Peeking above the crowded racks of the comic-book section at my local newsagent was the premiere issue of Spider-Man Magazine, a new kids-oriented title from ACP Magazines - which suggests that Otter Press no longer holds the Australian licence for Marvel Comics titles. But what I found especially intriguing - and, perhaps, mildly depressing - about this "comic-book" was just how little actual comic-book content it actually contained.

Don't get me wrong; the Spider-Man Magazine is a slick, handsomely produced title, printed in full-colour on glossy paper throughout, at the very reasonable price (for these days, at least) of $5.95. It's certainly a far cry from the rather drab, black & white newsprint comics of my own childhood (we're talking mid-1970s to early-1980s here, folks). This debut issue comes with 108 - count 'em, that's 108! - free Spider-Man stickers, a giant colour poster of Spidey slugging it out with the Green Goblin (Boo! Hiss!), a cut-out door-hanger, fact-sheets about other Marvel Comics' characters and puzzles galore. I mean, they've crammed a lot of stuff into just 32 pages, so you certainly feel like you're getting value for money.

That is unless, of course, you bought this magazine for the comics section. That's right - you remember comic-books, don't you? That was the paper-based medium where ol' Web-Head made his first-ever appearance, back in Amazing Fantasy #15 (June 1962). Well, it seems that actual comic-book content comes low on the editorial totem pole as far as Spider-Man Magazine is concerned, because there are just 11 pages - count 'em, that's 11! - pages of comic-book narrative to be found here.

Puzzled by this, I dragged out a copy of the first comic-book I ever owned - The Amazing Spider-Man #12, published in Australia by Newton Comics back in 1975, and which came my way via a Spider-Man showbag my dad bought for me the following year. And the contents of these  two magazines, published nearly 40 years apart, makes for a telling comparison. My old Newton Comics edition has a colour cover, with a pull-out colour poster (of The Ghost Rider, as it happens), but the remaining interior pages are printed in black and white. It contains a 21-page Spider-Man story ("Turning Point: Featuring the Return of Doctor Octopus", by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko) and a 7-page back-up story featuring The Mighty Thor ("Defying the Magic of Mad Merlin", by Stan Lee/R.Berns and Joe Sinnott). And there's a two-page letters column (Marvel Mailbag) edited by 'Gentle' John Corneille.

And what, by contrast, does the Spider-Man Magazine offer the young, prospective comic-book reader of today? An 11-page "story", titled 'The Tenant', which concerns Peter Parker's concerns about his dotty-but-charitable Aunt May taking in Doc Ock as a lodger in their home, convinced that Otto Octavious has foresaken his criminal past and is determined to become a "model citizen". We, along with Peter Parker, know better, and, pretty soon, Peter (suited up as Spider-Man) uncovers Doc Ock's criminal scheme - to dig a tunnel from Aunt May's cellar that will allow him to burrow underneath Stark Laboratories and steal their new "particle cannon"!

What struck me about this wafer-thin plot, penned by Fred Van Lente, is just how little actual story - or, rather, script - there is to be found here. I counted anywhere between 110-120 words of narrative text (captions) and dialogue per page. By contrast, the lead story appearing in my 1975 Spider-Man comic (originally published in 1964) contains, on average, over 240 words of narrative text and dialogue per page - yet still has as many panels per page (6) as 'The Tenant' story from 2012!

I know some may object to this seemingly arbitrary comparison, by arguing that 'The Tenant' (like the rest of Spider-Man Magazine) is pitched at a much younger readership, and that the plot and dialogue should remain within their levels of written English comprehension. Yeah, well guess what? Back in 1964, The Amazing Spider-Man was aimed at an audience presumably not much older than the kids reading Spider-Man Magazine today - and frankly, they not only got more story for their US$0.12c (or AUD$0.35c, in my case, back in 1976), but they got a far better story, full of drama, action and tragedy, which captured Spider-Man's intrinsic appeal as a flawed hero, struggling with his newfound super-powers and the responsibilities that came with them.

The great irony is that, back in the 1940s and 1950s, one of the chief criticisms levelled against comic-books was that they "ruined" children's appetite for reading "good" books, because children were essentially "reading" pictures, rather than words, which therefore stunted their comprehension of written English, and failed to develop their vocabulary - or so the argument went. Yet my own recollection of reading these 1960s-era Marvel Comics stories (reprinted in Australia throughout the 1970s) was that they actually fuelled my love of reading, thanks in part to their highly literate scripts, multi-levelled plots and invocation of other literary forms (The Mighty Thor comic-book became my conduit to the world of Norse mythology). And they were exciting, in ways that many of the "approved" children's books we were made to read at school simply weren't.

But glancing through 'The Tenant' in Spider-Man Magazine, I just can't imagine kids of today would get that same electric charge from reading a truly compelling comic-book story. I can't help but feel that  they, and the parents who shelled out for this magazine, have been short-changed if they wanted something to read - instead of just having to be content with just looking at pretty pictures.

I know that my comments are tainted with cross-generational grouchiness - "comics were better in my day, blah, blah" - and I'll readily wear such criticisms. Indeed, I've not read American superhero comics on a regular basis since the mid-1980s, largely because I became disenchanted with the growing trend for underwritten and overdrawn comic-book narratives that have dominated the genre for much of the last two decades (DC's Gotham Central and New Frontier being notable exceptions, insofar that I actually looked forward to buying them each month). And I've never been a fan of the warmed-over, manga-infused artwork that chokes so many current-day superhero comics like a noxious weed, such as Cory Hamscher's artwork on 'The Tenant'. But I guess what I really find dismaying about Spider-Man Magazine is that it's a confirmation of the true value of comic-books today - a glorified brochure for the Spider-Man licensing franchise, rather than a medium to tell exciting stories to a new generation of readers. (Note: The image accompanying this post is not of the recent ACP issue, but the main illustration and layout is very similar to the Australian edition of this magazine)

For those of you who don't know, when I'm not writing about comics on this blog, I'm studying them at Monash University (Melbourne, Australia), where I'm currently writing my PhD thesis on 'The History of The Phantom Comic Book in Australia, India and Sweden'. Now, after much preliminary reading, research and writing, I'm ready to proceed to the next stage of my research project.
And this is where I need your help. As part of my PhD thesis, I'm conducting an international, online survey of Phantom comic-book fans (or 'phans', if you prefer) in Australia, India and Sweden - part of my research aims are to discover why this American-originated comic-strip character (and America's first superhero, too!) has been so popular, for so long, in these three very different countries.
So, if you currently read The Phantom, or used to read The Phantom, then I want to hear from you! In short, I'd like you to take a few minutes to complete an anonymous (and completely voluntary) online survey about your experience of reading The Phantom comic book, or watching Phantom movies/TV shows, or collecting Phantom merchandise, etc. You can learn more about my research project here. 
And, if you happen to know someone - a relative, friend or workmate - who also happens to be a Phantom 'phan', then it'd be great if you could steer them to my research project website and online survey, as well. The more responses I receive, the more comprehensive my survey findings will be for this research project - so, the more 'phans' who take part, the merrier.
You have your orders - now, go forth and spread the word! (Please. Thank you) [Image courtesy of The Deep Woods]

A veritable "who's that?" of Melbourne's comic-book community gathered in the outdoor bar/lounge area at Sentido Funf in beautiful downtown Fitzroy to crack a bottle of bubbly across the bows of Big Arse Comics Launch #2, and send it ploughing into the choppy seas of public opinion. A decent-sized throng turned out for this event, which doubled as a popular catch-up session for local creators and readers alike, some of whom had been chained to drawing boards and keyboards for months without break, and who clearly welcomed the chance to gulp in some oxygen, wash it down with amber nectar, and stare blinking into the sun (well, what little there was to be had on this wet, grey Melbourne afternoon).

Proceedings were formally kicked-off by that one-man comics-making machine, Bruce Mutard, who paved the way for the equally prolific Bernard Caleo (self-appointed CEO of Cardigan Comics), who stirred the huddled masses with a rousing endorsement of the 9th art, considered the merits of airship carpet-bombing as a comics-delivery system (only to reject it as being unfeasible scant seconds later), before finally eliciting a lusty chorus of "Huzzahs!" from the by now well-lubricated audience. (Bernard can be seen in full flight, clad in his provocative white, linen suit in the above photo; Bruce Mutard and Phil Bentley can be seen just below Bernard's right-arm sleeve. Apologies for the deficient photography; I was busy propping up the bar with Tolley, as we were engaged in a fierce consideration of the impact of generational schisms on the evolution of visual storytelling. Either that, or we were discussing the form guide for that day's racing events at Caulfield Racecourse - the details are blurry now.)

Last year's Big Arse Comics Launch unleased nine new Australian comics, but this year's event easily cleared the high-jump bar, by assembling 15 new Australian comics for public consumption. In a rare fit of fiscal genorosity (abetted by the intake of pear cider), I opened up my wallet (moths flew out, true story), and plonked down $130 buck-a-roos for the 'Showbag Special', getting me all 15 comics for a 20 per cent discount. Now, that's cheap, like the budgie.

Was it worth the investment? You bet, because there was - literally - something for evey conceivable reading taste and persuasion. I won't review all the individual titles here & now, but here's what you could get @ yesterday's Big Arse Comics Launch #2: Terra Magazine #1; Matt Emery's Pay Through the Soul #2 and Criminal Element (all from Black House Comics); Bobby.N's No Map, But Not Lost; Tim Molloy's It Shines and Shakes and Laughs; Bruce Mutard's Strip Show; Ben Hutchings' You Stink and I Don't #10; and Scarlette Baccini's Zombolette (all from Milk Shadow Books); Peter Foster's Ballantyne: Where Hidden Rivers Flow and The Return of the Night Eagle (both from Pikitia Press); Ben Michael Byrne's Kranburn #2 (from FEC Comics); Darren Close & Paul Abstruse's Killeroo: Gangwar (from Ozone Studios/Killeroo); Bobby.N (again!), with Digested #5 (from Gestlat Publishing); Frank Candiloro's Blood Across Broadway (available direct from the author); and Jen Breach and Trev Wood's The Time Being #4 (from Sockpuppet Comics/Sawbones Online).

If you couldn't make it to yesterday's launch, then I daresay that most (if not all) of these titles will be available for purchase at Melbourne's most indie-friendly comics shop, All Star Comics. But whatever you do, try and clear your diary for next year's Big Arse Comics Launch (details TBA).

What more can I add to this heavy-duty-booty poster (click image above), other than to say, "Get yer arse down there for a real comics convention - cosplay weirdos need not apply"? Nah, I reckon that just about does it, don't you think? See you there @ Sentido Funf!

Anyone who's had a chance to purchase of copy of Nat Karmichael's excellent reprint volume of John Dixon's Air Hawk and the Flying Doctor comic strip will know that, long after he 'retired' the Air Hawk series in 1985, Dixon had a lengthy career in magazine art-direction, animation storyboarding and comic-book illustration in the United States throughout the the 1980s and 1990s.

However, those of you who cut their comic-book reading teeth on the new wave of American 'indie' publishers during the 1990s may not be aware that John Dixon also worked as an inker/embellisher for Valiant Comics, an imprint launched by former Marvel Comics' editor-in-chief, Jim Shooter.

For a fascinating, firsthand account of life inside Valiant's offices, we have these recollections from Mr. Shooter himself, wherein he mentions John Dixon, and the other comic-strip luminaries (such as Stan Drake) he brought on board to work for Valiant (You'll need to scroll down the page to get to the stuff about John Dixon et al.). And, in case you're wondering about the photo reproduced above, John Dixon is on the far left, while the astonishingly large chap in the centre is Jim Shooter (Many thanks to Andreas Eriksson for bringing this blog post to my attention.)

The thing that got me hooked about Kranburn #1 occurred on the opening page, which showed a beaten-up old car nosing into some bushes, behind a bullet-riddled freeway sign bearing the message, "Welcome to Cranbourne", which had been spray-painted to read "Kranburn". Not such a dramatic scene when I retell it in words, but the way it was staged, with the car ambling noisily behind the sign, its engine going "chug, chug, chug" all the while, really caught my attention. For some reason, the deliberate pacing of this scene, and the cartoony sound-effects instantly reminded me of Richard Corben's early 1970s underground comix work, especially Rowlf. And with that, I laid my money on the counter of Melbourne's All Star Comics shop, and walked out with Kranburn #1 tucked under my arm.

And I'm mighty glad I did. Ben Michael Byrne, author and illustrator, has turned out one of the most pleasing and entertaining debuts of any new Australian comic that I've read in recent times. The story is a post-apocalyptic adventure set around Melbourne's war-ravaged south-eastern suburbs. Aside from the pun-in-cheek references to various Melbourne place names, ("Duvtunn", "the 'Nong", etc), the appeal of this comic lies in its decidedly reluctant (and squeamish) anti-hero, Brand, it's straightforward yet imaginative layouts, and the script's disclosure of sufficient information to convey the essence of the story, without weighing down the dialogue with a lot of wordy exposition. I also enjoyed the fact that Byrne wasn't afraid to use broad Australian vernacular and slang, which really helped to give his characters a distinctive 'speaking voice'.

Too often I choose not to review a lot of recently self-published Australian comics, because their overall quality has simply been woeful. But I had no hesitation in doing so for Kranburn #1, which was a thoroughly enjoyable, blood-soaked romp, that left me eagerly awaiting the next issue - and if you buy a copy for yourself, I reckon you will be, too. (Kranburn #1, available from FEC Comics. Webcomic version can be viewed here.)

"A mongrel!?", I hear you say. "Are you implying that Bernard Caleo's next venture is a dog in the figurative and/or literal sense of the word?" No, far from it - I'm simply reporting the truth: Melbourne's own comics impresario, Bernard Caleo, is launching a new monthly Australian comic-book, titled, well....Mongrel.

Yes, you heard right, folks - Bernard has thrown creative caution to the wind, and has pledged to produce Mongrel as a monthly, 12-part comic-book, designed expressly for those who, as he puts it, "hate and fear graphic novels!" Each issue of Mongrel will contain three serials, 'Salvation Jane', 'The "Creatives" ' and 'The Uncanny Expats' (pictured above), which will hurtle towards a shared conclusion, one that will strive to answer the question...."Does Australia actually exist?"

Intrigued? Want to know more? Well, here's your chance to sign-up for the Mongrel experience. Bernard is inviting interested to readers to pledge a donation (starting from A$7.00) in order to receive 12 issues of Mongrel mailed direct to their door. Donations can made via the Mongrel page on Pozible, a 'crowdfunding platform' that makes community-based publishing ventures like this one possible (Pledges will only be processed if the project reaches its stated crowdfunding target). Mongrel is currently seeking A$3000 in pledges, and has currently reached a total of A$2629 - which means Bernard needs just $371 to make Mongrel a reality!

I'm no maths whiz, but I reckon if just 53 people reading this blog decide to take out a A$7 + Reward pledge (which entitles them to receive the 1st issue of Mongrel), then the target is met. However, if just 7 people reading this blog took out the A$60+Reward pledge (which would entitle them to all 12 issues), then Mongrel would be home and hosed - like a wet dog!

So, what are you waiting for? Activate your mouse-clicking finger, and pledge your support for Mongrel today!

Shown above are images of the printer's plates from The Crimson Comet No.6 (circa 1950), being offered for sale by Robert Goretzki (You may need to rotate the images when viewing/downloading them in order to view them properly - apologies for my abysmal uploading/formatting skills!) See previous blog posting for further details.

Original pieces of Australian comic-book art from the 1940s-1960s era are unusually hard to come by. Publishers rarely returned artwork once they received it from the illustrator and, more often than not, these original illustrated pages were sent to the rubbish tip, tossed into furnaces or simply lost and misplaced. Sometimes this was done purely for commercial expediency, but usually it was just done out of sheer thoughtlessness. After all, they're only comics, aren't they? No one would ever want to keep this stuff - right?

Nothing could be further from the truth, of course. Today, research into Australia's comic-book art history is greatly hindered by the dearth of original artwork, with only a few examples to be found in state libraries, or occasionally surfacing for sale at auction houses or online.

Which is why I was particularly excited to receive an email from local artist Robert Goretzki, who has recently acquired the most remarkable collection of Australian comic-book artefacts I've ever seen. He currently owns a collection of original printer's plates featuring near-complete stories from some of the best Australian-drawn comic books of the post-war era.

But how exactly were these plates used to produce comic books? In the years before digital pre-press technology, Robert explains it was quite a lengthy process to go from the drawing board, to the printing press and onwards to the final product - the printed comic book.

'The artist would send his proof over to the printers who, in the 1940s, were craftsmen in their own right; it was their job to make the plate in order to print the many copies required for a comic magazine.

Each printing plate has been cast and milled to around three levels of depth to achieve the right tones. It was quite painstaking and done on a mechanical typeset printer. Each plate had to be mounted perfectly on a block; then a test-print was done. If it didn't have the (bite) spread evenly, they had to raise the plate in that area with a piece of paper, so that it was perfectly "true" (flat) before the actual printing could take place - this was a process that could take hundreds of hours.

Once good and flat, the mass-printing of the comics would start; one plate equals one page of that particular comic and it would be used to print hundreds and thousands of comic pages - with all copies being made from that single plate. At the end of each issue's print-run, the plates were destroyed in order to prevent reprints - but, as you can see, some of them were saved.'

Let's start with a random pick from Robert's collection - John Dixon's classic 1940s superhero, the Crimson Comet. Robert has printer's plates for pages 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9 and 10 from The Crimson Comet No.6, published circa 1950. (In case you're wondering how I've verified these details, the plates depict a turbaned character called 'Patali', who appears on the cover of The Crimson Comet No.6, which was reproduced in the book, Bonzer: Australian Comics 1900-1990s)

As you can see from the photos in the accompanying blog post, the plate for page 8 has been framed, while the plate for page 10 is still in its original paper wrapping. Each lead zinc plate weighs approximately 350 grams, and measures 250mm X 172mm (approx.) These 'master plates', stored in pristine condition for decades, are incredibly detailed and are stunning visual records of John Dixon's early comic-book artwork.

And they could be yours - for a price.

Robert is looking to sell this first batch of printer's plates, featuring the Crimson Comet, either to individual collectors, or to public institutions, such as art galleries, museums or libraries. He'd also consider part cash sale/part trade for old Australian comics. If you want to make Robert an offer, or have any further questions about these items, you can email him at: goretzki[AT]hotmail[DOT]com.

Good Lord! Choke! I'm having a - GASP! - horror comics flashback! And so, it would seem, is Jason Paulos, the ink-stained auteur and all-round mad genius behind Australia's slickest horror comic, EEEK!

If, like me, you grew up in the late 1970s and early 1980s, you'll remember the delicious fear that awaited you at your neighbourhood newsagency, or in the dark recesses of secondhand book exchanges, when the shelves were crawling - no, make that 'slithering'! - with blood-drenched horror comics that were guaranteed to warp your mind (or your money back!) Titles like Doomsday, Planet of the Vampires and Blade of Fear, along with Aussie editions of Warren Magazines' unholy trio, Eerie, Creepy and Vampirella.

Jason Paulos, best-known for that unhygienic gumshoe, Hairbutt the Hippo, clearly 'haunted' (sorry, couldn't help myself!) the same newsagencies that I did as a kid, and has resurrected his own fond memories of those outrageous horror comics in EEEK!, the latest issue (No.4) having just hit newsagency shelves. (Yes, that's right kids, you can buy it at a shop where they sell newspapers and lottery tickets - and for just A$3.00, that's a blood-drenched bargain!)

Paulos lovingly evokes the weird American-Spanish fusion art-style that typified many of those 1970s horror comics, while retaining his own distinctive, gritty style. He puts a sardonic twist on many staple horror comic plots and cliches, with a knowing nod to current pop-culture fads (The lead story, 'Zombie Chef', has the funniest line of dialogue I've seen in a local comic in ages: "Please, wait! Try the dipping sauce! ARRRGGHH!")

The stories in EEEK! No.4 are all ghoulish, light-hearted fun - a quality sadly lacking in a lot of contemporary comics (in Australia and the US) that try so hard to be serious, that they forget how to be entertaining. But once, just once, I'd really love to see Jason pull out all the stops, and try for a 28-page 'mini epic', which turns down the laugh-track, and cranks-up the terror.

But that's a minor quibble of what is otherwise an immensely enjoyable - and handsomely produced, I must say - comic book. So, break open that old Coffin Bank money box, prise out three measly dollars from its bony grasp - and put some EEEK! into your day. Bwwaahhahhhh.... (EEEK! No.4, Black House Comics, AUD$3.00)

Lee Falk, Storyteller is a handsomely produced tribute to this significant American comic-strip author, best known for his dual heroes, Mandrake the Magician (1934) and The Phantom (1936). While Falk's contributions to both the adventure-continuity strip , and to the development of comic-strip/comic-book superhero genre, have frequently been overlooked by most US comics historians, it is testament to the durability of Falk's creations that both his strips outlasted many of his more celebrated contemporaries from the 1930s and 1940s. Indeed, new adventures of The Phantom comic strip continue to appear in newspapers around the world, long after Falk's death in 1999.

Lee Falk, Storyteller seeks to reinstate Falk's place as one of the most significant American comic-strip auteurs of the 20th century. Produced by the Scandinavian Chapter of the Lee Falk Memorial Bengali Explorers Club, this book is an amazing compendium of magazine articles, interviews, family tributes and historical retrospectives, that covers virtually all facets of Falk's creative and professional life, spanning his comic-strip work, and his lifelong involvement in American theatre and stage productions. (In a nice touch, the cover for the English-language edition depicts The Phantom in his 'original' purple costume, while the Swedish edition portrays The Phantom - or, Fantomen, as he's known in Sweden - in his 'Scandinavian' blue outfit.)

Aside from the many insightful interviews with Falk, taken from American, European and Australian sources published over many decades, the book is also bursting with rare photographs, colour illustrations and promotional artwork documenting the visual history of Mandrake the Magician and The Phantom. This book is an invaluable contribution to biographical histories of American comic strip creators, and should be recommended reading for any serious student of American comic art. Fans of Mandrake the Magician and The Phantom, however, should need little persuasion to acquire a copy, as Lee Falk, Storyteller is a 'must-have' item for their comics collection. For details on how to purchase your copy, click here. (Image courtesy of New Pulp)