Captain America: Sam Wilson, v. 1: Not My Captain America

Collects: Captain America: Sam Wilson #1-6 (2015-6)

Released: April 2016 (Marvel)

Format: 136 pages / color / $17.99 / ISBN: 9780785196402

What is this?: Sam Wilson lets it be known he has political feelings, then takes on the Serpent Society — I mean, Serpent Solutions.

The culprits: Writer Nick Spencer, artists Daniel Acuna and Paul Renaud, and penciler Joe Bennett

First things first: if you are offended, as some reviewers on Amazon are, by politics in your Captain America comics, you should not be reading Captain America: Sam Wilson, v. 1: Not My Captain America. Sam Wilson was a social worker while he was Falcon, and he has had a vastly different upbringing from Steve Rogers. To not have Sam be more political than Steve would be a poor reading of the character, and writer Nick Spencer is completely right to have Sam take a stand on issues such as immigration.

The funny thing is that other than supporting the human rights of illegal immigrants, Sam doesn’t make any controversial pronouncements. We’re just told people are mad that he has. Spencer fills the book with anti-Wall Street sentiment, but honestly, I’m not sure many people get mad at the idea that investment bankers and stock traders are out of touch with the rest of society, often make amoral decisions more concerned with gaining money than acting ethically toward lower economic classes, and are often out of reach of the law. I think people don’t like being told that by people who have “agendas,” though, and comic-book writers who are too transparent are probably seen as people with agendas.

And let’s face it: in accordance with Marvel’s “More than One of Everything” policy, you don’t even have to read this book if you want to read a Captain America title. Just read the other one, and you’ll be fine. Now, as for whether you should read Not My Captain America …

Sam Wilson is a likeable hero, not quite at ease with his new role, and Spencer mixes Sam’s doubts with his determination. Sam is someone I want to read about, someone whose elevation to perhaps the premiere Marvel hero identity seems earned without the character being conceited about it. Spencer gives Sam a sidekick, who, despite his silly origin, seems to be the kind of sidekick Sam should have: someone with ties to Sam’s legacy and who comes from a disadvantaged and non-privileged background.

A likeable hero and the promise of a good sidekick is an excellent start, but the other choices Spencer makes are less promising. The series begins with Sam sitting between two bros from New Jersey on a commercial airline, recapping and reminiscing about what has happened in the eight-month gap following Secret Wars. OK, fine — being in public gives readers a chance to see how normal people react to Sam. But it still involves Sam spending two issues spending non-flashback time between two bros, and I think Spencer could have chosen a better venue to show the public’s opinion of Sam.

The two issues of flashback prevents the book from gaining any momentum. The first issue has non-talky bits, like Sam and his team wrapping up a Hydra cell, but it isn’t satisfying. It’s a taste of action — inconsequential, not even complete enough to intrigue. Interspersing the story with things I don’t care about, like a detailed account of Sam’s falling out with SHIELD, waters the story down; if you can’t tell an interesting story about the conflict, mention it briefly and add more depth to Sam’s battle vs. Armadillo. (How Sam handles himself against a real heavyweight brawler should be important, given that unlike Steve, Sam’s best physical attribute is agility, not strength.) If I had been buying single issues, I would have abandoned the series after one issue. It’s not until Not My Captain America’s overarching storyline begins, five pages into #2, that the book starts to capture my interest.

Sam is working with Misty Knight, a private detective who used to date Iron Fist. As far as I can tell, Misty has never associated with Captain America or Sam Wilson in the past; she has usually worked with her long-time partner Colleen Wing or some iteration of Heroes for Hire. Why is she working with Sam Wilson now? It isn’t really answered; given that we learn a great deal of stuff that isn’t all that important, why couldn’t Spencer have mentioned Misty’s motivation? Despite how great Misty is, I get the feeling she was chosen as a race-appropriate romantic interest.

Spencer also brings back two characters from Ed Brubaker‘s last run: D-Man and Diamondback. D-Man, who is generally portrayed as a goofy but usually competent hero, was killed by Brubaker in a gritty story that was uniquely unsuited for D-Man. I’m glad he’s been brought back to serve as part of Sam’s support staff, a role he fits admirably. Diamondback, an ex-member of the Serpent Society who became Steve Rogers’s girlfriend and a hero, has fallen on hard times after her fiancé died of cancer, forcing her to become a stripper to make ends meet. But she was a SHIELD agent during Brubaker’s run. Couldn’t she have fallen back on that … ?

Oh.

Oh …

This is something that got wiped out in the reordering of universes after Secret Wars, right? I … I need a moment. To think about … about the fragile nature of continuity, even in Marvel. Just … just give me a moment.



Well, I still think “stripper” is a bit too obvious of a profession for the founder of a mercenary group called “Bad Girls.”

The villains in Not My Captain America are quite a bit better. Spencer’s decision to transform the Serpent Society into Serpent Solutions seems exciting; rather than a brawling collection of snake-themed villains (which I like), he’s turned them into a group that leases evil intellectual property to unscrupulous businessmen. Unfortunately, the idea has several holes in it, the largest of which is that most of the seventeen or so members don’t do anything other than participate in the final battle with Sam and his allies. Instead, Serpent Solutions is reduced to Viper spouting One Percenter catchphrases to executive boards of amoral corporations. Spencer gives no indication that any Serpents have created the IP Viper is peddling.

Instead, some of that IP is being produced by mad scientist Karl Malus, an old Captain America foe who recently was been eaten and crapped out by Carnage; because of that, Malus has his own symbiote. This should make him terrifying, but instead, Spencer decides to defuse the tension by having Malus turn Sam into Cap Wolf. (Steve Rogers was turned into a wolf in one of the silliest storylines of Captain America, v. 1.) It’s a dumb joke, although given that Redwing, Sam’s falcon, has a sonic weapon, I’m not sure how much of a threat Karnage Malus should present.

(I do admire that Serpent Solutions is very professional about how it handles Misty’s attempt to break into their office building: She has to sign in, and a group of thugs are sent to the first floor to meet her.)

The art is uniformly good, although having three different artists on the initial arc is never a positive sign. All three have similar restrained styles that work well together. Daniel Acuña draws #1-3, which means he’s saddled with a lot of boring flashback work; he does his best, but I’m not sure anyone could make it interesting. In #3, I wish he would have played up the visual elements of Malus’s symbiote more, since the writing fails to make Malus the creepy adversary he should be. Paul Renaud manages to make the Serpents impressive, and I enjoyed the incongruity of Viper playing golf (wearing his mask) with other executives. His Diamondback is a bit too cheesecake, but then again, she is supposed to be a stripper. Joe Bennett gets the big fight scene at the end, but even though it’s certainly competent, it doesn’t exactly answer the question of how Joaquin, a nascent superhero, can evade the Serpent Society. (Given his wings, you’d think the answer would be “flying out of reach.” You, like me, would be wrong.) It also doesn’t have the impact a storyline ending brawl between a bunch of snakes and heroes should have. Also: Whoever gave Misty that open-midriff costume — probably Acuña — has a lot to answer for.

Oh, and one last thing: If you are a publisher of superhero comics coming out of an event that frelling reorders reality, consider putting some frakking footnotes into the text so readers have an idea about what comes from previous issues (which readers can probably buy in book form!) and what the writer is creating at this moment. It seems only considerate (and an opportunity to huck your damn product).

Rating: (2.5 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)