As I might have mentioned before, I’m not a particularly religious person. While I was raised as a hybrid Methodist/Catholic (don’t ask), I was also raised by parents who encouraged open-mindedness, personal responsibility and an attitude toward church that could be summed up with an indifferent shrug.
Which isn’t to say I necessarily have any disdain for religion. When viewed as philosophy I think many religions have a lot of positive thought to offer (I won’t get into where I think the problems start, but let’s just say human nature tends to be far from divine). And as a kid there was a period in my life when I was thinking about Christianity a lot, and I had plenty of questions. To help me find some of the answers — and probably to get them out of their hair once in a while — my parents got me The Picture Bible, which is basically a comic book version of the usually impenetrable classic Christian bible. As rendered by scripter Iva Hoth and artist Andre LeBlanc, the Picture Bible simplifies the language and convoluted storyline, puts faces to the names, and turns the Greatest Story Ever Told into something you might actually want to read.
When I was a kid, I pored over it. It seems pretty distant nowadays, but I can’t deny my sorta-spiritual upbringing or my fondness for this edition of the Bible, which introduced me to a particular brand of morality and God’s Own Superheroes. (Seriously, that whole Samson thing? Awesome.) Whatever your own religious leanings may be, I hope you’ll enjoy this kinda famous tale-to-astonish presented the way God intended — as a comic book.
I’ve always been a fan of tattoo-style art, but I have to admit the artwork for this edition of From Russia With Love tweaks a very specific kind of nostalgia for me — it totally reminds me of the kind of stuff I would see my cholo buddies sketching on their notebooks in high school.
This isn’t to disparage Chris Garver, the tattoo artist who drew the images for this cover as part of the Penguin Ink Series celebrating the publisher’s 75th anniversary. I don’t think I would necessarily want this punched into my skin for the rest of my life, but it’s also a pretty striking design that gives ol’ James Bond a sharper, more modern edge. Until Daniel Craig took over in the film role, the character was getting a little stuffy and dated; I can’t help thinking Penguin was taking a shot at what the movies were doing, bringing James Bond into the grittier and less genteel world we live in (on the surface, at least).
This edition went to press just a couple of years ago, and I’m happy to see it as a possible trend of “alternative” artists being tapped for more mainstream design. (I hope it’s a trend — Penguin also printed The Portable Dorothy Parker with a great cover by Seth, and I know I’ve seen others, though I can’t remember what the hell they were.) And while most of the people who provided work for the series are tattoo artists, I was glad to see someone snuck in poster and comic artist Tara McPherson in there, too.
But like I said, I could look at good tattoo work all day long. And now that I think about it, that back cover would make a nice one … hmmm …
From Russia With Love
Cover art: Chris Garver
2010 edition (Penguin Books)
When we last saw our friend Kalimán in the comic pages, he and his newly acquired orphan/ward SolÃn were traveling through Egypt, beating up Bedouins, getting shot at and choking cobras at their leisure. (That’s not a euphemism — this ain’t an early Batman comic.) Since then … well, a lot has happened so let’s sum it up.
Jane isn’t even the first victim; Nila, who is the daughter of Alà Faruf — King of the Sons of the Desert — has already been kidnapped by the sinister Eric Von Kraufen, who is hiding out in a pyramid chock full of ghouls, zombies and assorted Things-That-Are-Not-Good-For-You. There may have been a pit full of crocodiles. Nila is also the (so far secret) promised bride of Zarur going back to an arrangement made when the two were still children. The hot-headed Zarur loves Nila, and is determined to save her from Von Kraufen.
Eventually, Kalimán and his group rescue Jane, then make their way into the pyramid lair where they start running into one horrific creature after another. None, however, make an entrance quite like … Makón!
Caption: Suddenly … Prof. Farrel: It’s Jane, my daughter …! Kalimán: Let’s go that way!
Jane! What’s the matter?
Jane: Oh, Kalimán …! Ah! A spectre!
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From Kalimán: El Hombre IncreÃble #5
“Los Profanadores de Tumbasâ€
When I was a kid, I had four favorite superheroes — Superman, the Hulk, Flash and, naturally, Spider-Man. I can’t remember when exactly I was introduced to Peter Parker and his stringy, springy alter-ego, but I know he was everywhere, and I absorbed it all. From the iconic cartoon (and its mind-blowing theme song) and his silent appearances on The Electric Company, to the infamous live-action show and his animated adventures with some Amazing Friends, Spider-Man was a web-slinging constant in my life.
A lot of people make a point of pegging Spider-Man as one of the first comic book characters with a “real life,” and rightfully so. Part of the reason Peter was relatable to so many readers was his being a picked-upon nerd, having a touch-and-go love life, and very often wondering how he was going to make rent that month. Minus the proportionate strength of a spider, we’ve all been there.
But that’s never been the most appealing aspect of Spider-Man to me. As a shy kid who had trouble talking to people, I most admired how funny Spider-Man could be once he put on the mask, how much fun he was having beating up the bad guys and cracking wise. Sure, tragedy was a big part of what made the title legendary, but for my money Peter’s ability to overcome that tragedy with optimism and humor is what made him human. That humanity made Spidey the best kind of hero.
And if was still I kid, I would have gone Rhino on someone to get that Spider-Man balloon.
Found in the entryway of The Frisco Shop (Austin, TX)
Well, it’s not the flu, but I did catch a cold that knocked me right on my ass and this blog right off schedule. The Ick That Walks Like a Man seems to be on its way out, though, so posts should be back starting Monday.
That’s assuming I don’t end up with ebola or spattergroit or — God help us all — disco fever.
If you’ve ever been to Mexico, you might’ve noticed that most of the local business have a … casual … attitude about international copyrights. Whether it’s a gang of unlicensed piñatas in the mercado or a pizza joint named after a certain spinach-chewing sailor man, it’s not hard to find images of copped characters in the country. Kalimán himself wasn’t immune to borrowing a little juice from his American comic cousins, which is how we got Kalimán versus …
A GANG OF THINGS!
“My blows do not hurt them … all I did was break my hand!”
DOCTOR DOOM(ISH)!
Doom: “You are in agony, Kalimán.”
Kalimán: “I’m losing. My strength is abandoning me completely.”
A GIANT COSMIC BEING WHO IS DEFINITELY NOT GALACTUS!
“Tremble, Kalimán. You are before The Red Madman.“
I especially like that last one — the way Kalimán kneeling on the edge of the cliff echoes the classic Silver Surfer-on-his-board pose is pretty clever. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go read an issue of Kalimán where he fights a robot that only almost looks exactly like the one from Lost in Space.
Early on, I found myself addicted to science fiction, crime and other types of pulp genres in much the same way most people get hooked on their drug of choice — I was given free tastes in small, easy to swallow doses. In my case, I’ve been mainlining digests and anthologies since elementary school.
Spending time in my aunt’s bookstore meant hours of going through old copies of Analog and Asimov’s Science Fiction. After watching Psycho for the first time, I became hooked on Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, and that eventually led to Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine (more imagination went into the stories than the name on the covers, I guess). My aunt, gruff but generous, always sent me home with at least a couple of digests to pore through, and they introduced me to more writers and concepts than I can begin to pin down.
Years later, I found myself in junior high and hating almost everything about it. The school was different (not its fault), the teachers sucked (totally their fault), and isolation was at an all-time high (totally my fault). But the library was like this little, ignored jewel in the middle of a crappy crap-pile, and I’d find the most amazing stuff there. I remember one book about a kid who gets lost in some snowy woods and sees a vision of Socrates, and decides he’ll never lie again; the rest of the novel is about the fallout of his choice. There was another book that told the story of a young girl going through her sexual awakening, and discovering that she is a lesbian in love with her friend (surprisingly for the time, the falling in love was the dramatic part, not the fact she was gay). Unfortunately, the titles of both of these books are long gone now.
Those books I found by accident — but I gravitated toward the anthologies like the USS Cygnus into a black hole. For some reason the school library had all my favorites in big, hardcover collections and I tore through them. If it would have been possible to OD on Hitchcock and sci-fi, I’d have been found twitching on the floor of that library.
So fast-forward to a few months ago, and my wife and I are in my hometown visiting my family for the holidays. At one point during the trip we were browsing through a little bookstore/gallery in near-by Mesilla when I noticed a small bookshelf full of digests; Analog, Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Fantastic Stories, and some I’d never even heard of like Worlds of If. I asked how much they were per copy and while the seller was coming up with a number my mom, in her usual generous and spontaneous way, made an offer for the whole batch, telling me, “It’s your Christmas present.” Mom has always encouraged my habit.
Which is how I came to have a large box of sci-fi paperback novels, best-of anthologies and digests in my closet, including this issue of Analog. One of the things I always enjoy about these digests is trying to figure out what the hell is going on in these images, but this issue has the added pleasure of sporting one of the most bizarre combinations of image and story title I’ve ever seen. ‘Cause, man, that guy is pissed at those kites, and he really wants to know what happened to his purse.
(And just for the record, I … er … might’ve joined one or two sci-fi book clubs, too.)
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Analog: Science Fiction/Science Fact
Cover by John Schoenherr
March 1973 issue
Besides being the scourge of evil cultists, sorcerer crime lords and the Panthers of Istanbul, our pal Kalimán was also a genuine media sensation. As we’ve already seen, Kalimán made a successful leap into comic books and a mostly decent hop into movies, but until fairly recently he never strayed from his birthplace — radio.
The man of mystery came to life in 1963 after Radio Cadena Nacional broadcast its first Kalimán episode on channel 1110 AM in Mexico City. The show starred Luis Manuel Pelayo as Kalimán and Luis de Alba as SolÃn, though Pelayo wouldn’t get on-air credit since once of the conceits of the broadcast was that it was hosted by Kalimán himself. Joined by the smooth narration of Isidro Olace, the exploits of the peace-lovin’, face-punchin’ hero was pretty much a hit from the start.
Before it was over, the show would log more than 100,000 hours of radio, planting an iconic character so deeply into the Mexican psyche that you can’t bring it up to someone from Mexico without them belting out, “KA! LI! MAAAANNN!!” Like, right in your face. The same goes for Colombia — using the original radio plays and Colombian actors, broadcaster Todelar would have similar success with Kalimán, and no doubt just as much shouting.
Luis Manuel Pelayo; voice of Kalimán, snappy dresser
Back in Mexico, Kalimán enjoyed a place on the airwaves with both original episodes and reruns as recently as 2008, where shows were still being broadcast on XERL Radio Colima. As far as I can tell, though, there aren’t any stations broadcasting Kalimán anymore, anywhere. And it’s a shame, but these radio shows (and the comics, for that matter) aren’t even available as any kind of collection. Just as it happened with Golden Age comics in the United States, it’s the fallout from producing something the general public viewed as disposable at the time and there’s precious little of it out there now. So if you’re sitting on a stash of Kalimán stuff, you let me know, OK?
Luckily, some Kalimániacs out there seemed to have grabbed some of the radio plays (recording it right from the speakers, from the sound of some of them) and put the original audio on YouTube and for download from … ahem … other sources. Even it is limited, we’re lucky to have anything out there at all, and a lot of it is great. Take, for example, Kalimán in “The Queen of the Gorillas.” Oh, yeah … you heard me.
The show starts with the classic Kalimán opening, thundering out the hero’s name and going on to describe him as, “A gentleman to men! Gallant with the ladies! Tender with children … RELENTLESS WITH EVIL-DOERS! That is Kalimán — EL HOMBRE INCREIBLE!”
Unfortunately, that’s almost how it ends, too: This is the only part of the episode that’s available. C’mon, YouTube user Alisal88, get crackin’!
Still, for something that comes in at just a little under five minutes it’s packed fat with action. The story opens with Kalimán and SolÃn finally reaching a life-saving, secret oasis in an African desert, where they fill their water bags and plan to catch up to an expedition that will surely croak without their help. Suddenly, shots ring out — someone is shooting at Kalimán and SolÃn! So much for secret oases!
The pair hit the dirt, and Kalimán soon figures out that they must have been followed, as well as that the shooter is using a Winchester automatic. (When SolÃn asks him how he can tell, Kalimán tells him he recognizes the sound of the gunshot. Dude’s good. Real good.) SolÃn tells Kalimán that he’s worried about the horses, since if they get shot they’ll be screwed seeing as they’re out in the middle of a desert that was close to killing them already. Kalimán tells him not to worry; the shooter is alone, and only has three shots left. He’ll get him to waste those bullets and then grab him while he’s reloading, using himself as a target.
Telling SolÃn not to move, no matter what, Kalimán stands up as another shot ricochets past and says, “Come, assassin! You’ve failed again! Shoot! SHOOT!”
And then … cliffhanger! Argh! It’s like a shot to the gut with a Winchester automatic.
