Game of the Gods: Figure of the Earth
Writer: Walter Simonson
Artists: Jerry Ordway(p), Craig P. Russell(i), Trish Mulvihill(c)
Jerry Ordway and Craig P. Russell combine smoothly. Ordway who is known for his crosshatching and abundance of linework denoting depth needs an inker who has the same mind-set. Craig P. Russell always lived in Ordway's world. Both men make the rough beautiful on the pages. Both men joined by the always enjoyable Trish Mulvihill also work equally well in the science fiction genre as well as urban arenas.
On Wonder Woman the artists enjoy ample opportunities to show their ranges. Whether on Oa or in New York City all looks as it should appear. As does Wonder Woman. With every curl of her hair pressed straight, her indigo-highlighted hair--by way of a pre-Crisis salon--whips through the air. Her pale blue eyes gleam with Amazon ferocity. Her outfit alludes to the Mrs. Peel era of her book. She dwarfs men although not standing erect and fights like a martial arts master, as she did in the late sixties. Although she does not know her own name nor wear the expected costume, nobody will question whether the woman in white is Wonder Woman.
Walt Simonson's Wonder Woman tends to talk to herself a lot, but in his writing, there is a certainty of who Diana is, what was lost and what can once again be found if a writer is given leave to search. Unfortunately, Mr. Simonson must pay lip service to the illusion that DC still possesses coherency. It is so obvious that the funeral scenes in which Wonder Woman arrives dramatically should have immediately followed the short and humorous introduction of a charlatan and her flock. Instead, the amusing opening segues clumsily to the pissy Trevor Barnes.
Trevor Barnes wastes every panel he is in and once again adds more evidence to my argument that nothing good comes from the post-Crisis. This whining, rude and also smug waste of skin--regardless of color-- doesn't need to exist in this or any comic book. Just the thought of him with Diana nauseates. Hopefully, somebody will have the fortitude to banish him to the dimension where his ghoulies had been hacked off or better yet set up an eight hundred number where readers may decide his grisly fate; I opt for him becoming Joel Schumacher's love-slave. I would rather see Diana have a fling with Black Manta than this useless churl.
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