Back with another review, here is Jacqusie with his take on prog 1883
An amazing welcome return from Nick Percival and another Dredd head, albeit one depicting a fractured and muzzy lawman. The textures are wonderful, without alarm, with a muted palate against a stygian background. We are 6 months into 2014 and this is firmly in my top 5.
The last time Percival had a stint on Dredd I remember, was the Johnny Kiss saga ‘Goodnight Kiss’, which I adored. His Dredd seems to be unflinching, pugnacious and tough as his old, tight boots. Not sure about the bum fluff on Joe, but his skin is pretty marred, blemished and generally ground up, which is well depicted so I won’t split (or shave) hairs on that one, as the art is just sublime.
Unfortunately the scripting on this is a tad woolly, if we are to believe one thing and then understand another about the state of Joe Dredds mind. We have been here before (remember the excellent black horse) and it’s not surprising that the script writers are going for this angle on the ageing lawman. However I’m going to be an anally retentive traditionalist here and declare that Carol shouldn’t be let near this topic of Dredd’s ageing and it’s consequences, surely it has to be Wagners domain, for his narrative only?
Well cool your boots man, this pious hand wringing arouses suspicions that all is not what it seems; the title of the strip for one and what it may pertain to and where we are to head, if indeed it is ‘all in’ the latter. The stand-out frames have to be when Dredd is stood in Dick Millar Block, or not. This is nicely done by Carroll and I want to like the rest just as much, but I don’t quite feel on solid ground with this yet, so fingers crossed for the plot developing beyond this opening bewilderment.
More big panels, more big looking people and more Mills narrative scripting that really could be done in a page and a half in it’s torpor. It’s taking the piss a bit now. Simon Davis is doing a sterling job and no doubt answering everything that is asked of him and more, yet I can’t help but get wound up by the bloated script which carries on the story painfully slow, such is the cynic in me to suggest, for trade paperback. Which, for all the first books verbosity, will no doubt look amazing, but will be easily read in one sitting as the kids are dropped off at the pool. This is part ten people… PART TEN! …for gawds sake…
Ah, the jelly jewellery in the luscious locks of the prog. Oozing delirium and dripping with lunacy, this weeks money shot sails majestically bound for the glory hole. If I’m going to have a metaphorical wank over anything, it may as well be the rather opulent Indigo Prime until our Devlin returns.
I can understand why readers don’t go for this series, wondering what the hell is happening at any given time and what it all means insofar as the clear-cut ‘storyline’ is supposed to be. That’s the very reason I became all lovey-dovey with IP in the first days – it rilly don matta! John Smith’s scripting might be a little more sober than it was in those hedonistic beginnings, but the machinery in the walls of IP, it’s agents and their astounding undertakings, will always see the stories take flight to the cuckoo’s nest.
The Escher skelter is delightful and I’m sure I’m not the only one to notice old green bonce, Tharg amongst the milieu. The drowned data mines of Fee-Fi 4, the ‘Butlins’ line and Danny’s charming innocence, which could only get away with “you’re the creepy old fart that came up with the idea”, all give the answer to why, I neither need to know, nor care what is going on, only to fookin love it.
Now I know this is 2000AD, Sci-Fi blah and all that goes with it and after the nauseating fawning above, I’d be a hypocrite to bawl “yeah right, like THAT’S really gonna happen!” …so I’m buggery stuck now. However can I just say that Andrew Currie has toned down his ‘extremities art’ for the better and I don’t know much of Eddie Robson, but I bet he is a nice chap, despite the glaring anomalies (remember that Future Shock kids?) in this rather lukewarm serving of thriller pie. Something tells me that this isn’t going to live long in the memory, but I’d liked to be proved wrong and be troughing that pie humble… but I doubt it…
THE END. Thank Christ for that. Please don’t bring this bobbins back, leave it where it deserves to putrefy and stink the place up. France maybe. I know people have pulled teeth in trying to gain some sort of appreciation for this strip and I’m sure that amongst their bloody, crimson gummy hollows, they have found a speck of gold. Good for them if they have, but I’m not one to give my back teeth for anything but unbridled quality. To give the dog a bone, I actually think the art improved as the series went on, especially the panel layouts. The script however was a hoary schlep on an already well trodden path, it’s characters less than endearing and it’s impervious conclusion hardly raised the blood pressure any. Ta ta!
Those crazy guys down at Indigo Prime.