Black Sheep #1

Midnight Creep

Shpilkes Vol. III, Number 1

By Frederick (Fredo) Noland
Post Apocalyptic Funhouse

Berkeley, California-based cartoonist Frederick Noland, who also goes by the name Fredo, is a versatile and prolific cartoonist whose work shifts comfortably between folk tale, science fiction and the sort of satire of American trash associated with Harry Crews. It's in this 'milieu' that most of the stories in these three books locate themselves, but what makes all the stories fit well with one another is Fredo's ability to blend and distort genres at the fringes. Combine this with a slick, graphic sensibility and even the works that aren't as strong as others all have something to recommend them.

The standard-sized, difficult-to-pronounce anthology Shpilkes sports a cover featuring one of those small, pre-fab diners shaped like a bus that are so connected to a particular place and time that encountering one today makes you wonder if the fry cook and cockroaches inside are all of original vintage as well. Attention to detail is important to Fredo, and rather than shy away from the dirt, garbage and greasiness of the world his characters inhabit, he relishes in throwing the spotlight on each greasy stain. One look at the cover and the reader should know exactly what is in store.

Opening the book is like opening the warped screen door at the front of the diner. A horror show of grotesque faces and anachronistic signage precede the first 'voice' you hear: one a them guys, thinks he's a comedian. You only here the punchline, and it's out of context, but nobody else seems to be laughing either. You've entered a world of the down-and-out, where the older folks have excepted their lot (and will explain all the workings of the world to you, a complete stranger, for as long as you can stand to listen) and the younger folks talk a good game until someone calls them on it. These are all ugly, ugly people, and Fredo exagerates all their worst qualities in a thick line with a pen dipped in crude oil. In some of the best drawings, I alsmost expect to see that rainbow pattern you find in puddles of gasoline. For some reason, the first couple of pages appear to have been blown up from a smaller size, and the lines seem flat and lifeless, but by the time one character shouts, "Fight the power!" the graphic sensibility and line weight start coming back into focus. As the book progresses, so does the art and each page is filled with visual humor that exceeds its predecesssor.

The main story in Shpilkes is "The Last of the Habsburgs," a sort of anti-EC horror story about Otto, an inbred foot fetishist who learns the folly of accidently messing with the wrong girl. It's a zany chase story, a freakish love triangle (highlighted by a sickeningly erotic scene of foot-worship), and a morality tale without without a moral. It's a bit hard to know what to make of the story. The bad guys might get what's comin' to 'em, but, I'm not sure what the point of Otto's fate is. Maybe it's just that 'shit happens', or maybe he's guilty for being party to a deprived society.

One of the things that makes these books so difficult to discuss is Fredo's ambivalence towards his subject matter. It's hard to say when he's glorifying the 'depraved', laughing at them from his drawing board or condemning them to some purgatory. He certainly relishes depicting these characters' lurid lifestyles, and there's visible artistic joy in almost every panel. Maybe what we have here is the result of a mad scientist, once banished to the swamps and trailer parks of the south, resurfacing with a pen and brush. Or maybe the story should be read with the sort of disturbed glee that comes from watching two insects mating just before you light them on fire with a magnifying glass.

Who's with me?

Midnight Creep may be my favorite book from this lot. A square mini comic with a silk-screened cover, Creep feels rough and gritty in the hand—perfect for the sort of tale might be told hidden away on an old rail car. The art is uniformly gross and wonderful. The exageration is more restrained, and a lot of the horror in the book comes just from the details chosen in each drawing and the tension that builds up for our cheatin' jealous protaganist. Of course, there's some supernatural horror too, this is a devil gone down to Georgia style American folktale—jes' with more cock an' bush. The devil offers the artist a great oppurtunity to create a genuine monter for his freakshow of brilliantly designed characters, an he does not disapoint. A transformation sequence is pitch-perfect.

Black Sheep #1 is the half-letter-sized, screen-printed cover child of Shpilkes and promises to be the new anthology series within Noland will work. We're reunited with the "Fight the Power" kid from Shpilkes, Ivan in the first chapter of "Neighborhood of the Beast." It's the sort of story that feels very much like a first chapter, for whatever that's worth. Ivan can't stand his living conditions, so he sets out to find new ones but discovers that he can only afford a place at the bottom of the barrel. Where Noland's previous stories found horror in the absurd and humor in terror, I get the feeling that he's trying to combine both and reign in his more extravagant tendencies in what amounts to a fairly standard apartment search. It's one of those stories that rings perfectly true, but doesn't seem distinct enough to warrant its telling.

And this is a shame. Noland's characters are written and drawn with a great deal of fully realised personality (some with personality to spare) and it would be great for them to have had something a little more interesting to do. And while it seems that more will be coming for these characters, it would have been nice if something was set up or alluded to.

The second story in the book is "Walkabout," an adventure featuring Tozoa, an alien astronaut who lands on a strange planet and encounters some overzealous space alligators. It's a wordless story with some sound effects rendered in an alien language and Noland's art more than carries the humor—particularly in Tozoa's imaginings about his possible future. The action in the story is all well told, exciting and clear (and funny, did I mention funny?). There's a lot more open space in the book as a whole, often with just a single spotted black guiding the eye or framing a scene. And Walkabout affords Noland the oppotunity to fine-tune (or at least display) this aspect of his art. It's a very enjoyable and satisfying excersiz, complete with more of Noland's well-designed figures.

—Justin J. Fox