Monsters

Who am I to complain about a pulpy comic? The characters are all dialled up stereotypes, the conniving Nazi, the blowhard general, the abusive father, the do-gooder officer in love with the ever optimistic and beautiful wife (with hair that is always perfectly blown out). There's even your requisite magic Negro and the abused, man-child monster. You can take this tack but it argues for a lean and propulsive narrative to go along with it. Instead Monsters is a 360 page brick that lumbered along with a lot of overwrought hand-wringing, rendered in beautiful detail I'll admit, but an otherwise indulgent and plodding slog that barely manages to limp across the finish line.

Barry Windsor-Smith is an old-school legend with a unique and immediately recognizable rendering style that is part Neal Adams meets Bernie Wrightson, but as a writer he's stuck well in the past. It's a try hard comic with aspirations of importance that sadly falls short of the mark.

Heartbreakingly, achingly great.