Writer/Artist: Alan Davis, Mark Farmer(i), Gregory Wright(c)
I knew Killraven wasn't going to be good. If anybody could have made me feel otherwise it was Alan Davis. I became enamored of his artwork since his brief run on Detective Comics. I followed him to Batman and the Outsiders and then Excalibur. He not only impressed me with his artwork on Clandestine but also with his writing.
I just knew, I felt it in every fiber of my being, that the return of Killraven was a huge, huge mistake. I ordered it anyway. I have only myself to blame. So at least I don't feel cheated. Still, what Killraven proves is that a bad idea is a bad idea, and no matter the talent, the idea will still end up being bad.
Alan Davis sticks to the Bible of Killraven. As a result the Martian tripods look as menacing as mechanical poodles when compared to those seen in the Cartoon Network's Justice League as well as those wreaking havoc in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.
The Robomen (Martian Hunter Slaves) look as if somebody dropped a battalion of Cylons into a vat at Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Umpa, Lumpa, Doopity-Doo...The Martians have no fashion sense. Here's a shrink-wrapped grape Salt Water Taffy for you.
The real tragedy of the Martian invasion is that it happened during the disco era. Thus, Killraven and Crew look like refugees from Saturday Night Fever. I could have sworn in the past he had on some respectable chain-mail or something. Looking at the abbreviated leather overalls, Marvel seems to be fishing for a gay audience--perhaps in response to DC's new-grabbing drama in Green Lantern. I am the wrong audience for this book. Rao, get that out of my face, beefy guy who I never saw before.
The story itself is a cliché-ridden wedge of Swiss cheese. Actually, the nationality of the cheese is immaterial. If you would rather deem Killraven a slice of cheddar or a pot of nacho cheese, be my guest. We have your scrounging like rats survivors searching for uncontaminated food; where they would get this type of cuisine is beyond me since the Martians not only irradiated we poor earthers with our own nuclear weapons but also released a genetic nasty plague on humanity. You would think with all this superior technology they'd find a way to overcome the protection provided by an aluminum can, but apparently not. Our bright eyed annoying child gaily--pun not entirely intended--goes grocery shopping--where the cans come into the scene--with his mom. Now anybody who doesn't know that mom is about to cash in her black death doughnuts turn on your television sets late night on any independent channel and watch the syndicated awe of that moving scene being played out again and again.
Killraven features a really typical representation of your basic aliens overthrowing the earth scenario. Actually, you can substitute aliens for whatever enemy you like. The nationality of the invaders is immaterial. What results is your bargain basement Z-Grade movie filmed on the weekend by Joel Schumacher and set somewhere in the desert where actresses and actors soon to be dunked in a pool of snakes on Fear Factor spout lines you've heard over and over again during a seventies and eighties straight-to-scifi-video Blockbuster festival. Cheese I believe is often the food of choice during these galas.
In short, one bullet for the hot green chick I do remember from Killraven's adventures in Marvel's ludicrous adaptation of War of the Worlds. I still blame myself.
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