As the North American comics mainstream has moved towards TV-inspired, ‘police procedural’-style realism under the guidance of such writers as Brian Bendis and Ed Brubaker at Marvel and Greg Rucka and Geoff Johns at DC, it seems as though many alternative cartoonists have looked to the mainstream’s more expressive past for inspiration. It’s no coincidence that the rise of the New Action cartoonists has coincided with the recent release of a series of beautifully designed books from Fantagraphics reprinting superhero comics from the ‘30s and ‘40s.
from Fletcher Hanks' I Shall Destroy All The Civilised Planets
The most notable of these is the two-volume complete works of Fletcher Hanks, whose grotesque, bizarre and violent superhero comics seem wildly inventive by the standards of today’s anaemic mainstream. Similarly, recent hardcover collections of Jack Kirby’s superhero and science fiction comics of the ‘60s and ‘70s have made his groundbreaking work more accessible than ever. Kirby’s explosive, kinetic style and the sense of power and energy it conveys have had an almost universal impact on the New Action cartoonists, providing an irresistibly gleeful alternative to the drab realism of contemporary mainstream comics art and encouraging a renaissance in the kind of inventiveness and playful surrealism that characterised early North American genre comics.
This emphasis on invention and play doesn’t only originate in comics though; the New Action cartoonists are equally inspired by the creative energy and violent excess of video games. This can be seen most clearly in their approach to character design, which often makes use of the expanse of visual shorthand and symbolism found in video games to immediately separate hero from villain and weak from strong. By rearranging these conventions in new and bizarre ways, whether it be in Kevin Huizenga’s constantly evolving, abstract combatants or CF’s sexually charged monster/wizard/scientist hybrids, the New Action cartoonists are able to draw attention to the grotesque physicality of their characters, with blood, gore, piss and shit, among other bodily fluids, comprising the visual currency of many of their comics.
from Kevin Huizenga's Ganges 2
Similarly, the geography and terrain of many New Action comics is inspired by the way characters move through space in a video game. In a New Action comic each chapter is a new level, platforms dominate the landscape, a hero’s home is his save point and the reader is lost without an easily accessible map. This obsession with action packed geography does more than simply define the look of New Action worlds though. It also allows for, and encourages, incredibly dynamic page layout and composition. As Sean T. Collins put it during his panel at SPX:
I remember the first time I saw The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. There was this shot when they're running down the big bridge underground: Legolas shoots an arrow, and the camera follows the arrow until it hits the orc, who then dies. When that happens, the angle switches, and you see that just by following the arrow, you've visually described this whole space and opened this whole vista up. I think that's one of the things that action can do really well, and is perhaps underappreciated when people focus on the genre aspect or the narrative aspect. It's a way to get you around the page that's different from more straightforward comics.
In a format such as comics, where the arrangement of space on a page plays such an integral role in controlling pace and narrative, the conventions of both video games and action movies, are an incredibly useful tool.
Which brings us to Prison Pit.
The latest graphic novel from Angry Youth Comix creator Johnny Ryan, Prison Pit takes the vibrancy, momentum and physicality of the New Action school, and combines it with Ryan’s obsession with bodily functions and the violence and grotesqueness of life, to create a comic that is part 120 page fight sequence, part dick joke compilation.
The book begins as it means to go on: a vast spaceship’s long elevator shaft slowly, silently and none-too-subtly probes a hole in the surface of a rocky planet, until up pops the blocky, declarative title ‘CHAPTER ONE: FUCKED’. A moment later, after a short scuffle with his guards, our blood-drenched barbarian antihero is propelled down the tube to the planet’s surface, punching and kicking all the way: the planet has been fertilised with action.
From this point on, the comic takes action as its modus operandi, both in terms of narrative and the way that narrative is communicated, proceeding to chart the barbarian’s various, always violent, encounters with the prison pit’s other inmates as he explores (in notably video game-like style) his new home. What is remarkable, though, is the fundamental role the prisoners’ bodies play in their fights. One creature squeezes the acne on his chest to project a stream of razor-sharp goo capable of slicing off our hero’s arm, while another prepares for battle by jerking off to create a gigantic, mind-controlled suit of armour made entirely of ejaculate. These characters constantly spew or consume bodily fluids: they are drenched in black ink-scratches of blood, foam continually at the mouth, spit and piss on one another, and always eat the bodies of their vanquished foes. This is action as the base constituent of life.
This concept gets it’s apotheosis in Prison Pit’s finale. At his lowest ebb, missing an arm and covered in so much blood his features are almost indistinguishable, our hero finally finds a ‘slorge’. In the world of Prison Pit, the slorges are a species of small, human-faced slugs that lick the pus-like ooze from an alien cactus before excreting it as a drug called ‘fecid’ that supposedly “makes you feel like you’re the #1 fucking awesome maniac.” With our hero unconscious and certain to be killed at any moment, the slorge slithers over to him, inserts its rear end into the bloody stump of his left arm and shits fecid straight into his blood stream. As you can probably imagine, he immediately goes on to beat the living crap out of his opponent. What you might not imagine though, is that, having slumped down against a rock to rest, his newly attached slorge-arm slowly reaches down to his crotch, pulls his wrestler’s pants down and, as the final page’s panels slowly zoom out, begins to suck his massive, spiny barbarian dick. Far from coming as a shock though, this sequence makes for a perfect ending. After the constant abject, body-shock violence, the serene, self-satisfied final panels are both completely unexpected and absolutely appropriate. The barbarian has fertilised himself with action. This comic is an epileptic fit in a dildo factory and should be read by absolutely everybody.
Prison Pit is available now from Fantagraphics Books.