Wasteland #4 (1988)

Wasteland #4 (March, 1988)
"Sonnet LXVI"
Writers - John Ostrander & Del Close
Art - George Freeman, William Messner-Loebs, & Donald Simpson
Letters - Ron Muns & William Messner-Loebs
Colors - Lovern Kindzierski
Edits - Mike Gold
Cover Price: $1.75

On the Eve of my FIFTEEN-HUNDREDTH DAILY DISCUSSION... we've got a Wasteland compilation piece...

Now, reading Wasteland is kinda like playing a slot machine.  Sometimes, we get three cherries... sometimes, just one... or heaven help us, none!  Today, using slot-machine-imagery (and a panel from this very issue), I'd say today we're in for:

Sound like fun?  Of course it doesn't... please don't leave though!  I promise, that second story is pretty darn good!

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We open with a writer... I'm assuming he's a writer, tik'ing away on his typewriter.  He's a slovenly fellow, even has a tipped over and spilled bottle of booze to his left.  Yeesh, I swear I can smell him from here.  Anyhoo, we pan around his work space to see a bunch of rejections tacked to the wall.  We also see a signed photo of a woman who promises to love him forever.

He gets up from his little desk and draws open the blinds of his window.  He sees a billboard for perfume... which, I dunno... maybe that represents the evils of consumerism or capitalism or the "trappings of wealth" or something?  In a comic book that costs a dollar more than most everything else on the rack in 1988?  Sure, why not?

Back inside, he sees some bad news on the front page of the sports section.  Evidently an NBA All-Star is also a drug-dealer, or some such.  He flips on the TV, and sees some more bad news... this time, about Ronald Reagan taking a vacation.  It's funny how Presidential vacations are always a huge deal when the party you don't like is in power, innit?  I'm not much of a political animal, don't have much use for either American party, but double-standards really get under my skin.

The news report than shifts to its next story... books are being banned in high schools.

More news... and, more Reagan.  Mr. Ostrander, there's a Mr. Englehart waiting on line-one with a high-five for ya!

Our hero turns off the set, and heads into his bedroom.  There's a woman already asleep in the bed.  Going to assume it's the same one from the signed photo.  After sitting on the edge of the bed for awhile, our man pulls a gun from the nightstand drawer, and inserts it into his mouth.

He... doesn't pull the trigger, however.  Instead, he stands up... cocks it, and points it at the sleeping woman.  Annnnnd... that's it.

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This... suuuuuuuuucked.

I mean, I know what Ostrander was going for... and, if it was doing a parallel to Shakespeare's actual Sonnet LVII, I suppose he was successful.  There's always plenty of dishonesty in the world, priorities are often skewed toward procurement of material goods, politics will always be played, and situations where advancement of knowledge or betterment are stifled or devalued are commonplace.  Where this failed, however, was in a) being completely one-sided when drawing attention to the "evils" and corruption of the world, and making our "protagonist" such a friggin' loser.  Like, did "Billy"... I'm guessing his last name rhymes with Shakespeare, only realize that the world can be a lousy and unfair place on November 4, 1980?

Here's the Sonnet, by the way:

Sonnet LXVI

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

So... tired of the corruption of the world, our writer yearns for release.  Where the ending of the Sonnet sort of implies that the writer chooses not to kill himself, lest he leave his beloved alone... here, it looks as though "Billy" is planning on taking her with him.  Saving her from this awful, dishonest orb and existence.

Again... I get what we're going for here... I just thought it was a little too pointed in one direction and way too heavy-handed.  A real "try-hard" outing... which, I'm not accustomed to from an Ostrander-solo strip.  Heck, maybe I'm just missing the point.  Perhaps someone more politically minded would get something more (or less) out of this one.

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Our story opens in an airport terminal.  A woman, our protagonist, is bound and gagged... with a gun to her head.  The place has been taken over by terrorists who swear they'll slaughter all of the "political prisoners" of Flight KL753.  Before this "Comrade-in-Arms" is able to squeeze the trigger, however, the authorities burst in and shoot 'em all down.  Our girl, Mary Elizabeth is un-blindfolded, only to discover that she was the only survivor.  All of the other passengers have been killed.

We next go inside Mary Elizabeth's psyche... she is laying in the fetal position, while voices assure her that she's safe... and attempt to prompt her to return to reality.  She ain't feelin' it.

Next, still inside Mary Elizabeth, our girl is running down a crooked and crazy hallway... as though she's being pursued with urgency.  Behind one of the doors... are demons!  Worth noting the demons beating on the door make a "Doom, Doom, Doom" sound... so, they may very well be related to Doomsday... or Calypso from that old Todd McFarlane Spider-Man story.

From here, we join Mary Elizabeth in a Psychologist's office (or, maybe he's a Psychiatrist... I didn't see his degree).  He's doing most of the talking... which, isn't the way I learned to counsel... but, whattayagonnado?  He, naturally, suggests that all of her issues stem from sexual problems.  Again, not exactly outta the ol' Psyche texts... but, that's all most people think Psychologists say.  Mary Elizabeth opens her maw, and... uh, a great big tentacle-tongue emerges from her gob.  The Doc opens his, as though to, uh... "receive" it?  This is actually quite foul.

Now, we're back inside Mary Elizabeth... and we get the exact same page as the earlier "fetal position" scene.

In the "real world" (I think), Mary Elizabeth leaves Munoz Hall... going to assume we're on (or near) a college campus?  So, this likely a flashback.

It's late in the evening, and Mary Elizabeth heads toward her car.  She begins to panic... feeling as though she's being chased.  She runs toward the safety of her car... only to be caught by those same Demons.

Our story wraps up back... inside Mary Elizabeth.  Those same voices attempt to, again, assure her that she's safe... and prompt her to return.  Ol' M.E. has decided the only way to truly be "safe" is to remain catatonic.  And so, she never comes back.

--

I... hmm... both liked this a lot, and kinda hated it.  This is very interesting piece.

I think it's safe to say we've got ourselves a PTSD story here... and for the most part, I'd say it was very successful in depicting Mary Elizabeth's circumstances, plight, and struggle.  Giving her subconscious/psyche a visible and (arguably) physical form allowed us insight as to her emotional state.  In her own mind, she's in a defensive (fetal) position... and, we learn that it's the only place she truly feels safe.

The Demon symbolism is quite apt, and I appreciated the (I assume) flashbacks.  Mary Elizabeth survived a terrorist attack... in fact, she appeared to be the sole-survivor.  We also get the impression that this wasn't the first time she was a victim.  The hallway scene and the Munoz Hall scene imply that she had suffered at least twice before.

I don't fully understand the need for the "Shrink" scene.  I suppose it got us where we needed to be, if we use our imagination and make a few assumptions regarding the Munoz Hall flashback... but, still... it felt like one of those "weird for the sake of it" scenes.  The tentacle-tongue was borderline obscene, and feels like it was only included because they felt the story wasn't "weird enough" as-is.  It also gave the writers the opportunity to depict a Mental Health Pro as a sex-focused Freudian... so, there's that too.

If I make assumptions based on that scene and that exchange, it very much darkens up what just might've happened on Mary Elizabeth's walk to her car.  It might be safe to make that assumption, but, as always... we err on the side of caution.

The ending was pretty sobering.  Rather than rejoin the "real world", where poor Mary Elizabeth has been victimized time and again, she decides to remain in a catatonic state.  She has mentally "shut down" due to the trauma she's experienced... and from her internal dialogue, again, it's clear that this is a choice she is making.  Not to get too far into the weeds, catatonia was (at the time this story was written) sort of it's own thing... "catatonic depression".  Nowadays, it's seen as a sorta-kinda co-morbid ailment, that presents in addition to, among other things, post-traumatic stress disorder.

I think perhaps the most interesting bit of this was the implication that catatonia is a choice.  As mentioned above, it's really rather sobering a concept, isn't it?  For all we know, it might be true in some instances.  Even if we dismiss things like malingering, or faking... it's definitely some weird and wild "food for thought".  It's stories like this, that make you think... and make you want to comb through all the information you're provided, that make Wasteland a pretty special series.  More like this... less like Shakespeare.

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Court is in session... the honorable Ubu Wilkinson of the Ubansi Cultural Revival is presiding.  Today's case, well... I hope you're ready for this.  We got a fella who was interrupted while gazing into a piece of, uh, poop... who then got up and proceeded to beat the hell out of the woman who interrupted him.  Ya dig?  Cuz I sure don't.  The lawyer for the Plaintiff (who looks like he'd fit in with the Mutants in Dark Knight Returns) questions our Dookie enthusiast, and we learn that he's an "artist"... he, well... paints poop.  All sorts of colors, but usually brown... which, I dunno, seems redundant.  He claims to have beaten the woman up because she "invaded his privacy".

The lawyer suggests that reg'lar guys and gals don't actually have a Right to Privacy (after all, what do we got to hide?)... and the crowd (of reg'lar guys and gals) goes wild!  We turn things over to the lawyer for the defense... what appears to be a rather heavyset old woman, who is actually a fella named Alfred Lord Mason.  Not sure if that's a reference to anyone in particular... Perry Mason, perhaps?  I dunno.  I'm sure this is "biting" satire... which isn't usually the most "evergreen".

Ol' Fred stands up, and with a flourish begins pleading the case.  He suggests that we're living in a stratified democracy, wherein celebrities have certain rights and privileges that poor shlubs like us aren't privy to (well, can't exactly argue that)... and, that's because they're better than us, ya see?

Alfred then admits that his client, the Poop-Painter, Mr. Pinn... did beat, cripple, and humiliate the woman... and states that was never in question.  Where the problem lay, is, Mr. Pinn... as a celebrity... has every right to "damage" this young lady to the "extent of his pleasure".  Okay.

Alfred continues... claiming that Mr. Pinn is a "superstar".  The judge cliks and claks that he's never heard of him... to which, we learn that this very trial is what made him famous.  In fact, Roy-o-Mania is absolutely running wild!

Well, that's the sort of logic not even a Judge can argue with... and so, he abides that Roy Pinn, the Poop Painter be raised two whole status notches... to Superstar!  We learn that when one goes up... the other goes down, and so, the Plaintiff drops two whole status notches... to Bum!

When she objects... the Judge decides to lower her yet another status notch... to Pig!  And, those of us who've read (or heard of) Lord of the Flies, knows what happens to Pigs.

The story ends with Roy Pinn finding representation... and the promise of fame and fortune.  He's also advised not to kill anybody, because only Millionaires and Senators can get away with that.

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What was it I said about that Shakespeare story the other day?  Oh yeah, this suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked.

Satire is hard... first, it's timely, and so... doesn't usually have a long shelf-life.  Second, it's really easy for it to overstay its welcome.  This story could have more effectively been told as a four-panel strip.  Hell, all we actually needed was a single word balloon saying: "Celebrities, am I right?"...

Now that, is a tale as old as time.  Celebrities and societal "VIPs" are treated differently than we common rabble.  And yeah, that really sucks.  But, pointing that out in an overlong, and overblown "satirical" comic story... ehh, it just feels petulant (especially when one of our writers has a pretty lengthy IMDb page himself).  There's a reason why most political and satirical cartoonists work with nothing more than a single image and a caption.

Now, I was just a child back when this came out.  I would've been 8-years old... so, I'm not entirely sure what this might be referring to.  If I were to guess, I'd figure that "Roy Pinn" might be a stand-in for Sean Penn?  Didn't he beat up a photographer (and basically get away with it?) or something in the mid-late 80's?  Maybe there's some Ollie North mixed in here too?  A lot of the DC Bullpen seemed to have him in their cross hairs around this time.

Overall... I get the point, you get the point... I think we all got the point about a page and a half in... this was just too much.

Remember... tomorrow, we'll celebrate our FIFTEEN-HUNDREDTH Daily Discussion... which is sure to knock ya out!

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Wasteland #3 (1988)

Wasteland #3 (February, 1988)
"American Squalor"
"Dies Illa"
"Lotus Blossom"
Writers - John Ostrander & Del Close
Art - Don Simpson, David Lloyd, & George Freeman
Letters - Steve Craddock & Ron Muns
Colors - Lovern Kindzierski
Edits - Mike Gold
Cover Price: $1.75

Business really picked up with this issue!  Rather than relying on navel-gazing, attempts at "satire", and weird open-ended storytelling... Wasteland #3 (mostly) rocked my socks.  Feels like the Ostrander (and Ostrander-heavy) stories are shouldering the burden on dragging this series to an adequate level of quality!

Nothing against Del Close, but... his stories (at least so far) have been rather meandering, way too "ya had to be there"... and, as you'll see in a bit, don't so much have "endings"... but instead "stopping points".  Hopefully they'll get better as we go through!

Before hopping into the hyphens... our cover, which has zippo to do with anything inside the book, comes to us from William Messner-Loebs, and it's, ya know, not bad.

--

We open with our Harvey Pekar-alike, Henry Pequod fresh off an appearance on the David Lettermaning Show.  He tells the story of how he's had to leave work a bit early of late... because, for whatever reason, he's had this overwhelming feeling that his bed was on fire.  Okay then.  This one time, it's around 4:15, and he tells a friendly janitor, named Mr. Boot about his fears... to which, he is told that ever since he's been making these TV appearances, he's been acting way-out weird.

Anyhoo, Henry heads home to check on his bed... and, unsurprisingly (?), it's not on-fire.

The story continues... the next time he'd gotten this feeling, it came a little bit earlier in the day.  The clock reads 2:45  Once again, Henry runs into Mr. Boot... who tells him that he really likes his comic book "American Squalor", but feels as though every time he goes on TV, "David Lettering" makes him look like a trained monkey.  We're getting deep here, folks.

Henry, once again, heads home.  This time, he finds that his bed... well, it isn't exactly "on-fire", but damned if it isn't smoldering.

The next day, Henry tells Mr. Boot about his smoking bed... to which, the Janitor's all "what does that prove?"  All it proves is that he's paranoid.  At this point, the clock on the wall reads 12:10... and that feeling has hit our man again.  He heads home, and well hot-damn, the bed is blazin'!

Another day, another conversation with Mr. Boot.  Henry tells him that the bed was full-blown in-flames.  Boot asks what might be behind it.  Henry suggests spontaneous combustion.  Mr. Boot corrects him, claiming that it's Henry's own fears manifesting as the inferno.

He then asks what Henry's greatest fear is... to which, we learn it's making a fool out of himself on television.  Well, how 'bout dat?  Boot tells him that he'd already done that... and suggests that he figure out how to not be afraid anymore.

And so, Henry Pequod learned a valuable lesson about fear... and his burning bed.  He tells us (or Lettermaning) that he doesn't go home early anymore... and, in fact, many nights he doesn't go home at all.

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Last time we started a Wasteland, I mentioned the concept of the "No Occasion".  Those personal or secondhand stories and anecdotes you might think you have a reason to share, but at the end of the day, you really don't.  Because, with so many of them, it's a "you had to be there" situation, ya know what I mean?  I took "no occasion" from a line in the song, Tempted by Squeeze: "I said it's no occasion (it's no story I could tell)".

And yeah, this is another one of those.  Perhaps not as "inside baseball" as last issue's opener, since Harvey Pekar/Henry Pequod was a public figure, and many comics enthusiasts know of his life, times, and quirks... and yet, still kind of a disappointment.  I feel like we get a lot of build... and the dialogue's really on-point... but then, it just ends.  Actually, it doesn't even really "end"... it just stops.  That's the problem with anecdotes... very seldom do they have "endings" or resolutions.  They just kinda sputter out and stop.

Worth noting, the art here was pretty spot on for an American Splendor riff.  We're going to be seeing plenty of really strong work from Donald Simpson.  If you're familiar with his work, you know it's pretty great stuff.  If not, well, hopefully after our Wasteland journey, you will be.

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It's after-dark in the city... just before 8 PM.  A pair of officers prepare for all the "crazies" to come out... and, wouldn'tcha know it, they just happen to run into one of their regulars.  This is a (mostly harmless) pickpocket.  They do the thing, where they rattle his cage... only this time, dude's packin'!  He pulls a gun on the officers, and gets perforated pretty good.

Before the fella dies, he gurgles something or another about something of a second coming.  He claims that, after midnight, only the damned will remain on Earth... and so, he thanks the officers for "saving" him.  Ya dig?

Lieutenant (I hate spelling that word!) D'Amano turns to his partner, Stu and asks about all this rapture stuff.  Ya see, Stu's kind of religious... or at the very least, more so than D'Amano.  Stu tells him of the second coming... and how there are supposed to be "clear signs" of such a thing coming to pass.  Just then... he is struck by a massive coronary.  He is pronounced dead at 9:10 PM.

D'Amano is sent home by the doctors, and told to get himself some rest.  He declines a ride home, and proceeds to walk... through a rather seedy portion of the city.  He happens across a pair of muggers beating the hell out of a fella.  D'Amano doesn't even think about it... he just squeezes off a few rounds down the alley.

He stands over one of the muggers... and asks why they attacked (killed, actually) that man.  The mugger says he wanted the dude's hat... and so, D'Amano blows his brains out!

D'Amano's walk continues... and, it only gets more depraved from here.  We're about to crank up the "Mature Meter" here... so, here's your warning.

In the subway, he comes across a man forcing a woman at knife-point to, well, service him... orally.  She notices D'Amano and begs him to help her.  What he does is... blows her brains out.  Ya see, she's not one of the damned... she deserves to pass before the clock strikes midnight.

Moments later, the clock does strike midnight... and so, Lieutenant D'Amano throws himself in front of a car!

He wakes up hours later... surrounded by Doctors who tell him they saved him!  Here's the thing though... a) he has no arms or legs, and b) the Police Department wants to know all about that dead woman in the subway.  Welcome to Hell, pal! 

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Now this... this, is more like it!

This one kept me riveted throughout.... and actually didn't fumble the ball with its ending!  So many of these Wasteland Chapters have been "almost good", before getting tackled on the one yard-line.

Let's take a look at this.  We've got a pair of officers working the night shift... in a really unpleasant part of the city.  You gotta figure this is "old hat"... these two have done this every night for the past many nights.  So, what's so different about this night?

Well, besides the fact that one of 'em dies of a heart attack early in the evening... this night was jump-started via the "power of suggestion".  Lt. D'Amano is hyper-keen on all of the depravity around him.  But, why?  You gotta assume that this night, on the face of it, is no different from any other night on the beat.  There are always going to be bad people... ne'er do wells, creeps, killers, predators, perverts.  But tonight... with the slightest possibility of a "second coming" looming, D'Amano seems to be viewing the world through a different sort of prism.

He doesn't bother arresting anybody... he just kills 'em.  Is he just hopeless?  Or is he trying to make himself into a "good person" so he doesn't wind up "left behind" in the post-midnight Hell on Earth?  It's a pretty interesting dichotomy, innit?  His "mercy-killing" of the assaulted woman was particularly striking... I actually had to look it over twice to make sure I was seeing it right!  I really wasn't expecting that!

Poor D'Amano winds up, for all his trouble, limbless... and likely about to be incarcerated.  I guess no good deed goes unpunished... orrrr, he just overreacted to the passing of his partner, and let the ramblings of a lunatic skew his view... and now he's paying for it.  A wonderfully creepy story.  More like this, please!

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We open on a... murder scene?  For a moment, I was positive this was going to be revealed as being a scene in a play or some sort of new age performance, but... nope!  It's an actual moider!  Our "star", a blonde man in glasses, sits nude among the quartet of corpses he just "facilitated", and he's feeling a bit philosophical.  He talks about the feeling that comes with committing such an act... the feeling, of love?  He cradles and thanks his latest victim, before closing her eyes one final time.

He proceeds to get up and wash some of the death off of him.  He takes a shower in his victims' home.  When finished, he pretties himself up before the bathroom mirror... and takes note of the now-dead family's toothbrushes.  He picks up the one belonging to the little boy, and admires it.  He reveals that he knew these people... which makes the scene all the more creepily intimate.

He gets dressed, and bids his victims adieu.  On the front stoop, he is greeted by the family cat... and thinks to himself, had the family owned a dog instead, he would have had to kill it too.

We follow our killer to the train station.  There, on the platform, a woman in a fur coat catches his attention.

On the train, he watches her... he thinks about everything that might be going on in her life.  He is absolutely lost in his thoughts about this woman.  She eventually exits the train... and so, our man does too.

He follows her through the terminal, thinking to himself that... one day, he'll be caught.  The Police will catch up with him.  He just can't help himself though.  He continues on his way, taking note of many of the familiar faces he sees.  He wonders about them.  He sees these people all the time, but feels no connection to anybody.  His thoughts come back to the connectedness one might feel when they take the life of another.  Quoting the criminal/writer, (Jack) Henry Abbott, from his book In the Belly of the Beast, he compares the "union" a killer has with his victim as more intimate than sex.  Our man buys a single rose at a flower stand.

His thoughts roll on.  He wants this intimate union... with another warm body, but first... he wants to know everything about her.  He compares this "relationship" to the lotus blossom... and we close out with him handing that rose over to a woman (possibly the same one from the train, if she's ditched her fur coat), who happily takes it.

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Here we go!  This issue sure picked up with it's second and third stories!  This is the kind of envelope-pushing I was hoping for with Wasteland... the kind of stories I could've sworn I liked so much my first time through the series!  This brought the exact level of discomfort that I assumed would be with us throughout this little journey.

Now, in a post-Dexter world, a story like this might feel a bit contrived.  Though, I feel like back in ye old 1988, attempts at romanticizing serial murder were probably a bit more novel.  This story hits only a couple of years after Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1986), which drew its inspiration (in part) from the killing spree of Henry Lee Lucas of the late-70's/early-80's.

Here, our unnamed assailant shares his skewed views on murder with us.  Whereas normal people might view things like love-making and committing as the "peak" of a relationship... our man feels quite a bit differently.  The act of committing murder is fetishized, it's the absolute closest he can be with another human.  In the most twisted of ways, I mean, I'm not equipped or qualified to argue that.  He's literally ending people.  In the open, we see the weird euphoria the act brings him... he actually thanks his victims.  It's very weird... very uncomfortable.  You feel kinda dirty even just analyzing it.

His methodical stalking and plotting is very hard to watch.  He's also portrayed as something of a charming fellow.  Things like this might make you question just about anyone who crosses your path... and that might just be the point of it all.  Really... can't say enough good about this one.  It's not often I feel "creeped out" in reading, but this one brought all the cringes (the good kind of cringes).

Our man quotes a noted prisoner-author, Jack Abbott.  Now, Abbott might not be the sort of fella you wanna adopt your sensibilities from.  He was a real person... and, a real interesting case.  He'd been arrested for something or another, and while in prison, he killed a fellow inmate.  He began a correspondence with, of all people, Norman Mailer... and In the Belly of the Beast was born out of these missives.  Mailer even wrote the foreword to the book!

Check this out though, Abbott was eventually paroled (due, in part, to a whole lot of lobbying).  One month later, he killed again!  Abbott wrote another book in the clink before eventually committed suicide.  So yeah, probably not a dude to model one's life after.

Overall... I feel like Wasteland #3 knocked it out of the park with it's latter two chapters.  This one's worth a look!

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