'In the Franchise of My Mind' Edition: Blade:Trinity

Blade: Trinity is kind of a delirious mess of a movie, which is really one of its best features. It’s also a pop culture goldmine, and in my imagination, it could have spawned some great things.

By design, though, Blade: Trinity is a high octane supernatural action flick. Written, produced, and directed by David S. Goyer, who also scripted The Dark Knight, it brims with stylized settings, physics-defying violence, and propulsive fight sequences. Here is a brief plot synopsis: Blade is the ‘daywalker', a human/vampire hybrid who kills a lot of regular vampires. Tired of being hunted, the vampire queen Danica Talos (played by Parker Posey…and yes, you read that correctly) unearths Dracula to convince him to kill Blade. But in this case, Dracula isn't Gary Oldman with crazy hair; he's an ancient, nigh indestructible beast who can take human form. Also, instead of Dracula, he's now called Drake. For his part, Blade enlists the help of a younger, ‘hipper’ group of vampire hunters, and they all fight it out until somebody wins. I’d tell you who, but I don’t want to spoil the surprise. 

Rotten Tomatoes scores the movie at 26%; only 43 of 163 critics liked it. Compared with a score of 55% for the first Blade movie and 59% for Blade II, Trinity is widely considered the worst of the Blade Trilogy. But I say, "Screw the critics." This movie is a lot of fun. Wesley Snipes is arguably better as Blade than he is in any other role. The vampire hunters use all sorts of cool gadgets, like UV lasers and decoy plastic infants that spew garlic. There’s also a scene where Dracula goes into a vampire-themed novelty store, becomes angry when he sees (among other things) a box of Count Chocula, and kills the sales staff. 

I will not turn your milk brown!

So, yeah, its a pretty ridiculous movie, and there are a few things about it that just plain make no sense:

• If Dracula is stronger in his original form as a big, spiny demon-monster, why does he wait until the end of his showdown with Blade to change?
• This movie came out in 2004. So if Ryan Reynolds' character is such a hip vampire hunter, why do all his pop culture references sound like they're from 1996?
• When Parker Posey sees Dracula feeding on a pile of corpses, why is she so disturbed? She's a vampire, too. That's what they do.
  
• And why, seriously, why in the holy moly fuck is Parker Posey in this movie? What's more, why does she spend half of her screen time looking like an evil Oompa Loompa?

C'mon, Wonka. You gotta control your minions.

Honestly, I love this movie. No, it is not the best of the trilogy. That would be Blade II, which was directed by Guillermo del Toro. But Trinity is loads of fun to watch. It also had tons of potential. Here comes the 'Franchise of My Mind' part, where I think about what this movie might have spawned in an alternate universe. 

First off, this movie poised the pro wrestler, Triple H, to be the next Richard Kiel.The man looks good in metal teeth. Would it be untoward to try and convince somebody to put a Jaws-like character in one of the new James Bond movies?

I'm looking at you, Daniel Craig.

Next: Did you know that Blade: Trinity was the third movie in four years to simultaneously feature Parker Posey and John Michael Higgins? The first two, of course, were two of Christopher Guest's delightful mockumentaries, Best in Show and A Mighty Wind.And this is what I think is the greatest wasted potential of this movie. 

Just imagine more movies in the Blade series that feature actors from Christopher Guest's movies. Don't call it a crossover, because who wants to watch Fred Willard's vulgar cornball of a band promoter from A Mighty Wind feast on the blood of virgins? Actually, I kind of do, but he's the exception that proves the rule. 

I love blood but that doesn't make me a hemo-sexual.

Look at it this way, Jane Lynch will never take a break from being awesome, but why doesn't she try being a creature of the night for a spell? Or better yet, I have four words for you: Eugene Levy, Vampire Assassin.

Humanity's days are numbered. 

But here's the problem. The only vampires who survive Blade movies are generally the ones Blade doesn't know about. This means there are no recurring vampire characters. Even Parker Posey's Danica Talos meets a grisly end. There's also reality. Blade: Trinity's box office haul was only so-so, which gave the producers plenty of incentive to end the series at the magic number three. Add that to the fact that Wesley Snipes criticized David Goyer for putting too many extra characters in the film and then sued him for more salary, the film franchise was probably dead before it made it to DVD. I also think the fans of the original comic books might object to this change in direction.

Alas. Yet I hope this article has created an alternate timeline. One where a fanged Catherine O'Hara lures an unsuspecting Michael McKean into a dark alley in Blade 4...and maybe Jimi Hendrix is still alive, too. Yeah, that would be pretty cool. 

"It's All Just Symbolism": The Dead Travel Fast by Eric Nuzum

Things are well in Sanguine Diaryland. For one, I am now (sort of) celebrity endorsed. After posting my essay on Patton's Oswalt's "Zombie, Spaceship, Wasteland" on his Facebook page, I received this notice:

Pardon the lousy screencap, but I'm still pretty excited.

Now that I'm done bragging, here's my next review:

"It's All Just Symbolism": The Dead Travel Fast by Eric Nuzum

A few years ago, journalist Eric Nuzum knew next to nothing about vampires, but he couldn’t help noticing that they were everywhere—on cereal boxes, in common figures of speech, and, of course, in countless movies, books, and TV shows. His book, The Dead Travel Fast: Stalking Vampires fromNosferatu to Count Chocula, is the culmination of his efforts to understand this phenomenon. And while his answers are not too surprising, the lengths he is willing to go to find them are so amusing that his conclusions are almost beside the point.

Nuzum’s commitment to his quest is admirable. He begins by trying to watch every vampire movie ever made, but only makes it through a paltry 216 out of 605 titles. He also tries to drink his own blood, and then promptly vomits. After that, he takes a tour of Romania, where Butch Patrick (a.k.a. Eddie Munster) is literally paid to sleep in the back of the bus. Finally, he tries to turn himself into a vampire through a vain ritual involving eggshells, chicken livers, and vinegar.

Along the way, Nuzum disinters an impressive amount of historical information. His biography of Bram Stoker is insightful, but his account of the widow Florence Stoker’s fight to preserve exclusive rights to Dracula hints that the rise of the vampire movie—and thus the vampire’s place in popular culture—was far from inevitable. Madam Stoker successfully sued the producers of Nosferatu and had the the original print destroyed. The film only survived via bootleg copies until it was restored after her death. Tod Browning’s iconic version of Dracula, starring Bela Lugosi, only saw production after protracted legal wrangling. Had Mrs. Stoker’s lawyers won the day, some other creature may have just as easily become the quintessential thing that goes bump in the night.   

The vampire movie’s near miss with obscurity raises the larger question that The Dead Travel Fast tries to answer: why are vampires such a big part of our culture? Nuzum comes to the mundane, yet no less believable conclusion that vampires are “a channel for desires, fears, biases, anger, and longing that would be taboo otherwise.” Over the years, the vampires change styles without losing their fundamental qualities because “our Draculas [are] molded for our times.”

It’s hard to dispute Nuzum’s thesis, but it still raises another question: why don’t other monsters have the same impact? Werewolves, witches, and ghosts occupy meaningful posts in our culture as well, but they don’t have as much cachet as their cape-and-fanged cousins. Zombies get a lot of media presence, too, especially within the past few years, but the fact remains that Dracula has been more frequently portrayed in film, TV, and literature than Sherlock Holmes.

Vampires do not hold exclusive rights to channel our taboo fears and desires, either. Looking back, one has to wonder why Anne Rice didn’t strike it big with “Interview with a Specter”, or why there was never “Buffy the Werewolf Slayer.” Think about this for a second. Sure, the alternatives seem odd, maybe even absurd. Sookie Stackhouse would never enter a love triangle with Godzilla and Mothra. Maybe that wasn’t the best example, but you get the point. Other monsters matter, but vampires are the rulers of Spookytown.

While Nuzum can’t explain vampires why vampires have more status than other monsters, he does hit on another interesting point. Most vampire enthusiasts seem unable to articulate the cause of their passion. When asked why, most people effectively reply “Oh, I just like them.” The one person he doesn’t ask, however, is Jeanne Keyes Youngson, founder of Vampire Empire, a fan club for vampire media and research. Despite describing her as “ground zero for vampires”, Nuzum doesn’t draw much from her expertise. He could have asked academic scholars of vampire literature as well, but he doesn’t. Still, you’d think a lot of the people he did ask could supply some sort of rationale, even if they hadn’t given it much thought until that moment. But maybe the mystery is part of it.

Vampires are the most sophisticated of our monsters. Zombies can’t throw a baroque dinner party. Werewolves change form in a grotesque fashion and, once they’re changed, they’re basically aggressive dogs. Ghosts are generally incorporeal and usually return to the beyond once something’s resolved. Witches are the outlier, especially because of their roots in American history. My guess is that, since witches are almost exclusively women, several centuries of sexism have marginalized their power as villains.

Vampires evade all of those qualifiers. They look like us, can take practically any personality, and they pretty much do what they want. They are simultaneously strange and relatable. The vampire’s power—immortality, wisdom, strength, charm—are things we desire. But their animalistic nature is also something we acknowledge, and fear, in ourselves. Vampires are enough like us that we can see ourselves, our desires and fears, but different enough to separate ourselves from. Other monsters can’t pull off this trick.

One place Nuzum visited in his quest was a gathering of the Court of Lazarus, a group of avid vampire ‘lifestylers’ who get together at a New York burlesque club to dance, drink red cocktails, and dress like vampires. Nefarious Wrath, the group’s leader, opened the festivities with a ritual to call upon Satan, and the night closed with a dance routine involving two lovers pantomiming with a knife. Nuzum was a little weirded out by the whole affair. At the bar, he asked a guy in white contact lenses and a trench coat if he thought the Satanic references and violent theatrics were a little much. The guy just chuckled and said, “It’s all just symbolism.” A good trick, indeed.   

Zombie, Spaceship, Wastland, Vampires?

Not much new to report in Sanguine Diaryland. I’ve submitted two stories for publication, so now I just have to wait. I still have two other projects in the works. More on that later.

For this week’s entry,  I’m going to talk about a funny, interesting essay by the brilliant comedian, actor, and nerd extraordinaire, Patton Oswalt. If you’ve never seen or heard him do anything before, watch this clip:

Ok, good. Now you can read my essay, Zombie, Spaceship, Wasteland, Vampires?

“Are you a Zombie, a Spaceship, or a Wasteland?” So begins the eponymous essay of Patton Oswalt’s book, Zombie, Spaceship, Wasteland. Growing up, Oswalt and his friends devoured movies like Night of the Living Dead, Star Wars, and Road Warrior. As time passed, zombie, sci-fi, and post-apocalypse movies became part of his creative DNA, and he found the same thing applied to his friends as well. Therefore, he argues that creative people’s tend to adapt the characteristics of the genre that influences them the most. Here are the three categories Oswalt identifies, and what makes them unique: 

Zombies Simplify: The Zombie narrows the world to a “microcosm of archetypes, fighting for survival against the undead hordes.” The implication of a tight-knit community aside, the Zombie is a nihilist. The infrastructure of their world is still intact, but ultimately “Zombies can’t believe the energy we waste on nonfood pursuits.”

Spaceships Leave: For them, “it’s easier…to build a world and know its history or, better yet, choose the limited customs and rituals that fit the story.” They tend to work with computers and make good parents (“a good captain knows how to treat his crew”), but skim over the surface of the world, deflector shields up.

Wastelands Destroy: They have no interest in building a community of survivors, and “zooming off in a spaceship…smacks of retreat.” So they’re loners, wandering across a desolate world populated by mutants, who’re basically “variations of the human species grown amok.” But they are also “the most hopeful and sentimental of the bunch. Because…they conceive stories in which a core of humanity…survives and endures.”

Each category is interconnected. For example, Oswalt points out that “Darth Vader is, essentially, a Zombie, born in a Wasteland, who works on a Spaceship.”

“Every teen outcast who pursues a creative career,” he declares, “has, at its outset, either a Zombie, Spaceship, or Wasteland work of art in them.” And this opus usually stems from the nadir of adolescence. Oswalt finds that he is a Wasteland. During his freshman year of high school, he wrote two epic tales of post-apocalyptic antiheroes (apparently, they were both garbage). More importantly, comedians live on the road. They drift from town to town, living off cheap booze and nachos, “pointing out [to audiences] how so much of what we perceive as culture and society is disposable waste.”

Each category makes a lot of sense, and the essay does a great job explaining the personal roots of creativity. But Oswalt makes no grandiose claims here. His views reflect his experience, and his experience alone. He even goes so far as to explain, “I think this chapter is more for me than for you.”

Still, I really identify with what he says here. I was a teenage outcast, and I had varying levels of experience with those three genres. I grew up on Star Wars and, as a child of the nuclear ‘80s, watched my share of post-apocalyptic movies. There were other genres, too, most notably James Bond movies. But in my late teens and early twenties, I conceived of a wasteland-ish epic about a dystopian America, led by a dictator that waged a fierce, exterminationist war against fundamentalist christians. By my mid-twenties—which counts as one of the various nadirs of my adolescence—I had refined this story to the point of view of a soldier in said war, focusing on the grim choices she had to make to fulfill her ideological commitments (Thank you for your time, Mr. Spielberg. Really, there’s no need to call security).

But as much as Oswalt’s essay speaks to me, I still feel it’s incomplete. Where are the vampires? This is, after all, an essay written by a man who played a scientist who gets killed by vampires in Blade: Trinity. Granted, a reasonable person could say, ‘Well, maybe vampires weren’t that big a part of his childhood.’ But in the preface of Zombie Spaceship Wasteland, he confides that “Nosferatu looms over and lurks under everything I’m writing about here, and in this book.” Yeah. So there.

I won’t second guess Oswalt too much. I’m sure he had his reasons for sticking to those three tropes. But nothing is stopping me from adding my own experience to his model.

Vampires Detach: Unlike Zombies, they appreciate the complexity of the world around them, and they have no desire to zoom off in a Spaceship. Nor are they exactly solitary wanderers.  Vampires interact with other groups, but they tend to be disconnected and secretive. There are three basic kinds of vampire subcategories: decided vampires, self-conscious vampires, and people who kill vampires. In each case, the main character does not, can not, fit into society.

The detachment, the sense of seeing the world in a way that is irreconcilable with a proverbially normal life, often comes with a conceit of superiority. The decided vampire views people as edible playthings. For all their moping, self-conscious vampires are often compelled to show off their power as they divulge their awful knowledge. The vampire hunter protects the world from an unseen threat, so the very nature of their work makes them an outcast.

Look at it this way, Stoker made Dracula as much an anathema to all that is good and decent as he was hard to resist. Anne Rice’s Louis was sensitive and wise, but he was also so deprived of companionship that he wrestled with his turbid lust for Claudia, a vampire in the body of a prepubescent girl. Blade is skilled at killing vampires because he’s half-vampire, so he doesn’t have too many friends.

The Vampire’s alienation is rooted in their own capacity to be a monster. This is the final, deepest layer of the Vampire burrito. This is also why I know I am a Vampire. Teen outcast? Sheesh, I was socially awkward well into my thirties. So I spent a lot of time alone, usually in a room full of people. As a recovering alcoholic, I am also well aware of my ugliest capacities.

Without AA and multiple, daily entreaties to my Higher Power, I am a selfish, self-destructive douche who thrives on chaos. Left to my own devices, I’m the guy who shows up sloppy drunk to your party, presses your guests about the worst details of their lives, and assumes you won’t notice that I’m leaving with half of the beer from your fridge. It’s not as sexy as hypnotizing virgins and drinking their blood, but basically I can be about as white-knuckled over my appetites as Edward Cullen, Stefan Salvatore, or any other pretty-boy vampire who’s afraid to bite his girlfriend.

So that, my friends is my addition to Oswalt’s model. It’s not perfect, but no less so than the original. And like the original, it is strengthened by its overlap with other categories. For example, Buffy Summers is a Vampire slayer, who also fights her share of Zombies; her hometown of Sunnydale sits on a Hellmouth, which threatens to open and turn the world into a Wasteland; and at one point her mother is tormented by a Demon who crashed to Earth on a Spaceship.  So there.

In the Maw of "Meh": Mario Acevedo's Killing the Cobra

Well there's good news in Sanguine Diary Land. We have a winner for the giveaway. Jen Snyder of New York, New York won a free copy of the anthology Dark Light, with my story "Blood and Soil." The rest of you will just have to get one for yourselves. It's even free for Kindle if you're an Amazon Prime member. Yay!

Now, on to the rest. Here is my review of review of Mario Acevedo's graphic novel, Killing the Cobra:

In the Maw of "Meh": Mario Acevedo's Killing the Cobra:


Mario Acevedo’s novels are a lot of fun. Each one pits Felix Gomez, a vampire P.I., against absurd characters like lascivious aliens, vampire porn moguls, and mad scientists. And as far as vampires go, Gomez is pretty benevolent. When not drinking goat’s blood, he minimizes the damage to his human victims with hypnosis and saliva that can heal wounds. Gomez is also pretty resourceful, often favoring his wits over brute force. With titles like Jailbait Zombie and X-Rated Bloodsuckers, Acevedo’s novels brim with dark humor and a gritty, noir feel that seem like a great fit for a graphic novel crossover. And I still believe that is true, except that Killing the Cobra abandons the formula that makes the novels work.

As a story, Killing the Cobra is certainly cold-blooded, but in the wrong way. Gomez scowls and punches his way through each frame with none of the twisted humor that makes the novels enjoyable. Instead, Cobra makes Gomez a square-jawed hero who spits macho clichés about playing by his own rules.

The plot is simple enough, and actually too predictable. The Araneum, a sinister vampire syndicate for whom Gomez is a reluctant servant, has assigned him to take down a drug kingpin from Hong Kong. Gomez destroys a massive shipment of heroin, and the kingpin takes revenge by following Gomez to San Francisco and kidnapping his girlfriend. A lot of the story feels rushed, shuffling the plot from one action sequence to another, without building much in between.

Gomez’s relationship with his girlfriend, Qian Ning seems rote. In almost all of the novels, Felix has love interests and Acevedo always makes a little bit of room to develop the characters’ rapport. One scene in X-Rated Bloodsuckers, where a woman holds his hand and he has to pretend that her silver ring doesn’t hurt him, is a perfect example. Qian Ning is painted with too many broad strokes: she’s ‘good’ because she’s an ex-prostitute who runs a shelter for women escaping the sex industry. Beyond that, though, there’s very little to her character. This is too bad, a real missed opportunity for adding complexity to the plot.

Gomez is also drawn too broadly, despite the fact that the graphic novel is at its best when describing his experiences of the Iraq War. But for most of the story, Gomez just talks tough, telling thugs to mind their manners or reminding his contacts at the Araneum that he does things his way. Acevedo’s novels are not what one would call nuanced, but they work just fine. In the novels, Acevedo explains Gomez’s scars from the war and describes the parameters of his vampirism without slowing the plot. In Killing the Cobra, he not only changes the parameters, but explains things with needless redundancy. The Felix Gomez of the graphic novel completely abstains from human blood, which robs the character of a lot of interesting ambiguity. Practically every scene in Killing the Cobra explains that he’s a vampire, as if fangs, super strength, and imperviousness to bullets do not adequately convey this. On two separate occasions, it is explained that Araneum is latin for spider web. And this is one of those things that readers should be allowed to look up on their own.

I am way past the age where I take pleasure in harsh criticism, and it gives me no joy that Killing the Cobra falls flat. Honestly, I was looking forward to reading it. In fairness to Acevedo, the story was released in serial issues before being compiled into a graphic novel, so it’s entirely possible that poor sales or some other tremor of the publishing world cut the project short. If that’s the case, then it would explain why so many of the relationships lack depth and some of the more intriguing premises—like Qian Ning’s women’s shelter—were not adequately explored. But the dumbing down of Felix Gomez is still a disappointing mystery. Maybe Acevedo just didn’t know how to tell a story in a different medium. Either way, if you’re a fan of the novels, don’t bother with Killing the Cobra. And if you’ve never read Mario Acevedo, pick up Jailbait Zombie. It’s a lot of fun.

Anthology Giveaway: Dark Light, featuring my story, "Blood & Soil"

It is an exciting night at the Sanguine Diary. My story, "Blood & Soil", was featured in the anthology Dark Light, brought to you by the good people at Crushing Hearts & Black Butterfly Publishing. And now you have a chance to win a Free Copy! 

Here's a trailer for the book: 

This is my first giveaway, and I am using Rafflecopter. Between March 22nd and April 3rd, all you have to do is  fill out the form below. The winner will be announced on April 4th.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

New Deal, Old Scores: American Vampire, Volume 2

Confession: Over the past few months, I have spent many a night reading comic books by flashlight. It was something I never did as a kid, so I guess I'm catching up. But my self-indulgence pays off, for tonight I present you with a review of the second volume of Scott Snyder's American Vampire.

Vampires can hold a grudge. Piss one off, and it’ll launch a long, seething vendetta that makes Richard Nixon look positively gracious (Note: Actor Frank Langella has portrayed both Dracula and Richard Nixon. Coincidence?). It has been said that anything you do can come back to bite you, and the second volume of American Vampire puts a literal twist on this adage. By the end of the story, old scores are settled and new ones have arisen. It’s a good ride, but would have been even better if the creator, Scott Snyder, had settled some of the problems of the first series, notably the development of his central character, the original American Vampire, Skinner Sweet.

The second installment of American Vampire picks up about ten years after the end of the first one. It’s 1936 and Roosevelt’s New Deal is in full swing. The Works Progress Administration has loosed an avalanche of money on Las Vegas, Nevada, and everyone’s scrambling to reap a reward. Skinner Sweet gets his by being a pimp, catering to an army of migrant laborers and the wealthy entrepeneurs who’ve been contracted to build a massive dam. In an effort to attract workers and stimulate the economy, prostitution and gambling have been legalized, but the move ultimately pushes the city to the brink of lawlessness.

The town’s young sheriff, Cash McCogan, tries his damndest to keep the peace, a task made even harder by the fact that he just donned the badge of his father, who was murdered in cold blood. If that weren’t bad enough, the leaders of the engineering consortium in charge of constructing the dam start turning up dead. He gets some help, though, from two FBI agents who are actually Vassals of the Morning Star—vampire hunters who’ve been recruited into the trade because a vampire has harmed them at one point in their life. What McCogan doesn’t know, is that Sweet has set the stage to take revenge on the old-world vampires who turned him. I offer no spoilers, except to say that this is not a cautionary tale. Blood flies, scores are settled, and others have no reasonable choice but to seek revenge.

My only reservation about this story line is that Sweet’s motives don’t seem to make sense. As a character Sweet has three basic traits: he is ruthless, cunning, and absolutely self-serving. This makes for a solid villain, but does little to explain why he has it in for the vampires of the old world. It can’t be because they made him a vampire. Despite a rough start, he clearly enjoys the change. It can’t be that they foiled his spree as a bank robber when he was still human. He’s never, in either the first or second book, complained about the loss. The only motive he ever states is a disdain for the older vampires, but so what? They aren’t really a threat to him. Hopefully, something more complex about Sweet will be revealed in later volumes.

The continuing story of the Scott Snyder’s other American Vampire, Pearl Jones, adds even more layers to her character. Pearl is something quite interesting: a ‘good’ vampire who is neither self-loathing nor remorseful. She still struggles with serious issues, such as the eventual frailty of her human lover, Henry, and whether or not he will one day be revolted by her true nature. But she also freely admits to enjoying certain elements of her ingrained bloodlust. Pearl rarely kills humans, though when she does, it’s for good reason—such as protecting someone she loves—and she doesn’t regret it.

Pearl's past comes back to haunt her, too. Hattie Hargrove, a vampire and former friend who Pearl left for dead after Hattie betrayed her, has escaped captivity and is looking for revenge. Except Hattie’s pursuit of Pearl never comes to a head. This part of the story feels more like a bridging segment, keeping the characters active while nursing earlier conflicts toward a finale. Skinner Sweet's story in this volume is also open ended. New characters, such as Cash McCogan, are introduced, and, if the first volume is any indicator, his story is not finished.

All these loose threads are good news, because it leaves plenty of room for mayhem in the next installment, especially since second volume of American Vampire was almost as good as the first. Once again, Rafael’s Albuquerque’s artwork is terrific, as is the work by contributing artist, Mateus Santolouco. Hopefully, Sweet will gain more depth, but I can’t say I’m holding my breath. Snyder seems pretty content to just let him be mean and selfish. Still, I can’t fathom why he is so bent on destroying his predecessors. 

Volume 3 was published in early February of this year (expect a review soon), and Volume 4 is due out in October. I can’t wait to see where Snyder and co. take this story. 

Baltimore: The Plague Ships

Things are still good in the land of the Sanguine Diary. Tomorrow I am going on a three-day retreat to get some writing work done, and my story "Blood and Soil" is now available in the anthology Dark Light, from the good people at Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing.

So tonight, I am pulling myself away from Robert Kaplan's Balkan Ghosts (feel free to wonder if that book is related something I might be working on) to present you with a review of Baltimore: The Plague Ships from Dark Horse Comics.

No doubt, Lord Henry Baltimore is the coolest vampire hunter with a wooden leg. He marks each of his kills by driving a nail into his prosthesis. The first nail was for his wife. Some call him a hero, others call him a curse, and Baltimore himself believes he is damned. In a simpler life he was a soldier, leading his men across the battle-scarred fields of France in World War I— until a chance encounter with a vampire unleashed a plague upon humanity. God may have forged him as a weapon to bring some light back to the world, but Baltimore cares for no greater purpose than vengeance. You see, blighting humanity was not enough for the vampire; he also had to murder Baltimore’s family.

Lord Baltimore’s story debuted in the excellent novel by Christopher Golden and Mike Mignola, titled Baltimore, Or the Steadfast Tin Soldier and the Vampire, and The Plague Ships is a comic-book sequel by the same authors. Those who haven’t read the novel would not be lost if they read Plague Ships first, though. It not only supplies the necessary back story, but is a solid work in its own right.

Plague Ships follows Baltimore through a Europe choked nearly to death by a vampire’s plague, The Red Death. Those who’ve not been turned into vampires have succumbed to a gruesome, highly contagious disease, and those who have survived live in suspicious isolation.Baltimore’s search for Haigus, the vampire who killed his family and unleashed the Red Death, brings him to a desolate coastal town in France. Ashe secures passage from the town, becomes shipwrecked, and battles a horde of undead German submariners, he also learns he is the target of a new, ruthless inquisition which believes the Red Plague can only end if Europe is cleansed of all sin. And the inquisitors see no difference between Baltimore and the monsters he slays. This is only a brief synopsis of The Plague Ships, which sets up a longer plot to be continued Baltimore’s saga in another collection, titled The Curse Bells (due out this June in trade paperback).

Whereas Mike Mignola (best known as the creator of Hellboy) illustrated the novel with elegant chiaroscuro, Ben Stenbeck, Dave Stewart, and Clem Robins— the artistic team behind Plague Ships— take full advantage of the medium, using single images to express ideas that could only unfold in several pages of prose. Take this image:

Art by Ben Stenbeck. Colors by Dave Stewart.

Here we see Baltimore recovering from his first encounter with the vampire. He is sleeping in a church the army has commandeered as a hospital. The stained glass above his head, depicting Adam and Eve’s expulsion from Eden, is a perfect symbol of his transformation. Since the back story is told in flashbacks, the reader has already seen Baltimore as a vampire hunter: his dark, haggard features, the seemingly unbearable load of weapons, his lumbering wooden leg. So the reader already knows his fate. But this image shows that when he wakes up, life as he knew it is over. He has been damned by a terrible, new-found knowledge of evil.

Then there is this image:  

Art by Ben Stenbeck. Colors by Dave Stewart.

A skilled writer could describe this scene very well, but the art has a visceral quality that usually only conjures verbal epithets like “bad-ass!” or “god damn!”

Comic book aficionados will probably laugh at me here. Not only do they already know what I’ve described in the past few paragraphs, but I am sure they could give me a thousand other, maybe even better, examples. If that’s the case, then I say ‘please do’, because I will admit that I am only now really learning about comic books.

My greater area of knowledge lies in the vampire genre as a whole, and I have to say that the character of Baltimore is a welcome addition in any medium. Don’t get me wrong, I love the newer, more ambivalent breed of vampires. After all, two of my four tattoos come from Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But I like that Christopher Golden and Mike Mignola are working in the vein of old school vampires who view the human heart as nothing more than the source of a meal.

And let’s face it, as a villain, Haigus is a serious badass. Dracula only molested a handful of wealthy Brits, but this guy unleashed a plague on humanity. But I also like the way the authors show how the nature of evil unambiguous while acknowledging that its faces are subjective and sometimes hard to detect. Baltimore is a force of good, but he doesn’t really look like one. Consequently, he is often persecuted by people he is willing to protect, and he'ss also the target of an inquisition whose sense of righteousness justifies violent atrocity. This is a very realistic portrayal of the evils most people encounter in their own lives.

In the final analysis, I think that the original novel is a little better, but the comic books still capture the spirit of the story. In whatver form, I hope that Lord Baltimore's dismal mission is far from over.