to be played by four of my favorite actors) to rescue his wife (the awesome Claudia Cardinale) after she’s kidnapped by a revolutionary Mexican bandit (Jack Palance with a moustache) – and the mission makes them confront their own lost idealism. Director Richard Brooks may not be as flashy as Leone or Ford, but he is one hell of a screenwriter, pungently nailing each dramatic beat and the knowing banter of seasoned pros. Despite its leftist bent, the witty result must’ve inspired plenty of Chuck Dixon’s men-on-a-mission yarns!

the rope and the colt5. Cemetery Without Crosses, aka The Rope and the Colt (1969)

This French entry, about a widow who hires a gunslinger to carry out a cruel revenge against the men who hanged her husband, is a ghostly distillation of genre motifs, executed with minimalistic precision. It’s not all about the form, though: by framing violence (including sexual violence) as an unsentimental ritual, Cemetery without Crosses powerfully conveys the sense that vengeance is a dirty spiral, creating an endless cycle that, rather than give characters – and viewers – closure, continuously plunges them into new forms of tragedy.

anthony mann6. Winchester ’73 (1950)

More than James Stewart’s avenging rider, the true protagonist of Winchester ’73 is the titular rifle, which gets passed around from owner to owner, serving different purposes in the name of lawlessness and social order, handled by Native Americans as well as the calvary, its trajectory representing both a moral logic of destiny and the historical logic of contingency. Between the hardboiled dialogue and the black & white cinematography, this movie often comes off like a western/film noir hybrid, so of course it is right up my alley.

howard hawks7. Rio Bravo (1959)

A sheriff has to choose between keeping a prisoner in jail or handing him over to a local land baron who wants him free. It’s a Howard Hawks picture, so there isn’t much doubt the sheriff will choose duty, even if his only backup against the baron’s small army is a drunkard, an old cripple, and a kid with a chip on his shoulder. The moody use of music and a clever script (by Jules Furthman and Leigh Brackett) further contribute to making Rio Bravo one of the all-time greats.

clint eastwood8. A Fistful of Dollars (1964)

In Sergio Leone’s groundbreaking first foray into the genre, Clint Eastwood rides into a Mexican town and sets out to exploit local rivalries, pitting criminals against each other while famously channeling Hammett’s Red Harvest by way of Kurosawa’s Yojimbo. You can sure spot the seeds for the future works not just of Leone, but also of the likes of Quentin Tarantino and Garth Ennis (both of which made careers out of trying to recreate the coolness of that monologue about the mule).

western9. High Noon (1952)

Taking place in real time, High Noon follows the countdown to the arrival of the noon train, which will bring into town a released criminal set on revenge against the local marshal, who desperately tries to recruit people to stand alongside him (while also fighting with his pacifist Quaker wife). Although some have read in this a Cold War parable about the USA’s need to mobilize against the foreign threat posed by incoming communism, legend has it the whole thing was actually dramatizing the breakdown of solidarity in Hollywood surrounding the HUAC hearings and the subsequent blacklist (i.e. a reading on the complete opposite end of the political spectrum). Regardless, the movie works on a more direct level as well, conjuring up a quintessential melodramatic mix of tension, isolation, and despair.

randolph scott10. Ride Lonesome (1959)

Superficially, Ride Lonesome is just another tale about a group of distrustful people coming together to face a succession of dangers while traveling through a desolate landscape. It all comes down to the execution: the director-writer-star team of Budd Boetticher, Burt Kennedy, and Randolph Scott perfected the art of simple, taut storytelling in which the characters’ psychology and an engrossing narrative beautifully emerge without much of a fuss. Here, they are helped by a particularly sturdy supporting cast.

zapata western11. A Bullet for the General (1966)

Unless you count the American The Professionals (which premiered a month before), this was the  pioneer of the ‘Zapata Western’ subgenre, a string of politically charged European productions about adventures set in the Mexican Revolution, presented as incredibly messy even by Marxist filmmakers who sympathized with the peasants’ cause (these vicious bandits are a world away from any benign image of pure-hearted poor). Vibrant yet episodic, A Bullet for the General is an anti-imperialist epic shot against impressive vistas full of authentic-looking extras and chaos… Plus, Klaus Kinski plays a revolutionary priest who both kills (a lot) and prays for the dead.

spaghetti western12. Tepepa, aka Blood and Guns (1969)

The main rival for the position of best Zapata Western, Tepepa provocatively inverts the narrative thrust of For a Few Dollars More (placing the villain in the role of hero) in order to question whether or not revolutionary ideals should be above everything else. Communist screenwriter Franco Solinas borrows from his own script for A Bullet for the General (‘Señor, do you like Mexico?’ ‘No.’), but by now the disillusioned fallout from the May ’68 protests must’ve been ringing in the filmmakers’ minds, so the politics are even more ethically discomfiting, leading to a twisted finale that can be seen as either harshly ironic or perversely sincere…  The movie also delivers on the technical front, often coming off like a haunting audiovisual poem. Plus, Orson Welles.

mel brooks13. Blazing Saddles (1974)

In this live-action Looney Tunes cartoon, a conniving attorney general tries to force the residents of Rock Ridge out of town (in order to reroute a railroad) by appointing a black sheriff and relying on the locals’ racism to generate chaos. Granted, when I first watched this as a kid and thought it was the most hilarious movie ever, I was less sensitive about the many un-PC jokes and stereotypes (as is often the case with comedy, there is a thin line between mocking prejudice and enacting its harmful force, flirting with both pleasure and displeasure). That said, everyone seems to be having a blast – starting with Cleavon Little in the leading role – and their mischievous enthusiasm is quite infectious. On top of the broad gags and social satire, Mel Brooks employs (and cheerfully destroys) Hollywood’s stock sets and character actors to wreck anarchy upon the classic western, giving it a suitably disrespectful send-off (nobody was able to unconsciously film it in the same way again, just like with Watchmen and superheroes). In a genre that preys on intertextuality, such a merciless metafictional deconstruction earns Blazing Saddles a high position on this list.

quentin tarantino14. The Hateful Eight (2015)

Quentin Tarantino’s own foul-mouthed treaty on racial hatred in the US is morally muddier and more provocatively cynical than Blazing Saddles, building on that old George Carlin line: ‘Bullshit is the glue that binds us as a nation.’ There are no heroes here, only loathsome, grotesque characters acting out various traditions of American grudges and prejudices while stuck together during a blizzard (in the end, it’s hatred of women that brings the surviving men together). I place it above a handful of foundational classics, once again reflecting personal taste: I just get such a kick out the kind of pitch-black humor that’s all over The Hateful Eight’s dialogue, violence, and performances (especially those by Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russel, and Jennifer Jason Leigh).

sergio leone15. Duck, You Sucker!, aka A Fistful of Dynamite, aka Once Upon a Time… the Revolution (1971)

Sergio Leone’s own contribution to – or perhaps satire of – the Zapata Western cycle is a visual tour-de-force bursting with energy and irreverence (from the very first shot)… and steeped in bitter cynicism. Duck, You Sucker! depicts revolutionary class struggle as ferocious and unpleasant, but also riveting, often stirring up uncomfortable contradictory emotions. Despite a derivative flashback structure and some objectionable content (again, the peasants do some ugly shit in retaliation for their oppression), I find it a more rewarding watch than Leone’s acclaimed Once Upon a Time in the West.

western16. Law and Order (1932)

I had to include at least one movie inspired by the battle at the O.K. Corral, given that there are so many great ones out there. My preference goes for the very first film to tackle this historical episode, a fast-paced pre-Code gem starring Walter Huston and scripted by his son (the first of their two collaborations on this list), whose smart writing is full of punchy and ironic character moments, vividly brought to the screen. Besides all the authentic-looking details (the story is set fifty years before the movie was made, so there was still a living memory of, for example, the physical routines one did when entering a grimy hotel room…), Law and Order is also interesting for the way it engages with early 1930s’ concerns about guns and gangsters: it opens with a montage about how the country was forged through violence and sticks with a bitterly disenchanted look at both illegal and state-sanctioned acts of killing right up until the pessimistic ending. Since there had already been hundreds of (mostly silent) westerns before, there is a case to be made that this is an early – and stark – example of genre revisionism.

sam peckinpah17. The Wild Bunch (1969)

An aging gang of macho outlaws take refuge in 1913 Mexico, where they end up working for a corrupt general. This American answer to the Zapata Western subgenre is just as packed with masterfully edited raucous carnage as its European counterparts, but with greater emphasis on writer-director Sam Peckinpah’s pet themes of honor, loyalty, and growing old in a world where you no longer fit in.

sergio leone18. Once Upon a Time in the West (1968)

The western to end all westerns, this luscious epic tells an unhurried and operatic saga about a web of interlinked conflicts surroundind a land battle over the construction of a railroad, exaggerating traditional elements almost to the point of caricature. It’s also a meta-western, opening with brilliant riffs on High Noon and Shane and knowingly drawing on the genre’s dense history, most famously by casting Henry Fonda against type.

john ford19. The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962)

A respected senator comes to the town of Shinbone to mourn an old acquaintance, leading to a lengthy flashback that reveals the hidden historical significance of – you guessed it – the man who shot Liberty Valance (whose gang used to terrorize Shinbone). Ford’s forceful, ultimate statement about the transition from the Wild West into a more civilized era links this process to evolving approaches to manliness as well as to the notion that coexistence is built on useful lies (for an R-rated riff on the same topic, see The Hateful Eight).

western20. Meek’s Cutoff (2010)

Following a small group of settlers on the Oregon Trail as they go about their tedious labors, get lost, despair, and argue about what to do with a native they meet in the desert, Kelly Reichardt has a crafted a truly original and gorgeous – yet devastatingly unromanticized – take on the sort of material we’ve seen countless times before. Patiently contemplative and paired down in terms of plot and dialogue, Meek’s Cutoff takes its time to get going, but it eerily enwraps you in an atmosphere that feels often menacing, occasionally amusing, and somehow both grounded and dreamy.

clint eastwood21. Unforgiven (1992)

Although not as radical as Meek’s Cutoff, this is also a committedly revisionist western, one where Clint Eastwood (who directed it) plays with his persona in the form of an over-the-hill gunfighter compelled to come out of retirement. Grim and gritty, subverting genre conventions with proto-realistic touches, I’ve always looked at Unforgiven as westerns’ version of The Dark Knight Returns, albeit without that comic’s parodic vibe. (Eastwood has spent the subsequent thirty years revisiting variations of this subject, so it’s interesting to consider Unforgiven not just as a closing chapter in his western career, but also as the opening salvo of his ongoing meditation about the place of old-school alpha males in the modern world.)

western22. The Great Silence (1968)

A mute gunslinger (hence the title) faces off against a gang of bounty hunters (led by Klaus Kinski at his most sinister) who have been slaughtering local thieves waiting for an amnesty. You’ve seen many of the story beats before, but you’ve probably never seen them quite like this – set in Utah during a severe blizzard, much of the action is covered in snow and you can feel the damn cold taking over the characters (literally and metaphorically). The result is breathtaking, despite also being one of the nastiest and most downbeat entries in the genre’s entire canon, macabrely depicting the nitty-gritty of the business of killing people for pay. And what an ending!

john wayne23. Red River (1948)

Besides being a dramatically engaging reconstruction of the impressive hardships of earlier cattle drives – and of the establishment of the Chisholm Trail (linking Texas to Kansas) in particular – Red River builds into a poignant examination of leadership, pitting John Wayne’s authoritarianism against Montgomery Clift’s more liberal approach.

western24. 3:10 to Yuma (1957)

A nail-biting duel of wills between an honored cowboy and a charismatic robber, as the former tries to bring the latter to justice against shrinking odds. In theory, the linear narrative and the poetic ending could’ve made 3:10 to Yuma feel simplistic and even corny, but the movie displays such command of the form, compellingly suggesting hidden levels of ambiguity and psychological depth, that the result is like an oddly touching morality play.

tarantino25. Django Unchained (2012)

Although more clear-cut than The Hateful Eight, Tarantino’s first venture into the genre was also a riot, casting Jamie Foxx as a slave-turned-bounty-hunter working his way back to his loved one, one massacre at a time. I’ve written about it before: ‘this incendiary mix of spaghetti western and blaxploitation took the revenge fantasy format of Kill Bill, Death Proof, and Inglourious Basterds to a new extreme by applying it to America’s history of slavery. Like its predecessors, the film went for subversive entertainment in the shape of a rollicking ballet of gory catharses and shocking anti-climaxes, but it struck a deeper nerve in the Obama-era zeitgeist of racial identity politics. […] This left critics to puzzle over what’s more politically incorrect – the notion that the movie is a tasteless genre exercise or the disturbing implications of taking it seriously? Me, I think the moral confusion is part of the appeal.’

western26. Day of the Outlaw (1959)

Another entry into the rare subgenre of the ‘winter western,’ Day of the Outlaw looks even more striking than The Hateful Eight and The Great Silence thanks to its stark black & white, which makes everything look dark against the snow. Along with the visual – and inescapably symbolic – contrast between darkness and clarity, we get a genuinely harrowing slice of psychological horror, pitting cattlemen against farmers, militarized outlaws against powerless civilians, and lustful men against desperate women… The natural landscape may look slushy and freezing cold, but it’s the urban settlement that comes across as truly inhospitable and unforgiving.

western27. Union Pacific (1939)

The construction of the Union Pacific Railroad is turned into a rousing spectacle, as a businessman bets in the stock market against the enterprise (yep, already at the time) and, just to make sure, hires an intermediary to keep sabotaging the proceedings, namely by supplying vices to the workers along the track. This is only one of many subplots in a picture that blends charming romance, rambunctious comedy, action-adventure, and political polemics. Granted, even by the genre’s generous standards of nationalist fabulation, this Cecil B. DeMille epic must take some kind of prize (for one thing, its account of the construction work manages to miss the thousands of Chinese immigrants…), but that only makes Union Pacific an even more curious object, lending itself to multiple layers of historical analysis on top of the enjoyable surface.

sergio corbucci28. Navajo Joe (1966)

An exhilarating barrage of violent action, accompanied by an unforgettable soundtrack, as a Navajo anti-hero (Burt Reynolds, believe it or not) takes bloody revenge on a gang of scalp-hunters. Along with The Great Silence and Django, this gloriously bizarre picture offers further proof that Sergio Corbucci must’ve been one of the core directors shaping Tarantino’s DNA.

western29. The Gunfighter (1950)

A day in the life of Jimmy Ringo, a faster-than-light gunfighter who just wants to be left alone but has to keep facing young punks trying to prove themselves against him… Besides capturing the melancholia of a character who can’t seem to move on from his past and to escape his fate, The Gunfighter – as pointed out by David Eldridge in Hollywood’s History Films – is yet another movie about the difficult passing of the Old West into modern society, with Ringo as a haunted victim of his own legend, ‘unable to make the transition to a safe, domestic life.’

western30. The Naked Spur (1953)

Like Winchester ’73, this is one of a handful of hard-hitting collaborations between James Stewart and director Anthony Mann, this time in splendid Technicolor. Stewart is now a bounty hunter who joins forces with a couple of strangers in order to bring a wanted outlaw across the hazardous wilderness, but the latter keeps playing mind games on them (and on his girlfriend, who comes along), sowing distrust among the group. Mann’s signature moves of placing characters constantly at the mercy of natural elements and replacing the genre’s typical horizontal confrontations (gunslingers starring at each other across a town’s main street) with vertical ones (guy at the top of a mountain shooting at the ones below) illustrates the point that men’s fates are shaped by their surroundings and determined by their vantage points, even if wits and determination can go a long way…

western31. Vera Cruz (1954)

An unabashedly fun romp about the misadventures of a couple of North Americans – one a self-serious ex-confederate colonel, the other one a jolly scoundrel – in the Franco-Mexican War, where they are hired to escort a countess and soon get embroiled in a series of cunning ploys, as everybody double-crosses each other to get their hands on a gold shipment. Vera Cruz is set in the 1860s, so technically it’s not a Zapata Western – if anything, it’s a Juárez Western – but it does feel like a natural precursor to The Professionals (where Burt Lancaster plays a much less cynical character than here…).

western32. Two Mules for Sister Sara (1970)

With a similar setting and comedic spirit, Two Mules for Sister Sara is in many ways the perfect companion piece to Vera Cruz. Rather than a rascally bandit, though, this time around the chivalrous ex-soldier (here played by Clint Eastwood in lieu of Gary Cooper) acts as the straight man in a bickering partnership with a revolutionary nun (played by the reliably funny Shirley MacLaine).

raoul walsh33. Along the Great Divide (1951)

Kirk Douglas as a federal marshal who saves a man (the always entertaining Walter Brennan) from lynching and tries to take him to trial while getting chased across the desert by vengeful ranchers. Come for the amazing cinematography and a nice supporting part by Virginia Mayo (as Brennan’s feisty daughter), stay for the provocative sense of frustration with different forms of justice.

nicholas ray34. Johnny Guitar (1954)

A mysterious muscular rider who carries a guitar but no visible guns, Johnny may lend his name to the title, but the main star of this unapologetically artificial and theatrical opus is Joan Crawford’s Vienna, the kickass owner of a saloon/casino in the outskirts of a New Mexico town waiting to profit from the upcoming railroad while facing off the town’s reactionary mob (yep, it’s another HUAC allegory). Working with a script chockful of nifty lines and pushing each scene’s pathos to the brink, director Nicholas Ray seems less interested in the actual story than in blowing up genre aesthetics through flamboyant color and sexual undertones (he later did the same for gangster pics in Party Girl).

zapata western35. The Mercenary, aka A Professional Gun (1968)

A Mexican rebel and a couple of foreign guns-for-hire – a taciturn Pole and a campy American – enter into a game of temporary alliances and deadly betrayals in yet another stylized clash between romantic ideals and callous capitalism. If A Bullet for the General inaugurated the Zapata Western and Duck, You Sucker! mocked its idealism, The Mercenary exploited this subgenre’s leftist politics as a vehicle to heighten the impact of Corbucci’s trademark brand of garish, visceral mayhem…

western36. Last Train from Gun Hill (1959)

Once again, Kirk Douglas finds himself trying to bring someone to justice against the will of everyone around him, with lethal results…  For once, the final showdown feels much less cathartic than outright tragic (the tragedy is set up from early on – after the despicable act in the beginning of the film, there is no turning back).

noir western37. Yellow Sky (1948)

After a mean trek through the sun-soaked Death Valley desert, a gang of bank robbers stumbles its way into a ghost town inhabited only by a fierce young woman and her grandfather… and soon things get even grimmer. The style is particularly noirish in this one (not least because of cinematographer Joe MacDonald and a sneering role by Richard Widmark), although the story apparently takes its inspiration from Shakespeare’s The Tempest, all of which makes Yellow Sky stand out as quite an original western experience. (It helps if you disregard the annoyingly silly coda.)

western38. Death Rides a Horse (1967)

Practically all of the movies on this list deal with (at the very least the threat of) murder and rape, but Giulio Petroni still manages to deliver the most disturbing opening of the lot, deploying horror film techniques to depict the slaughter that the hero witnesses as a child and which determines the rest of his life. And yet, what follows is quite a playful, pulpy ride, with John Phillip Law’s marksman tracking down his family’s killers based on visual clues from his memories, under the reluctant tutorship of Lee Van Cleef’s roguish ex-con. Scholars have pointed out spaghetti westerns’ apparent preference for fetishized objects and expressive external actions over thematic depth and complex internal emotions (compared to old Hollywood oaters, that is), possibly reflecting the burgeoning consumerism in 1960s’ Italian society. Death Rides a Horse, however, clearly shows how objects can be imbued with both cinematic coolness and a deeper significance as channels of revenge, redemption, and trauma.

western39. Seven Men from Now (1956)

The first movie in Boetticher’s, Kennedy’s and Scott’s Ranown Cycle is already a terrific display of what this trio can accomplish with their economical approach to narrative, crafting a lean, brisk tale about a lone rider who gets slightly sidetracked from his mission of vengeance when he takes it upon himself to secure the safety of a young married couple on their way west to California. Like in many movies from the ‘50s, the core subtext concerns the tension between different versions of masculinity (yes, contrary to what many critics suggest, this was not a new subject introduced in the 21st century by Brokeback Mountain and The Power of the Dog).

john huston40. The Treasure of Sierra Madre (1948)

A deadbeat, seduced by an old miner’s talk of prospecting, goes on an expedition in the mountains that steadily corrupts his mind and soul. Although this angry parable about gold’s morally corrosive power has a few rough spots, it’s more than saved by John Huston’s expressionistic direction, not to mention the magnetic performances of a deranged Humphrey Bogart and a grizzled Walter Huston (no wonder the film has had such a lasting cultural impact, still echoing as recently as Spike Lee’s Da 5 Bloods and David Lapham’s Stray Bullets: Sunshine and Roses #11). I hesitated about including it because, even though The Treasure of Sierra Madre is nominally set in 1925 Mexico, at first it looks closer to the present (of the 1940s), but once the wilderness takes over, there are enough continuities with the familiar motifs of horse-riding bandits and greedy, gun-wielding bastards…

western41. Sabata (1969)

With a catchy score and a relentless pace, this is yet another Italian gem starring Lee Van Cleef as a drifter in an ultra-twisty plot. Remarkably, the gimmicky weapons, the colorful supporting cast, and the endless profusion of double- and triple-crosses give Sabata an outstanding comedic flair, but it never fully strays into all-out goofiness.

horror western42. And God Said to Cain (1970)

What if you shot an entire western like a gothic horror movie? There isn’t anything necessarily supernatural going on in And God Said to Cain (unless you consider Klaus Kinki’s protagonist to be a ghost, in which case the opening labor camp would be hell), but there are enough pipe organs in the soundtrack and curtains flapping in the nightly wind to make this one a spooky genre hybrid.

robert altman43. McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971)

And what if Robert Altman did a western? Predictably, the result is revisionist and naturalistic, but it’s also achingly melancholic (not least because of Leonard Cohen’s spellbinding songs). The film revolves around the titular entrepreneur and whorehouse madam, but their relationship feels like a mere piece in a grander story about the development of a mining town under harsh conditions. Many movies are on this list because they gratifyingly nail – or even elevate – the genre’s formulas, but others actually approach the material with a distinct sensibility that’s unlike anything else out there. McCabe & Mrs. Miller definitely belongs to the latter group.

western44. A Stranger in Town, aka For a Dollar in the Teeth (1967)

Many spaghetti westerns were basically unofficial remakes/rip-offs of For a Fistful of Dollars, usually building on its generic set-up while exaggerating its stylistic flourishes. For my money, A Stranger in Town is the finest example of a B-movie remixing the same ingredients to craft something that feels like an eerie nightmare you’d have after watching Leone’s film. As derivative as it looks, I’d say Stranger manages to find its own voice, but maybe ‘voice’ isn’t the best metaphor here: even for Italian standards, this has got to be one of the most laconic westerns ever, with only a fistful of scenes with dialogue (which further intensifies the overall mesmerizing allure). Plus, it finishes with, not one, but two fun punchlines.

western45. Django (1966)

The most renowned of the post-Fistful of Dollars knock-offs, by far, is Django, which itself inspired over 30 titles (although the overwhelming majority bear little connection to the original movie). Yes, it’s another variation of the Yojimbo formula, but this one managed to stand out not only by tripling the level of sadism, but also by filling the screen with all sorts of baroque touches, most memorably the protagonist in a muddy Union uniform dragging a coffin behind him before facing a racist gang wearing bright-red Ku Klux Klan hoods…

western horror46. Bone Tomahawk (2015)

Just one more western/horror hybrid – this one with a fair amount of black comedy thrown in for good measure… With a strong cast spearheaded by a gruffy Kurt Russell, Bone Tomahawk succeeds on all levels. As a western, it looks fantastic (with a sepia-ish filter that evokes our mediated memory of the period) and the cackling dialogue is rich with quaint turns-of-phrase. As a gory horror flick, it dives deep into the scary pit of cannibalistic savagery, with a small posse searching for people abducted by a tribe of animalistic, cave-dwelling troglodytes. The movie awkwardly tries to sidestep the obvious racist implications of this premise (including through a hilariously ham-fisted scene where a Native-American expert explains that troglodytes have nothing to do with so-called Indians, even though the prejudiced white folks wouldn’t be able to distinguish them), but I actually think it works better if you just throw away any pretention of historical accuracy altogether: given the literary affectation of the whole thing, I see this story not as a supposedly realistic depiction of the past, but as a haunting take on the sort of monstrous fantasies imagined by the settlers at the time.

sartana47. Have a Good Funeral, My Friend… Sartana Will Pay (1970)

My favorite instalment in the very droll Sartana series – about the eponymous gunfighter/gambler/illusionist – strikes a balance between a neat mystery plot and bursts of gonzo comedy, with an anything-goes attitude close to many of the comics I usually discuss in this blog. For instance, the title refers to the fact that the hero keeps paying for the funerals of the (many) people he kills throughout the film.

western48. My Name Is Nobody (1973)

A particularly meta western, in which the fan of an old gunslinger (who just wants to retire) tries to get his idol to fight one last glorious battle, for legend’s sake. Besides the self-reflexive premise, there is the fact that the latter is played by Henry Fonda (whose genre credits stretch as far back as the 1930s) and the former by Terence Hill (the main face of the then-latest trend of slapstick westerns). Suitably, Tonino Valerii’s direction (with second unit work by Sergio Leone) keeps oscillating between tense, deliberately paced classic set pieces and spirited detours into lowbrow comedy. The result is uneven, but often delightful.

sam peckinpah49. Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid (1973)

Sam Peckinpah’s magnificent ode to the erosive passage of time follows an ageing Pat Garrett, who gets hired to bring down his old pal Billy the Kid. Like in McCabe and Mrs. Miller, the leisured narrative is carried by mournful music, now courtesy of Bob Dylan (who also plays a peripheral role in the film).

chaplin50. The Gold Rush (1925)

Although it’s not an obvious western, The Gold Rush is set in late 19th-century America (in the Klondike Gold Rush) and it involves deadly fights, shooting, a wanted outlaw in the wilderness, and a sense of rudimentary civilization in the making, so it totally counts! Indeed, like many of the entries earlier in the list, this one is full of violence and cruelty and men backstabbing each other for gold… Yes, it’s also a hilarious slapstick comedy, but so many of the laughs derive from extreme deprivation (sickness, hunger, cold, madness, even cannibalism) that you can almost make a case for this Charlie Chaplin masterpiece as a forerunner for Corbucci’s and Tarantino’s later brands of bleak humor.

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