|After reading the above about Anthro and Kamandi, I think whatever love I still had left in my sad, cracked heart for George died with a small sigh.|
George used to be good because he was prepared to drag ideas that ostensibly had nothing to do with comics (beat poetry, pop culture, contemporary politics, teh darque magicks and so on) into his work. All right, everybody does that nowadays, but for a while back there George's comics were futuristic, and inspiring.
These days though, he seems to increasingly drawing on comics from the Seventies as his main inspiration, like an avant garde musician 'going back to his roots', which is always, IMVHO, a mistake. The retro-classicism he's currently hawking round the place at DC works for some (James Robertson for example) but it does seem a bit hopeless for George, in much the same way as Bob Dylan's conversion to Christianity left a sour taste, at the time.
In short, George's series of fractured homages to the greats of the Sixties, and especially the Seventies (Neal Adams, Len Wein, Jack 'The King' Kirby and so on) is really beginning to grate. I was around for all that the first time, and it was interesting stuff, for the most part; I'd just been through a messy divorce, and for the first time in a long time I was centring myself, albeit with recourse to transcendental medication. But that was then, and this is now.
I'll go out and slavishly buy the thing, of course, all seven issues, but I suspect I'm going to hate myself in the morning every fourth Sunday, for as long as the series lasts.
Although I hope to be proved wrong. At my age, even the most minor disappointment is life-threatening.