Powerful Panels: Cable #11 by Jamie McKelvie and Duane Swierczynski

Ariel Olivetti's art has been such an integral part of the success of the current Cable series that the abrupt and dramatic shift to that of Jamie McKelvie that happens on page 8 of the current issue at first seems like a profound mistake. That said, like a lot of things that at first glance have seemed ill-advised or even absurd in Swierczynski's paradoxically superb series, this shift reveals itself upon reflection to fit perfectly within the larger framework of the series.

McKelvie's art stands in stark contrast to Olivetti's. What makes it work is that it appears just at the moment when Cable and Hope timeslide to a future in which they are quite likely the only living things on the planet. If one could witness the appearance of these two travelers in such a landscape without negating the conceit, the experience of such would likely be as jarring as the transition from Olivetti's hyper-realistic artificiality to McKelvie's cartoonish artificiality.

This particular panel is so critical because it underlines the many and varied sub-textual strands Swierczynski has gradually been introducing into the series. Sure, this issue is about Cable and Hope timesliding into the future to avoid the catastrophic fallout of the bioweapon employed to defeat the cockroach armies and about the difficulties presented by Cable's inability to move anywhere in time except forward. But it is also about the secondary responsibilities of Cable's role as protector of the mutant messiah--namely those associated with fatherhood. It is interesting to note in this regard that for the first time in the series, we see Cable embodying the role of father-who-plays-games with his daughter in the McKelvie illustrated pages.


There are two main threads that are developed in the panels leading up to our focus here. In the first place, we have Cable enacting the role of self-denying father--assuring that his "child" is fed, even if it means going without himself. The word Hope uses to call him on this tactic--"Baloney"--sets up the other major thematic thread, namely the issue of a father's role as preserver of innocence. As Cable asks Hope where she learned that word, we are party to Hope's thoughts in which she reflects that she had ample opportunity to learn new words and concepts from Cable's military counterparts. As we come to the final panel on the page, Hope's thoughts tell us that the things she learned from Zyker and the other soldiers include those that Cable may not yet be ready for her to know.


The composition of this panel and specifically the respective aspects of and relations between the two figures speak volumes for what is going on under the surface of this issue. As Hope's thoughts inform us that Zyker and his comrades presumably taught her words of a sexual nature, her pose suggests that what she learned may have exceeded the bounds of vocabulary. The look on her face as she brings her hand to her opened mouth is one of resigned distaste. The sexualization of this gesture of eating is relatively overt and her aspect at once indicates that this process of sexualization is something with which she is as yet uncomfortable, but which she realizes is inevitable and that her discomfort will gradually diminish; in other words, she is resigned.

Cable's posture and positioning in this panel encapsulates the forest-for-the-trees shortcoming of all over-protective parents. Cable is so focused on the horizon, looking for external threats, that he cannot see those threats that are right in front of him. This sequence presciently foreshadows the crisis at the end of the issue, in which Cable, weakened by lack of food and water, collapses after timesliding once again, leaving Hope utterly vulnerable to whatever she might encounter in this unknown future.


The sexualization of the older, yet still pre-pubescent Hope is presaged by Olivetti's brilliant, but downright creepy cover. As if the comically oversized revolver she wields were not enough, Olivetti gilds that lily with the all too knowing look in her transfixing green eyes and the all too sensual leer of her criminally sensual mouth. What is really effective about all this, however, is that it keeps in the reader's mind all the little unanswered what-the-fucks that have been peppered throughout the series: Why do Little Girl and the older Hope look so similar? Was the older Hope Little Girl's mother and if so, is Cable her father? Are the two Hopes the same and if so, does this mean that Cable has already bedded Little Girl/Hope? I get the sense that none of these questions will ever be satisfactorily answered and this is yet another reason why this series has been so satisfying.

Madman Atomic Comics #11 (Second-Take)

Either Mike Allred is on the brink of gumming up one of the most satisfying, longest-running independent comics series in recent memory or he is just a bit cleverer than many of his readers give him credit for being. On the surface, the biggest "story" in issue 11 of Madman Atomic Comics appears to be the impending separation of Frank's erstwhile portmanteau wife. Or, wait . . . maybe it is the now completely unvarnished insertion of Mormon cosmo-theology into the Madman universe. Or perhaps it is neither of these things and instead relates to the revelations of Franks true, true identity.

Though it is ultimately of lesser importance to the direction in which the series is going, the wholesale infusion of Mormon theology into the Madman series is nevertheless significant and deserves attention. The fact of the inclusion of such intimate details of Mormon cosmology seems more a reflection of how neatly these fit into the structure of the science fiction and fantasy genres (see also the novels of Orson Scott Card), rather than any sort of attempt to turn Madman into a vehicle for the propagation of Allred's own religious beliefs. Having said that, the sequence in which Madman is knocking on doors in an attempt to get a telephone call through to Dr. Flem's lab is an obvious allusion to the response thousands of Mormon missionaries receive as they canvass neighborhoods seeking converts.


Brandon is definitely on to something when he suggests that Allred treats the issue of the impending separation of Luna Joe as something of an afterthought, which leads one to ask what is really going on with this issue--or the whole series for that matter. One possibility comes from the revelation of Frank's pre-mortal identity: Prometheus. Of course Mary Shelley's novel Frankenstein is sub-titled The Modern Prometheus; and this, for the first time, identifies Madman with the title character of Shelley's novel, rather than his creation.

This seems like an academic detail, but if one pays attention to the last several issues in this series, Frank is continually going on about making things go back to how they were. Does this simply mean that he wants Joe and Luna to be individuals again? Or that Allred wishes to return the comic to its roots as a forum for "strange adventures that are wrapped around the very affecting relationship between Frank and Joe and Frank’s personal journey away from innocence?"

The problem of course is that you can't go back to the way things were and any attempt to do so would seem the height of hubris. Perhaps in this sense Frank is being compared to Shelley's Dr. Frankenstein, who, with the arrogance of his genius tried to give the world the ultimate gift in the form of creating life, only to spend the rest of his life trying to undo what he had done, to his ultimate destruction.

Of course the more obvious comparison would be to Frankenstein's creation, and this not only because Frank was brought back from death. The creature, having been created by Dr. Frankenstein only to be rejected as a monster, spends the course of the novel looking for acceptance--in effect, seeking a replacement for the 'father' who scorned him. This sort of mythical search for a father is one of Frank's obsessions and variously takes the form of his questions about his past as Zane Townsend, his still unresolved issues concerning the loss of Professor Boiffard, and his strained relations with Dr. Flem.


One could also interpret this pregnant choice of names in terms of the Promethean myth itself. Prometheus stole fire from the gods to benefit mankind and was made to suffer eternal torment for his efforts. Frank has touched the hand of God and has the ability to see and know things that the rest of his associates cannot. This knowledge gives Frank insight and understanding, which ultimately allowed him to save the universe from destruction, but it is also a great burden.

There is clearly some rich, if somewhat obvious symbolism to the choices Allred is making in this issue and the series as a whole. The question becomes, then, does this make for a good comic, particularly in light of Madman's history? Readers who judge Madman Atomic Comics solely through the lens of what has come before are likely to come away disappointed. This is understandable, but equally understandable is Allred's insistence on his prerogative in taking his character where he wants to take him and using him to ask the questions that he wants asked.

Despite the somewhat ambiguous response this issue seems to be getting in this forum, there is still a lot to be celebrated about the book. In his weekly haul notice, Sammy mentioned the "dirty, blurred-crayon style drawings" of many of the backgrounds. There is some of this in the series' earlier issues, but it has never been as overt as this and it somehow strikes the reader as a great way to frame in illustrative terms Frank's visit to his childhood haunt. Similarly, the choice of presenting Frank's pre-mortal pal in the guise of Bowie's Aladdin Sane persona, as with substituting Audrey Hepburn's likeness for Haley Fou Fou, allows Allred to maintain something of Madman's fun, pop-cultural legacy in what is ultimately a more serious comic.

Madman Atomic Comics #11

At around the same time as the much-hyped Spiderman “Brand New Day” story arc, over at IMAGE, Mike Allred was busy working on an equally radical comics “event” in Madman Atomic Comics.

The two arcs are an interesting contrast with one another. One is the brave, artistic way to radically change your series and the other, the kinda cheap, hedging-your-bets, maybe briefly pique your monthly sales way to change your series.

Additionally, the “Brand New Day” story arc is way more bizarre and outlandish, involving memory erasure and Devil-dealing and other junk. All Mike Allred did was kinda kill of a major character in an uncheap way.

Joe’s death—and subsequent Joe/Luna Girl merger--was just sort of dropped on readers at the end of issue 7. It was perfect that #8 was word-less, as long-time readers of the series were as blown away and speechless as Frank Einstein himself. “Brand New Day” was announced, harped-over, and justified; Joe’s death was palpable.

In many ways, reader reaction to both continuity shifts was similar though. Readers of both comics were pissed, but Spiderman readers were upset because it was bullshit, Madman readers were upset because something crazy and a little too real had entered their comic book world.

Since then, we’ve had three issues of Madman Atomic Comics, which while successful and highly affecting, have also taken a little bit of a cheap, Marvel-like turn between teasing readers with how this “death”/merger is going to play-out.

This is especially true in the latest issue, which takes a vague, piecemeal approach to dropping information on both Frank’s past and leaves us on a cliffhanger about the de-merging of Joe and Luna. Undoubtedly, Allred’s got something real big in store but it’s getting tedious waiting for it to happen.

It’s also just not really the main pull or appeal of the comic anyway and it seems like maybe Allred doesn’t realize that. The pull of the comic is the strange adventures that are wrapped around the very affecting relationship between Frank and Joe and Frank’s personal journey away from innocence. Sure, all that’s directly connected to who and what Frank was in his former life, but it’s really not why Madman’s interesting.

There’s still plenty to enjoy and what looks like a half-assed, in-betweener issue upon first read, does reward more thoughtful readings. And I think thoughtful re-readings are what Allred’s looks for at this point anyway and I guess that’s cool.

I prefer comics to just be sort of viscerally awesome and affecting, but there’s some of that too. As Frank’s entering the home and the God-like voice begins speaking, we’re met with Frank questioning his like, core sanity for maybe the first time since those first three eyeball-eating TUNDRA issues.


A few pages later, as the Mormon Religio-Cosmology stuff gets really heavy, Frank quips, “Call me a cab. I need to get to the funny farm as soon as possible.” It’s interesting because even as Allred’s sort of tossing out this heavy religious stuff and it seems advocating and asserting its importance to Madman, he’s not afraid to joke about it and in a way acknowledge the reader’s thinking of “What the hell is going on here?”

Framing Frank’s journey as a visit to his boyhood home, each frame moving us deeper and deeper into the home, and having it all build to a meeting with a God that just happens to look a lot like David Bowie’s Aladdin Sane character is a brilliant, weird culmination of the issue and Allred’s long-standing merge of--to quote Sammy-- “existential insanity” and goofy fun pop-culture and comic book stuff.

And so, it’s almost an afterthought when he races back to Dr. Flem’s to witness the apparent de-merging of Joe and Luna Girl because none of that stuff needed to happen or really seems all that important to the issue or the series.