You're the doc, Doc!

Dogbreath #25 comes barking onto the scene this month, pausing only to scratch itself and sniff another fanzine's rear, and within it is a 6-pager by myself and artist David Broughton, focused around 'Strontium Dog' villain Doc Death. Some of you may remember Doctor Lionel Death, who was the main antagonist in 'Bitch', the story that so memorably introduced Durham Red to the Strontium Dog universe. Whilst this errant S/D agent met his end at fangs of Miss Red, I always thought he was a fantastic character, with a distinctive, bug-eyed appearance, excellent taste in headgear, sparkling dialogue and a memorable trademark (he views torture as an art form.) I particularly enjoy writing well-spoken or verbose characters, so he seemed an obvious choice to frame a story around.

A quick re-read of 'Bitch' revealed one key piece of background information about Doc Death: he got his degree in torture from the University of Santiago in Chile. I certainly hadn't realised it at the time, but this was clearly a Wagner / Grant swipe at the Pinochet regime of the 1970s and 80s, whose torture-friendly dictator our beloved Maggie Thatcher was only to eager to cosy up to. As I explored this fragment of Doc's history, it eventually became clear what an odd little loophole this created in the Strontiverse. As Dogbreath's editors pointed out, if mutants could be routinely educated to degree standard in Chile, why didn't they all just move there, instead of off-world? It was decided that Doc (and his newly-invented tutor, Henry Hojeda ) had to be special cases. (Hojeda, incidentally, was very loosely patterned around Roald Dahl's sadistic, finger-lopping character 'Man From the South', played in the 'Tales of the Unexpected' tv series by Jose Ferrer.)

So having decided to bring Doc back to his alma mater, I had to come up with a problem for him to face. I liked the idea of having him torture someone who was conventionally impossible to actually torture - but who would this individual be? After a quick web-search to find things associated with Chile, I was left surprised (not for the first time) by my own ignorance: I hadn't realised that Easter Island was off the coast. It was at this point that the idea of bringing a Granulan into the strip (from the story 'Stone Killers') occurred. A silicon-based life-form who couldn't actually feel pain seemed the perfect nemesis, and if he happened to look like one of the iconic stone heads of Easter Island, so much the better.

And so the stage was set. The most enjoyable part of the scripting (apart from Doc's endlessly piquant dialogue) was trying to figure out the different torture methods Doc would try (and fail) to use against the Granulan, along with said Granulan's nonchalant (and frequently rather bitchy) retorts. Readers might wonder what aspect of Chilean life the Granulan was spying on and who he was working for: your guess is as good as mine. On the one hand, I figured that it didn't matter to Doc in the slightest - he was only interested in the torture process, not the actual information gained, so it wasn't actually important. On the other hand, in retrospect I think I could have tied it all together elegantly by suggesting he was trying to find information on Henry Hojeda.

Now for some words on the art. Having collaborated with David Broughton several times now, I've learned something: he is a master of detail, and remarkably talented at not only including every  precise reference that's in a script, but many more of his own, besides. For instance, the panel description for the Dean's office (page one, panel three) includes this:

Some manner of militaristic portrait hangs on the back wall, possibly one of Bernardo O’Higgins, one of the founders of Chile.

Well, do a quick web-search for Bernardo O'Higgins and look at the Dean's wall - that's O'Higgins, all right! Things like that may not be vital to the plot, but they really add to the flavour and atmosphere of a strip, even if only appreciated by a select few. More obviously crowd-pleasing were David's additions to the graduating year-group in panel one of the same page: a few very suspicious and familiar characters there! For my money, one of David's other great strengths is his amazing skill at drawing technology - I'd envisioned the Granulan kept prisoner by fairly basic manacles, but instead David amped up the tech factor and delivered a marvellous containment ring of cyber-circular majesty. Glorious!

'Blood From A Stone', then - one I really enjoyed writing and am largely happy with. I'd vainly like to think I managed some vague approximation of Wagner and Grant's infamous 'hard-edged lunacy' - ridiculous antics but with an edge. Either way, if you fancy a feast for the eyes, capped off with the ever stellar lettering work of the mighty Bolt-01, Dogbreath #25 is available at the FutureQuakePress shop: get 'em while they're hot (but not stone-baked.)

Review to a Kill (or two)

 First up - I expect many reading this have already seen Davey Candlish's 'Comic Heroes' cutting, in which Paragon #9 is reviewed and given a lovely 4.5/5 verdict. Well, as my blog title implies, beating my own drum is not an activity to which I'm a stranger, so here's the review again:

I do feel that reviewer Rob Power (now there's a wonderfully villainous name!) has completely nailed what Paragon is and should continue to be - a spectacle of madcap action, frenzied energy, and gripping narrative. Happy to see the comic getting this kind of well-deserved praise, and particularly great to have my own strip singled out as a highlight: Davey Candlish and I share the audacity plaudits with Mighty Matthew McLaughlin and the indomitable James Corcoran, the latter of whom will be lending his not-inconsiderable talents to my next Spencer Nero tale in Paragon #10. (Can't wait to see the end result.)

Next review is from David Hailwood over at Temple APA, regarding the Martillo strip on which I collaborated with David Broughton for that very same august publication. It reads:

• Greg Meldrum and David Broughton. A well-polished and thoroughly enjoyable first contribution. The Martillo strip had great artwork; I especially liked the hard edged angular nature of the characters. Very amusing script as well; I enjoyed the complete lack of subtlety that Martillo displays when dealing with his exorcisms (when in doubt, bash it with a sledgehammer). Favourite line? ‘I shall require an open window. And this goat.’

Once again, jolly happy with that: plans to do more with the character are beginning to gather momentum. (If you don't have a copy of Temple #10, you can download it free HERE.)

And that's that. So, before my ego expands further... vamanos, dear reader. Vamanos!

¡ Vete Al Infierno !

Temple APA #10 is out (with a cracking cover from the mighty Malcolm Kirk), and within its varied virtual pages lurks an odd little story by myself and collaborator David Broughton (with lettery goodness fresh from the fragrant fingers of foxy Owen Watts.) As indicated previously, the story is the debut of a man called Martillo, a grim-faced Spanish priest with a skull-busting past and penchant for a very specific form of defenestration.

Download the pdf HERE, bask in David B.'s ridiculous talent, and then gasp in amazement when you realised he rustled up the art for this in less than a fortnight.

As for the origins of the story, well...  many years ago, I was introduced to the violent and often extremely funny films of Spanish director Álex de la Iglesia, whose work I loved, to the extent I'm frequently seen sporting an 'Accion Mutante' t-shirt in tribute to his first film. One particular highlight was 'El Dia De La Bestia' (The Day of the Beast), in which a Catholic priest struggles to avert what he believes will be the modern reincarnation of the Anti-Christ. To achieve this end, he begins sinning as vigorously as he can in the hope of being allowed into the Devil's confidence. The film ends with the surviving characters in Retiro Park, next to a famous statue of Lucifer. I was absolutely fascinated by the notion that Madrid had a statue of the Devil on public display, and when I finally paid the city a visit, I made a beeline for said monument.

Whilst Martillo himself has little in common with the  film's main character, aside from their mutual profession, the presence of that infernal statue was very much the inspiration for the strip. What a wicked place Madrid must be if it celebrated its sins so publically! Likewise, Martillo's unique approach to exorcism was derived from Spain's reputation, deserved or otherwise, for being every-so-slightly lacking in concern for animal welfare. Martillo, as you will have noticed, has no concern for anyone's individual welfare - an ends-justifies-the-means type, he is firmly in the mould of Doomlord from 'Eagle' in his approach to fighting evil.

Will he return? He may indeed. I certainly like the idea of digging into Spain's occult history and juxtaposing that with the state of the country under the Franco regime. A fertile setting indeed...

...for evil!

Sign of the Hammer

A little preview for something put together for Temple APA #10 - a four page strip from myself and the ever-wonderful artist David Broughton, with lettering by Owen Watts. The strip, 'Martillo', stars a Madrillian exorcist who is also a former member of the Guardia Civil, Spain's somewhat notorious military-status police force. This means his approach to the delicate matter of spiritual redemption is somewhat... blunter than one might usually expect.

And also more likely to involve creative use of a goat.

Peculiar fun then, from the only European capital city to host a public statue dedicated to the devil.

(Oh, and in case you were wondering, Martillo is the one on the left.)

A Stay of Execution

Or at least, that's how Dustin Hoffman describes a good review. Yes, Paragon #9 gets reviewed over at the Forbidden Planet blog, and I'm pretty happy with the comments on 'Spencer Nero'. The review begins:

• Really liking the cover this time round – good pulp hero feel, and very fitting, as it’s featuring the new strip in Paragon 9, the pulp adventure Spencer Nero. Something of a tongue in cheek Doc Savage style thing, following an old style adventurer, always ready with a quip to take on a thrilling adventure. He travels the world, sorting out all those who need sorting, with a nod, a wink, and a never ending stream of pulp hero clichés. But I like tongue in cheek pulp hero clichés.

There’s two episodes here – Nazi Aztecs in the middle of the ocean first up and then a werehyaena in East Africa. Two artists as well, but I didn’t enjoy David Broughton’s necessarily cartoon-ish style for The Last Laugh anywhere near as much as Dave Candlish’s more stylised moments of the Island Of The Naztecs storyline. But the art serves the stories well, and it’s not a bad intro to a character all concerned may enjoy playing around with.

All told, a decent appraisal, and little to argue with. I'll be honest, I think the script suffers from my frequent crime of excessive dialogue, but though it was only recently published, it was actually written before my first Dogbreath story, during the submission of which I got invaluable advice from the editorial team on paring it all down.

The rest of the review is unfortunately not as enthusiastic about Paragon as a whole, but I do hope Dave C. won't be put off by that. From my perspective, Paragon gets better and better every issue, and, my own contributions aside, I think the run from #7 onwards has seen the comic at its strongest. Onwards and upwards!

Pictures At An Exhibition

Who are these chaps? Well, they're part of a special project Davey Candlish and I are working on, to be published at some future point in Paragon comic. What's the story? Can't say yet... strictly hush hush... suffice to say it has a historical setting, takes place in Europe, and is big on banter. But I can say that this strip marks the first time I've tried to write an extended episodic comic story, rather than a done-in-one. (I've made a conscious decision, for instance, that Spencer Nero stories will always be complete in any given issue, though they'll occasionally and briefly reference previous instalments.) It's definitely a different kind of challenge, making sure each episode has its own quota of action, comedy, plot movement and character development, while maintaining a consistent tone and flavour across the story.

So what can I tell you? Well...

• One of these men is a perfectionist - the other thinks he is perfect.
• One of these men is a heavy sleeper - the other is often up all night.
• One of these men drives people up the wall - the other just drives women crazy.
• One of these men does not wear socks - the other is wearing very well, thank you.

 And without both of these men... polite society may not survive.

Genesis and Catastrophe (Without the Catastrophe.)

Well, by now, Paragon #9's got into the hands of the general public, and while I've yet to read any reviews, those who have commented on my strip have been pretty positive, which is always good for the ol' ego. Here's a few thoughts about the strip's genesis, and that of Nero himself.

The whole thing came out of Chris Cronin's desire to put together a pulp-style comic. Fresh from having written my Dr WTF?! strip and not having been told to go away and never darken the door of comics again, this seemed like a golden opportunity. I suggested writing a Doc Savage-style character, which grabbed Davey Candlish's attention, but in between my suggesting and his being grabbed, I'd changed my mind and wanted to write about a dwarf detective instead. Cheekily, I suggested the Doc Savage type for Paragon instead, and Dave agreed, finding himself also roped into drawing the dwarf detective as well. (More on him in the future.)

As such, I came up with Spencer Nero. His first name derived from both that doyenne of Englishness, Lady Di, but also from Spencer Tracy, who in 'Bad Day At Black Rock' struck me as a pinnacle of the heroic. Likewise, Nero's surname hailed from both the Roman emperor (and was, as such, intended to indicate the character's dark side) but also from Franco Nero, Italian star of 'Django', a wonderfully hapless cowboy hero, sporting cool in bucketloads.

On the surface, Spencer would be the classic 1930s pulp adventurer, but I wanted him to have a really nasty side to give him a bit of an edge. No less an authority than Dredd-scribe John Wagner has said that it's always better if your hero has a bit of range and room to be a bastard. In Spencer's case, the two seemed incongruous, so I decided to make that a plot point - he puts on a mask and behaves differently, afterwards distancing himself entirely from what he's done. This inevitably led to my obsession with the Roman god Janus surfacing, and then everything seemed to come together when I realised that Spencer epitomised British (and Roman) hypocrisy - noble ideals in principle but with a bloody, domineering undercurrent and a 'might makes right' philosophy in practice.

After that, it was just a case of finding a foe for him. Dr. Von Zero was plucked straight out of a WWII role-playing game I'd written and run, whilst the use of a lost Aztec tribe with a mystic stone probably has its roots in an Indiana Jones comic I'd been given as a kid in the 80s, where Indy had to avoid being fried by solar lasers focused through Aztec gemstones embedded in the roof of a prison chamber. As for Mr. Alabaster - I think his name comes from a line in The Police song 'Wrapped Around Your Finger', whilst his tarot obsession seemed a good way of shoehorning in some occult antics of a non-Roman variety. He's become a character I've grown to enjoy writing, particularly once I got a handle on his relationship with Nero - Alabaster in fact exploits him ruthlessly for his own amusement, but uses his matter-of-fact way of dealing with eccentric subject matter to make it all seem necessary.

And there you have it. As Gary Larson once said, after recounting the origins of his career as a cartoonist: I have no idea of how much interest any of that is to you, but it's in your brain now and you're stuck with it.