Old Comics Wednesday

I bet you thought I had forgotten all about this. Translations are below each page:

Page Seven

Panel one: Thick with humidity, the vapor sickened many of the men, oxidizing them.

Panel two: Hardly perturbed, brave Vanadium took the trouble to lighten his load.

Panel three: On Day 598, they approached the magnetic spikes.
Its mysterious power is uncontainable.
But not enough to stop the bold.

Page Eight

Panel One: It was Day 1,032 when they spotted the land of the Sirens.

Panel Two: They say their melodious voices have an irresistible attraction. They say men fall exhausted before their sensual songs. Although no one who has heard them has ever recounted this.

Panel Three: Vanadium (and only Vanadium) will listen. No risk he’ll be lost in its beauty.

Panel Four: Shrilly beautiful chords.

Page Nine

Panel One: Heartwarming. Heartbreaking.

Panel Two: On day 2,114, the men were concerned.

CREWMAN: Listen Vanadium! … We’ve been thinking! …
What if your wild theories about the world’s shape had been true? Where would we go, fall off the edge of the world? ….

Panel Four: Vanadium had not thought about that.


Panel Five: Nor would he bother to do so.

Page Ten

Panel One: With the coming of Day 4,954, the boss made ​​his announcement.

Panel Two: And the course of events became inexorable.

Panel Three: Abysmally unfathomable. Like an unfathomable abyss.

Panel Four: During the (countless) following days, Vanadium felt himself falling.
Or that he was suspended in nothingness, with the whole universe spinning around him.
Or falling, yes. But not down, but up.

Page Eleven

Panel One: Forever, in any direction, somewhere.

Panel Two: The Forge of Vulcan.

Page Twelve

Panel One: Vulcan.

VANADIUM: Are you … God? …

VULCAN: How … How dare you? How dare one of you insolent creatures come into my presence?

VANADIUM: Now I know! I have understood! All my life, through evil, pleasure and destruction, the essential work of life, I have been searching for something! … I know what I have sought is God!
Why have you created this world of calamity and horror? ….Only you can reveal it! …

Page Thirteen

VULCAN:  I’ll tell you … when Jupiter expelled me from Olympus for my deformity …
When lovely Venus fell in love with me just to tease …. I felt bad, very frustrated …
But then I remembered that I was a god, too. But what kind of god would I be if I did not create my own universe? So I ordered my cyclops to forge the metal earth …
… Although I had forgotten it existed.

VANADIUM: But then … what is the meaning of our existence? What does our lord command? What is our reason to be?

VULCAN: I do not know … I can not think of any.

Page Fourteen

Panel Two: Vanadium returned (nobody knows how) to lock himself in the tower of a castle and at the height of his meditations.

Panel Three: Years later, he returned to life, soaked with wisdom and hallucinated lucidity. Again he devoted himself to destruction and vice, but this time, protected by mystical motivations.

Panel Four: Scholars long discussed what steps to follow after the discoveries made by the feats of Vanadium. In the end, they decided that the world should remain round.

Panel Five: Just to protect the fragile minds of the uncertain commoners from the apprehension that knowledge of the truth would produce.


Kind of a fizzle for a conclusion after some of the other stories in the series, but I really like how he draws the Olympians. And everything else. Also, a nice touch to use the Roman names for the gods and not the Greek; I wonder if that’s the set they use in South America?

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Get your Columbus on, y’all. The magazine Cocktail went out of business in 1991, before Quique and Mazzitelli could finish this series, so this double-sized chapter appeared in a Doedytores-published anthology helpfully titled Series White & Black Number Two. After a somewhat abstract start, even I’m not sure where this piece is headed after page six. Translation follows the page:

Page One

TITLE: The Edge Of The Universe

With the dawn, between flashes of copper, silver and gold, they give rise to a great historical venture.

Page Two

Royal fanfares were given in martial music.

And the King himself speaks through his heralds.

HERALD: The King says, “This heroic deed …. etc. etc. etc. … these intrepid daredevils …. etc. etc. … only future generations will judge us …. etc. etc. etc. …!

No one will forget this glorious moment.

At the ship’s bow, Vanadium, “The Great Advance Captain of The Royal Navy,” envisions the horizon of his immortality.

Page Three

Even before becoming immortal, he was legendary.

“I robbed a banker in the Rusted Woods …. I was a ruthless pirate, a cruel scourge of the sea … I was an ​​emperor of an empire of corruption, gold, vice, evil, power and vanity that I enjoyed until I grew bored.”

VANADIUM: How boring this is!

Page Four

Until I learned the truth from a wise old man who went mad from torture ….

WISE OLD MAD MAN: Is it that …. Is death the end of the beginning? Is chance a premeditated plan? Is happiness a masked tragedy? Is the world round?

Haunted by this existential dilemma, he abandoned his epic routine to take refuge in knowledge … and eventually found the answer to that crucial question …

VANADIUM: So I come to present to the Magisterial Court’s wise consideration my revelations …. that the world is a silver turtle supported by two ferocious snakes ….

Page Five

JUDGE: Ha ha ha!

Although days later he found a better one ….

VANADIUM: The world is an inverted pyramid sailing in a sea of fire and lava.

And another, much better one, a few weeks later ….

VANADIUM: The world is a coin, spinning on the tip of a demon’s horn ….

JUDGE: Ha ha ha!

Page Six

And then the King wanted to hear his theories.

VANADIUM: …. or a flying leaf …. or a stirring seaweed … or a falling hair …


But it was the Queen who laid greater interest on his claims ….

VANADIUM: The world is not round, Majesty! It is not round!

QUEEN: Aaaaah, Vanadium …. it is not round …. oooh …. of course not ….

Vanadium got his boat, its title and a promising crew of nobles, knights and other kinds of equally miserable scoundrels ….

Now, just in front of him lay his legend and his destiny.

On day 309, they discovered a poisonous air cloud …


[NEXT WEEK: Probably something that isn't Metallum Terra, or maybe more Metallum Terra, I dunno.]

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And, we’re back.

At this point in Metallum Terra, the general theme that Quique Alcatena and Eduardo Mazzitelli are blowing out variations on is fairly clear: it’s how young male [uncomprehending] love for a female is thwarted by the male’s aggression and/or ambition, as observed by an older, wiser male who not only cannot guide youth toward wisdom but is swept along by youth’s undoing. No spoilers: This one has a far less poetic, ambiguous ending, which is unfortunate but understandable; I imagine there are only so many different ways a peasant can almost-rape nobility with its attendant aftermath. By the way, lanthanum is a real element used in alloy form for lighter flints. Very clever, caballeros.

Once again, my half-assed translation is below the page. Enjoy:

Page One:

They brought Lanthanum aboard during one of our many journeys across the great mercury ocean.

As always with the newcomers, the eldest offered him welcome.

ELDER: We are partners in misfortune. We all support each other.

LANTHANUM: I am not one of you. I am different. Like a flint that can shine in this unbearable darkness …

TITLE: Metal World: Radiance In The Dark

Page Two:

Our masters (The Men of Steel) were a caste of nobles and warriors. They were born of a different race of alloy, living solely to fight and make slaves.

MAN OF STEEL: Patchwork, scrap!

Every so often (as we have seen many times) one of us foolish captives tries to rebel.

As Fate would have it, with the pitiless malice that Fate treats all, the gun fell into Lanthanum’s reach.

For an instant our boat was adrift, we were transfixed by the terrible sight.

This was unprecedented.

Countless things can describe The Men of Steel, but “ungrateful” is not one of them. For the rest of the trip, Lanthanum was free from the galleys.

Page Three:

The Great Master wanted to personally meet the flint that blinked in the abominable darkness.

GREAT MASTER: What did you do before being a slave, “slave?”

LANTHANUM: I was always a slave, My Lord. And in my efforts to serve my masters, I’ve learned the arts of war, trade, navigation, all of them …

The beautiful (as we have been told, as we are not allowed to look up to see) daughter of The Great Master, smiling.

When we were not rowing our lords to war, we cut down the forest and built their warships. From that day forward, we did so under the order of the relentless Lanthanum.

LANTHANUM: Why are they not working?

ELDER: They broke the saw.

Page Four:

And it is fair to say that his whip encouraged our efforts.

LANTHANUM: Replace it at once, “Twisted Irons!”

That beautiful woman (some say as beautiful as the sun. Not allowed to ever lift our eyes, we have never seen) spent time watching him and smiling.

His skills as a navigator, learned from masters of the trade, gave him another place of privilege.

So we placed our lives within his formidable expertise to pilot the ship through the storms.

From some other of his Lords he must have acquired his brilliant skills at strategy.

Page Five:

It happened that the victories of The Men of Steel (which were not many) increased when the generals agreed to hear his opinions.

And his genius for parties and celebrations allowed him to win the sympathy of the ladies of the court.

No longer he was forbidden to look at his masters directly in the face, constantly warned of the danger of looking at that stunning woman and her constant smile.

While all this was happening, we sat in the abysmal darkness of our hut and heard the stories recounted by our oldest.

ELDEST: There was a flint, which was equally gray and opaque like all the stones but different … He said that he shone, although he could not prove it, because the lady could not see. But so arrogantly did he make his assertion that just convincing others of his talents and her …. it was clear that he was just a stone. Like any other … but different …

Page Six:

One day, The Great Master invited him to share his table and stopped calling him “slave.”

GREAT MASTER: My good Lanthanum … your advice has so helped my business, my politics and my campaigns that I can be away for a few tranquil days …. I know that my interests will be well protected here.

There was also the look. And that smile.

When the Great Master left, his daughter’s insisted Lanthanum got a room in the palace.

All he had to do now was to get drunk and then (to the delight of her father) to marry her.

Then he would be so radiant a glow that the ominous darkness that had stalked his life would disappear forever.

He paid no attention to the look of horror on that delicate face when he invaded her bedroom. “Naturally,” he thought, “she must keep up appearances.”

Page Seven:

Her screams attracted the night guard, who struck his head, at this stage of the facts, to no avail.

Neither gave importance to her stubborn resistance to being hugged. “Naturally,” he thought, “she must feign modesty.”

Five days (which took The Great Master to return) he was confined in the dungeons.

GREAT MASTER: How could you dare so much? … I granted extraordinary privileges to someone of your station because you served me well, and because my daughter was having fun watching a slave try to be a lord … But your shame has been too serious … “Slave” … “Buffoon” … it’s time to remember to what place you belong …

That evening they brought him to the barracks.

Page Eight:

One of us (maybe me, maybe the eldest, perhaps the youngest) spoke for us. As we all do everything.

SLAVE: You were right, Lanthanum. You were not one of us … We are not allowed to kill another slave. But in the morning, when they find no trace of Lanthanum, they can not accuse us of anything. There will only be small pieces of the broken saws that we have been gathering these days.


Of course, we have the whole night ahead.


Another thing occurs to me, reading this story again as I pasted in these pages: Splitting the set-up almost equally between the boat and the forest is probably why the ending doesn’t fully satisfy. On the other hand, at least we don’t see Lanthanum being cut to teeny-tiny pieces with the broken saws coming as the story’s ending from a mile away, like some old EC story.

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I don’t have too much to say about this chapter — even with the narrator’s sad, resigned tone, this piece is a bit more fairy tale-ish than the others. There’s also a jagginess and willful ambiguity to the ending that stymies the opportunity to draw much of a moral from the story, which I appreciate — but I could look at these character drawings for hours. OK, I thought of something else while adding the jpegs; it’s noteworthy that our hero has no problem mowing down the undead and Aurum’s guards, but nearly comes undone by the idea of killing a monk. I don’t know enough about Quique Alcatena or Eduardo Mazzitelli to file a brief in critic court, but there’s a vague Catholic flavor to some of these pieces.

My translating skills aren’t so hot, but a few folks have asked me to try to give them some idea of what’s being said, so here goes:

Page One:

CAPTION: When I met Plumbum, I had already lost my left arm, my ideals and the will to fight for ideals of others. That is, they deserted me.

PLUMBUM: When you see it, Ferrum, only then will you understand!

CAPTION: I do not know why we became friends, we were so different. Plumbum, so noble and clumsy …. I was none of these things.

PLUMBUM: She has the color of the sun and its shine! When she looks at you with her golden eyes, it’s as if the rest of the world melts away!

CAPTION: So noble and clumsy and in love.

PLUMBUM: Aurum, I’m here!

Page Two:

CAPTION: There was no exaggeration. Only the sun (not even the sun) could compare to Aurum’s beauty.

TITLE: Golden Eyes

CAPTION: Her eyes, her incredible golden eyes, lingered on me. Plumbum growled at me.

PLUMBUM: Ferrum ….

CAPTION: Like the sun (more than the sun), they seemed unattainable.

AURUM: The man of my dreams must bring me …. the impossible triangle from the land of the dead ….

CAPTION: My good friend Plumbum. So noble. So clumsy. So in love.

Page Three:

CAPTION: So naively reckless.

PLUMBUM: Do not stop me, demons! No one will stop me! Nothing can stop me! Ah, there you are!

Page Four:

AURUM: The man of my dreams must be able to seize from the masked monks, their illuminated circular medallion …

MONK: What are are you looking for?

PLUMBUM: The medallion … I …

MONK: Know you, I will not give it nor anything else that has been deposited in our custody. You must kill us.

Page Five:

CAPTION: I can see Plumbum hesitate and then collapse.

PLUMBUM: Please … oh Rayos, forgive me … please, how I wish I did not to have to do this!

AURUM: The man of my dreams must be able … to collect a handful from the rivers of fire … and shape with his hands a perfect mirror that does not distort my beauty.

CAPTION: My good friend Plumbum, so foolish.

Page Six:

PLUMBUM: I’ve done everything you’ve asked, beautiful Aurum. What more could I do?

AURUM: I’m sorry … the man of my dreams should be made of the same stuff as me … your efforts have been futile.

PLUMBUM: You … you once told me of an alchemist, a magician who transformed everything into gold.

FERRUM: He was just a lunatic, and his experiments never ended well!

PLUMBUM: Take me or I’ll rip off your other arm. And then a leg … and then ….

FERRUM: I will. All right?

CAPTION: My friend sobs. He could kill me with his sobbing.

PLUMBUM: You know, my friend, you know that I would do anything for her eyes to look at me, only me.

Page Seven:

CAPTION: I pointed the way but did not travel with him. I did not want to be complicit in this tragedy. In return, I kept watch at Aurum’s balcony so that no other man approached her in his absence.

CAPTION: The next night, he returned. I knew it was him because I recognized his silhouette in the distance. And the intense golden brightness given off his body. The same glow that drew Aurum to her window, fleetingly.

AURUM: Get him out of here! I do not want to see it!

CAPTION: Never, never had any of the alchemist’s experiments turned out totally fine.

Page Eight:

CAPTION: Plumbum and I do not know how we became friends. [We are so different.] But friendship is irreversible.

FERRUM: Let’s go, Plumbum. Pick up the pace.

CAPTION: So, that night I helped break down the doors of the house, kill the guards, and go to her room.

FERRUM: Quick, Plumbum.

PLUMBUM: Wait a moment.

CAPTION: So, I did nothing while he, not without tenderness, explained to Aurum that she would be his, as he was.

PLUMBUM: Do you see it, my love? Do you understand? Now your eyes, our golden and beautiful eyes, only look at me. Forever.

CAPTION: So I’ll accompany his escape until the guards make us pay for so horrific a crime, someday. So, because he is my friend, I will join his folly. Forever.

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And … we’re back. Hi.

We left off at me bloviating about Metallum Terra, a delightful return to form for the amazing Enrique “Quique” Alcatena.

Aside from the striking character/world design we’ve been spoiled rotten expecting from Quique on his every project, what often stands out in Terra is its narrative poetry.

That’s not poetry in the traditional, rhyming-text sense, but in how these chapters play out as stories.

When it comes to modulating irony, American adventure comics have produced a pretty narrow historical spectrum, usually arriving as a fable/O Henry/Crime Does Not Pay presto-chango button for the ending.

My translation skills aren’t so hot but there doesn’t seem to be that sort of lesson-teaching moralism here, but we’re still firmly in the land of fable.

It’s a delicate balance to achieve, so it’s a pleasure to see even on less-than-mindblowing chapters like this one.

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After the disappointing, lackluster Makabre, it’s easy to imagine Quique Alcatena was delighted to cut loose on his followup serial Metallum Terra — another collaboration with writer Eduardo Mazzitelli; eight-page chapters for the monthly magazine Cóctel in September-December 1991.

The back matter for this collection lays out a pretty bare structure for reading this work as epic poetry rather than heroic fantasy; drawing a sharp line between the two is a bit above my pay grade but I know I prefer my Quique comics to be less interested in The Hero’s Journey™ than in using a protagonist as a vehicle for exploring the artist’s visual imagination. Less Luke Skywalker, more Jerry Thompson, please.

We’ve gone on the Hero’s Journey plenty of times; make the scenery stunning, give us a few great amusements and something to chew on and we promise not to kick the seat and ask “Are we there yet?” for the next hour or two.


Even Quique’s most active, plot-driving heroes seem to serve more as  sub-metatextual tour guides, leading us through his environments, local characters and notable events first, then being heroes who need to do ______ to progress to their goal/the next act of the story.

The key to this sense of intent is the openness of his pages and panels — compare these pages to even the most Quiquesque of Makabre‘s art from last week and you’ll see some of what I mean. Even on its busiest page, there’s [breathing] space in Metallum that’s missing from the earlier book, which gives it a sense of the epic without resorting to full-page splashes.

At his best, Quique’s art is psychologically expansive; a double-page spread in a single panel. For a medium so dominated by action/adventure, this is a surprisingly rare talent for an artist to possess.

[Kind of a sappy ending, but we saw it or some variation on it coming, didn't we?]

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It’s to Quique’s credit that he didn’t conform very well to late ’80s/early ’90s gringo independent-comic expectations; the first dozen or so pages of this 1991 collaboration with writer Alan Grant [originally serialized in Toxic magazine] are pretty uninspired stuff, a derivative hodge-podge of tropes and action that played more to Grant’s strengths than Quique’s — albeit with a delightfully anti-clerical tone that’s always fun. The lackluster results are especially odd when you consider that Quique redrew the original 50 color pages, apparently lost in Toxic‘s collapse, as a 48-page B&W album for Comiqueando Press in 1998. But then ….



…. the Alcatena we know and love takes over for a bit, filling pages with some of his trademark showstopper character designs and vignettes.


This Beauty & The Splinter Beast thing’s got one sweet cellular telephone, I must admit:


I wasn’t sure if this book was worth covering — I obviously don’t have much to say about it, there’s just not a whole lot here for Alcatena fans to get excited about — and then I saw page 28:


That’s right — BLACK KINGPIN MOTHERFUCKERS. Who would have thought the pinstriped slacks were such a key to the character’s design?

The introduction to this book says that Grant wrote a Makabre sequel, of which Quique only drew one chapter before the project was orphaned by its publisher. He presumably finished Metallum Terra [which I'll begin examining next week] in its stead, so we all win.

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As much as I love Frank Robbins, I can’t take reading these stupid comic books anymore. Here are some entertaining odds & ends I clipped and saved before throwing the rest out.


Instead of a pastiche of ’40s supercomics junk, Invaders #10 reprinted an real piece of ’40s supercomics junk with “The Wrath of the Reaper,” from Captain America Comics #22 [January 1943]. Al Avison & Al Gabriele’s art is no great shakes but I appreciate that they tried to ape the Simon & Kirby look, especially the slashing, almost abstract look they often gave faces. I also enjoyed the deeply cynical view of how easily manipulated the American public is by the popular media — of course, Stan Lee wrote/dialoged/whatevered this story at the same time he was in the U.S. Army’s Signal Corps, and Father Coughlin still haunted the imaginations of media-minded and/or progressive writers for years after he was driven off the air.


It’s a shame that, even with the graphic-novel boom and such, there’s still no money to be made in blackmailing major cartoonists with the endearing/embarrassing letters of comment they sent to their favorite comic books as children. Although, if I did the math right, Seth was 14 when he wrote to Roy Thomas. [From Invaders #14, March 1977]


Things I still love about comic books, despite comic books:

#1. Frank Robbins and Frank Springer.

#2. Hitler as final boss/hands-on villain who doesn’t believe in delegating any tasks to his employees.

#3 A Special Belt-Apparatus universal translator that lets a “Ja” and “der führer” go by, which apparently makes for “perfect English.”

4. Cap’s Skippy/Little Orphan Annie eyes.



FWAP. [Panels from Invaders #17]


Pretty conventional subject matter, but this is the weirdest looking cover of the series to my eye: the Cap is clearly a John Romita figure and the other Invaders look like heavily redrawn Romita/Kane, but the Hitler looks like a Jack Kirby drawing and the soldiers & overall layout look like Gil Kane’s work. What the hell? Also, what is the Human Torch doing, aside from using his powers to catch the attention of children?




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So, when last we left them, Enrique “Quique” Alcatena and Ricardo Barreiro had taken the legendary viking mariner Ulrich through a haunted-boat Alien retread that only sparked up a bit once we got to the hot Viking-on-Alien action. Appropriately for an ancient seafaring epic, the rest of the album shifts into a more episodic, scattershot narrative, freeing Quique to do what he loves/does best ….

… really cool designs, presented in startlingly clear vignettes.

Literally every page-spread of the book’s second half features one of these bravura scene/tone-setters.

I can’t quite put my finger on why these work so well for me and similar pin-up-style panels don’t — I guess it’s the level of detail, which shows that it clearly wasn’t done to cut corners and save drawing time, the sheer volume of thinking that went into rendering the textures and weights of the figures and objects, like a wispy precision in drawing a perfect block & tackle rig that would be barely visible in the construction panel above. It’s all deliberate, almost adamant when these panels don’t necessarily move the story forward much.

At times, Quique’s inks in this half often achieve a look that’s confident but somehow rough and delicate at the same time, like Joe Kubert inking P. Craig Russell and making that work.

GUNSHOW! Here are a few full pages to give a sense of these showstopper panels in context. The amount of texture given to the walrus-mustachioed guy’s cloak, in a panel with at least three other figures plus a decorated roof and a picture window — it just kills me.

Toward the end, these more integrated chapter pages start appearing — perhaps the earlier ones were cut from the serialized original to this collection, I don’t know — and they’re quite effective. Although that LEMURIA looks like something out of a ’70s APA.

At this point, I no longer understand what the hell is going on in the story, and I don’t care. They could have tipped-in a handwritten note reading “Hey Milo, we’re just going to fucking pelt your eyeballs with one amazing image after another until we run out of pages. Is that OK with you?”

[✓ ] Yes [ ] No



That’s right, smiling dolphin-headed creatures in cloaks, observing an aquatic Gotterdammerung. If you made it this far, this should not be a dealbreaker.

“….. I thought I was having a dream …..”

I like this panel because it reminds me of the brief period in Mike Mignola’s development when his core style was set but he still squiggled quite a bit in his inking. The End.

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One of the problematic parts of enjoying what little is available of Enrique “Quique” Alcatena’s work is how much of it seems cobbled together from the popular junk from the U.S. and Europe. It comes off less like the work of an artist processing his influences and more like the repackaging of imported art for a very small, isolated market’s domestic consumption. Still looks totally fucking cool, regardless.

For example — a fine cover, but I’m almost positive I’ve seen this pose/layout before, maybe in a Milo Manara album?

In Ulrick [published in 1988], Alcatena and longtime writing collaborator Ricardo Barreiro present another serialized epic journey, but unlike the theatrics and cool designs of El Mago, this one starts off pretty creatively listless, although I applaud the use of Ulrich the semi-legendary sea explorer and settler as a way to draw vikings fighting Aliens, all the way down to the shipwrecked humans taking refuge on a haunted-house of a ship.

Hey, I got the image for your shitty band’s next show flyer:


Nice use of that Kubert-style floating window of panels here, getting a boring talking scene done while underlining that our mariners aren’t in much better a place now than when they were floating in the sea. The facial inking is a bit random, isn’t it? Sometimes a little Russ Heath-ish, others almost Wally Wood/Ralph Reese-like clammy:

Because skeletons and I’m a little light-headed from the Yom Kippur fast:

Here, Quique picks a way to chisel out his grim Norse faces, and it’s so good. The establishing-shot-as-background is always clever; here, he uses it to heighten the sense of unease by not providing a clear sense of where we and our heroes are in all that rigging:

You’ve probably been wondering impatiently where this promised “Vikings Vs. Aliens” action came in. That’s OK, I won’t judge. First, the ritual of seeing what’s left of the lone survivor of the pre-story carnage ….

Ayúdenme indeed, you poor bastard. I love that Alcatena [perhaps originally Barreiro] diligently lights almost every panel [maybe not that establishing profile of the survivor, it's never clear exactly where he is in the hold] from the angle that the torch would cast — you would assume that the survivor gets his own light scheme but, being on the floor, he would be lit from above by the torch just as Ulrick and friend would be lit slightly from below. Details!

Enough talking, now head bursting and axe fighting:

Next week: The triumphant return of Quique the maker of designs so cool you briefly forget that pin-ups are lazy bullshit when used more than never in an adventure-comics story.

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