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I am about to leave for Assam tonight on a longish vacation. No work for quite a few days, whew. No internet access there, so probably will check my mail once every couple of days. I shudder to think of the art deals I will miss in that time, considering the kind of discounts that come up during the holiday season. But hey, I had already decided that the year’s last art purchase is done, so I should be ok. No, really.

It’s nearly been two years since I went home. Plans to go there early this year were scuttled because of the US trip. Am eager to see how Guwahati has changed from the time I went home last. A lot of Evil-Relative Visits are in the offing, and also a family wedding. *sigh* There go my plans of doing a Pinky Violence Movie Marathon during the period.

Which brings to mind the two-movie marathon nine of us did at the private theatre in Cinema Paradiso recently ( yes, technically two movies can hardly be called a marathon, but bear with me, huh? ), and watched The Triplets of Belleville – a French animation movie that SCREAMS to be watched. Please, please, if you have not seen The Triplets of Belleville yet, go and do so. Right frickin’ now. And followed it up with a Spanish movie called Di Que Si, which turned out to be a Hindi-movie-made-in-Spain. And of course, we came back home and had to follow up the evening’s proceedings with a Korean movie….

And that reminds me, how many of these do you have?

And I finished off the volumes of Torpedo I got from my friend in the USA. What a great comic! Luca Torelli, the eponymous torpedo ( slang for ‘hitman’ in the 1920s) in the series is a bastard of the first order. He’s a rare antiprotagonist – I don’t know if I have to root for Luca as he goes around dispatching his hits and his enemies, or if I ought to feel sympathetic towards him the numerous times he finds himself with the short end of the stick, or be repulsed by his misogynistic actions and outright unapologetic villainy. Sanchez Abuli writes these stories, each of them a couple of pages long, mostly unrelated other than the lead character and his sidekick, Rascal, as the two cut a swathe in the crime scene of New York in the roaring 20’s. There are occasional flashback stories, that illuminate Torpedo’s life and aspects of his character and his parentage – these lead to some moments of great emotional resonance. I read volumes 1,3,5,6 and 7 out of 15 published volumes, and they were consistently good. And the art…sigh.

So let’s talk about the artist, Jordi Bernet. He’s a Spanish artist, and a year ago, I hadn’t heard about him. And then, one day, I read a bunch of Torpedo scans and the art looked like someone had taken the meanness of a Joe Kubert figure and the dynamism of Alex Toth and the drop-dead gorgeousness of Dan DeCarlo. Which is another way of saying that his work was effing brilliant. His layouts blow out so-called giants of the American comicbook industry out of the water. You can see his influence in Risso’s work, the same way you can see the origins of his style in Kubert. His loose, fluid inking suits the gritty nature of the series perfectly. Alex Toth drew the first two stories, and dare I say it, Bernet’s art elevates the series to a new dimension altogether. By the fifth volume, we start getting the stories in colour – none of that murky American computer colouring shite, this is beautifully done. ( Though I will be damned if I knew who the colorist was – Bernet himself? ) And that brings me to another observation – most artists who look really good in black and white have some portion of their work downgraded by color – can you, for instance, think of From Hell in color? Jay Anacleto also comes to mind here, one of the most promising new masters of black and white I’ve seen in recent times, whose work positively glows in black and white but loses some of its sheen in color. Not so with Bernet – he recently did a series of chapters in the ongoing Jonah Hex series, and the art looks fresh and striking in full color.

some images, NSFW

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I read Crooked Little Vein on Friday. It’s a short, nasty quest novel, filled with twenty-first century urban legends ( Warren Ellis claims most of what he wrote is based on things that really happened ) and a menagerie of over-the-top Ellis-ian characters. To an extent, (ok, putting on the critic hat here ), Ellis’s characters here are stock reproductions of his template cast – the hard-talking evil-hearted bossman character ( Think Dirk Anger, Spider J, Henry Bendix), the tough-as-nails, tech-friendly female lead ( Aleph, Channon/Yelena), the cokehead Presidential wannabe, the down-on-his-luck protagonist, right down to the resilient rat in Mike McGill’s office, the one that begins the proceedings by peeing in his coffee – it’s familiar territory for Ellis readers. But the good thing here is, the man does his job well ( as if there was a doubt ). The throwaway nuggets of information Ellis scatters in his narrative leave you gasping with laughter – provided you laugh at things like tantric sex with ostriches and godzilla bukkake and saline injections in one’s private parts. It interrupts the narrative only once, I thought, at the point where Michael meets another detective on a flight, who thinks it fit to describe his career experiences in vivid detail to our protagonist. Or maybe I just could not figure out what it is that Ellis was trying to do here – mock the Hammett/Chandler genre, or update it for the new century?

But hey, deep down, Crooked Little Vein is actually a mushy love story, so there.

I also reread the first volume of Powers yesterday. The deal with my copies of Powers is this – I bought ( at an insanely low price ) issues 7-37 of volume one some years ago. Read the lot then, but had to read the first six issues off scans. Then I bought volume one again, because Brady was offering all of the 37 issues at 50 cents each. Who can refuse such temptation? So I read the lot again yesterday, and it was so much fun. Because it’s a creator-owned series, Bendis and Oeming are not bound by any conventions of the superhero/detective genre – and the tale goes places. Trust me on that. Especially the Forever arc, which is an origin story of the superheroes in the series, which completely took me by surprise. Can’t wait to read vol 2, which I have not read before.

I installed an old favourite, Unreal Tournament on my machine. My ex-flatmate had downloaded quite a few maps and mods ( quite a few? More like ALL the mods available at that time on the internet) and it’s kind of a zone thing – firing up a practice session on Unreal tournament, with the bot-level set at ‘masterful’ ( associated skill level comment: “I hope you like to respawn.” ) Unreal Tournament used to be my favourite mode of release, right from the days I played it in demo mode in a window, because my celeron 333 MHz 32 MB machine just couldn’t run it. There were only two arenas available in the demo, and I loved playing them all day. The background music was kick-ass, the bots splattered with pretty realistic screams, and most importantly, the flak cannon was among the most satisfying weapons I’ve ever used in a deathmatch, producing the kind of squelshy virtual gore that’s made up for years of therapy.

I am in the middle of watching Ratatouille. Watching it in controlled doses, every day at dinner. I had completely lost it with Pixar after cars, but Brad Bird is someone I will never doubt again, I swear. What a beautiful movie! I missed out on seeing it in the theater because a bomb exploded in Hyderabad the day I had booked tickets and grrrrrrrgh, we didn’t go.

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File as “Cool Things I’ll Never Own”

Sotheby’s is putting a copy of the Magna Carta on auction. Estimated value: $20 million-$30 million.

I just saw a 1907 Winsor McCay Little Nemo in Slumberland page for sale. The asking price is 9500$, and it’s a LOT lower than estimated market price of a Little Nemo original because the bottom panel is missing. You know, I am almost tempted to go ahead and get a bank loan to fund it, but unfortunately, logic – not hard, cold logic but the kind of half-assed mental construct that restrains me from collapsing as a gibbering heap of art-deprived slush everytime I see a seller update – prevents me from doing so. The Logic here at work is – if I go ahead and buy a Winsor McCay at this point in my life, there will be nothing to look forward in my middle age. It’s a clever ruse, the cold logic part of my mind realises, because in all probability the majority of my earnings in my middle age will go towards funding my kids’ Reebok shoes and iPod Picos ( Operated-By-Thought-models) and their education. But one must know one’s place, and it is, simply put, a belief on my part – I will own Harold Foster Prince Valiant Sunday page, an Alex Raymond Flash Gordon Sunday, a Herriman Krazy Kat strip, a Burne Hogarth Tarzan and an Eisner Spirit page, but their time is not now. Not just yet.

Glad I could get that off my chest. Phew.

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