The Helm, v. 1

Collects: The Helm #1-4 (2008)

Released: April 2009 (Dark Horse)

Format: 104 pages / color / $14.99 / ISBN: 9781595822611

What is this?: A young loser, going nowhere in life, finds an artifact that gives him magical powers … but the artifact isn’t very fond of him.

The culprits: Writer Jim Hardison and artist Bart Sears

I did not know The Helm existed until I spotted it on a library shelf. But I thought the concept — a loser is chosen to possess a magical, intelligent helm, which hates him — might be amusing, so I gave it a shot.

First off: do not be afraid of this book because it has art by Bart Sears. His work on The Helm is nothing like the freakish drawings he contributed to Captain America and the Falcon, v. 1: Two Americas. Whether Sears has improved or his inker (Randy Elliott) has exerted more influence, I do not know. But the art is much improved, and it communicates the major story beats. It gets across that the hero, Matt Blurdy, is a tubby klutz with a soul patch. The action scenes are simply choreographed — so simple there is actually no choreography — leaving little room for confusion.

So far, so good.

Writer Jim Hardison has the difficult task of showing Matt is a loser without making him so contemptible or pathetic the reader dislikes him. In #1, Hardison looks like he’s going too far; within the first two pages, Matt is reduced to a blubbering wreck by his girlfriend breaking up with him (and enumerating good reasons to do so as she does) and being fired from his job as a video-store clerk. He then encounters the Helm, stealing it from a garage sale and speeding away on his moped. After that, the Helm takes up the litany of Matt’s shortcomings.

Watching Matt, it’s hard to deny he’s a bit pathetic. It’s not his weight, lack of career, or fantasy / sci-fi hobbies that make him so pitiable. Rather, he is a loser, in a literal sense; until halfway through the book, we never see him succeed or take joy in anything but what he does with the Helm, and most of his adventures with the Helm turn out badly. It’s obviously not Matt who makes himself likeable; he’s slovenly, he lives in his mother’s basement, and his dialogue is alternately whining and grandiose. Footnotes in the sand: ⁶⁷ Oddly, the Helm’s haranguing makes Matt sympathetic. However out of shape and unprepared he is, the reader sees the Helm as being unreasonable about the situation. Matt may be fat and incompetent with a sword, but he’s obviously trying and strangely successful.

The Helm, although a bully, is the highlight of this book. His insults are frequently funny, even if it’s only because they contain outdated words (“ninnyhammer,” “addlepate,” “slubberdegullion”). The helm crowned a long line of heroic champions and has been out of circulation for a while, so it is out of date with modern mores and culture. Hardison exploits this, having the Helm warn a scream queen about the villain during a horror movie, ask why the castaways didn’t kill Gilligan (“I would kill Gilligan”), and calling Matt’s ex, Jill, all sorts of outdated names for a woman who engages in extra-marital sex (causing Matt to defend her by saying, “Jill’s not actually that big a strumpet”). The humor is the best part of the book, and the limited series’ four-issue run means it doesn’t get stretched too thin.

The same goes for the plot, fortunately. It’s a by-the-numbers evil-is-rising, must-prepare story, and four issues is all it could support. Some details distinguish The Helm from similar plots, but the story contains nothing too surprising. Halfway through, readers will probably be able to guess how the story will end.

Jill is a bit of a problem for readers. As female leads often are, she is a status symbol rather than a character, a goal rather than someone who makes her own choices. Jill had good reasons for dropping Matt, but after he starts jogging and trying to eat better, she is all over him again. Of course when he becomes secretly cool, she totally wants to sex him. That’s just how stories like these work. The story suggests that it’s not only Matt’s self-improvement but also his new assertiveness that reawakens her attraction, but that assertiveness is mainly expressed through insulting miscommunication: he’s backtalking the Helm, and she thinks he’s telling her to shut up, stop, or go away. Jill’s attraction to Matt’s verbal abuse and aloofness is troubling. She could do so much better than Matt, even after he becomes a mystic warrior. I don’t want to overanalyze something ingrained into popular culture and used in a book that doesn’t take itself seriously, but Jill’s decisions upset some readers.

Still, The Helm was surprisingly amusing. I don’t think it could support a sequel, but by itself, it was enjoyable.

Rating: (3.5 of 5)

Captain America and the Falcon, v. 1: Two Americas

Collects: Captain America and the Falcon #1-4 (2004)

Released: August 2004 (Marvel)

Format: 144 pages / color / $9.99 / ISBN: 9780785114246

What is this?: Captain America hunts the Falcon, who has busted a prisoner out of Guantanamo.

The culprits: Writer Christopher Priest and artist Bart Sears

I don’t usually talk much about the art in a book. I’m more focused on the writing, the story, and my education didn’t afford me the knowledge necessary to get into deep detail about the craft a penciler employs.

On the other hand, there comes a point when the flaws of an artist are so extensive, if you don’t talk about the art, you’ll look like a fool. Rob Liefeld’s output is like that. So is the art in Captain America & the Falcon, v. 1: Two Americas.

Bart Sears supplies the “art.” He’s listed as a “storyteller” and is one of two inkers (I’m not going to name the other because I have nothing against him). Sears’s vision for Captain America and the Falcon is hyperthyroidal men who have been doused in steroids and inflated with bicycle pumps until their skin is about to burst. It is very nearly Liefeldian in its composition. You can argue there’s a place for that in comics art, sure; the Hulk and other ludicrously strong characters could be portrayed that way with no problem.

But this is Captain America, who is human, albeit the best of human physical fitness: strong but agile. Sears interprets this as meaning even his chin has muscles. At times, Captain America doesn’t have a neck so much as his shoulder muscles merge into his skull. Captain America is so muscular even his cheeks are cut. Even worse is the Falcon, who, despite being a fine superhero, has never been overly bulked up; yet he is almost as large as Captain America. The bicycle pumps were used on the women as well; Scarlet Witch has breasts as large as her head (literally). Other women have smaller breasts that are only the size of their faces, although they get waists the same size as one breast, so they’re smaller all over.

Sears compounds the problem by doodling in the margins, drawing large-scale versions of the characters as page borders. So not only does everyone look larger than they should, there are even larger versions of the characters looming in the margins like Godzilla over Kansas. At times I felt like shouting, “Watch out for that giant crotch, Captain!” But there’s no way he can avoid this, surely; between pages, he and his absurd pecs and biceps have to collide with the private parts of some giant monstrosity, whether it’s male or female.

These muscular monsters and top-heavy women leave the art looking as subtle as a bread truck through a plate-glass window. This is bad news for the story, as writer Christopher Priest has written a story that, while perhaps not as convoluted as some of his other works, has some depth and subtlety to it. You are supposed to realize early in the story, for instance, that something is wrong with Captain America; Sears makes this somewhere between impossible and nigh impossible to work out. And even if the subtleties are in there somewhere, the art’s just too distracting — the only way it could be more distracting is if Sears used the “plaid” tool in Photoshop.

I feel sorry for Priest. I don’t think this is his best work, although it’s not bad by any stretch. But still, I can’t be sure. I almost can’t hear his voice with Sears’s art shouting at me, which, given the distinctiveness of Priest’s writing, is quite an accomplishment. There are some good ideas in the plot, I think, but “evil / misguided / conscienceless counterpart of Captain America” doesn’t thrill me as an adversary. Also, by the end, I was so eager to be done with the story I didn’t pay much attention to Priest’s revelation about the McGuffin, a missing virus. Looking through again, I can’t see where its true nature is revealed. I don’t really care, which is a bad sign. Still, it’s impossible for me to say whether I disliked the writing or the art prejudiced me against the story.

It really doesn’t matter. The story would have to have been outstanding before I’d recommend anyone read this thing. But I can’t, in good conscience, suggest anyone subject their eyes to Sears’s art, especially with life being so short and all. Besides, there are some things you can’t unsee, and this definitely qualifies.

I guess what I’m trying to say is the art isn’t very good.

Rating: (0.5 of 5)