Prospecting for comics with promise in the Diamond Previews is a daunting task: these three graphic novels had a bit of sparkle (well-designed covers in addition to sexy solicitation copy) in the catalog. However, to utilize a well-worn cliché, all that glitters is not gold, and assuredly, these turned out to be mostly pyrite: while each had a decent enough concept and not untalented collaborators, all three ultimately failed in the execution.

Suburban Glamour TPB (Jamie McKelvie, with colors by Guy Major and Matthew Wilson)

Jamie McKelvie's covers are his greatest strength: his use of white both to contrast vibrant colors and for dramatic composition, his stencil-like embellishments, pretty punk/mod character designs, etc., effectively stand out from the miasma of clench-jawed superheroes, bulging-boobed pin-ups and Suydam-knockoff-with-diminishing returns zombies that permeate Previews' pages. (Image's primo Previews real estate doesn't hurt.) Suburban Glamour #1, the first issue in the Brit's first solo miniseries, got a good push in the catalog: a two-page spread with not only the first issue's brilliant cover, but also a full-page introductory ad. I have to admit, the two phrases in the initial solicitation that piqued my interest enough to pick up and read the eventual trade were "Astrid and Dave are teenagers stuck in a dead-end suburban town living uneventful lives – until …" and "From the co-creator of PHONOGRAM comes this tale of magic, mystery and underage drinking" (which, in retrospect, should have been code for "you are way too old for this").

Upon cracking open the book it's immediately apparent that artistically, McKelvie's weak spots are his perfunctory, almost AutoCAD-like backgrounds and both mundane and dramatic action. He managed to include not one but two of my pet peeves: a character (Astrid's dad) who eats (out of an evidently empty bowl) with his elbow parallel to his shoulder, and while Dave looks quite hip in his unconvincing punch stance (generally, McKelvie can pose his characters successfully; there's a large panel of Astrid sitting on a bench that's the embodiment of pensiveness), despite the villain's limp careen backwards streaming blood at the mouth, there's no sense of the punch's connection or real impact. (The cheesy sound effect and balloon also do a disservice.) The bit of gore is poorly done, as well, but I'm more forgiving of that, since it's not the book's focus. In regards to McKelvie's writing, the slightness of the predictable, wish-fulfillment story is mitigated somewhat by witty dialogue that doesn't seem too far beyond the reach of authentic teenagers, and he sketches out the relationship between the two main characters satisfactorily. The whole effect is Vertigo-lite for a younger crowd (early teens?), which seems to be what Image was aiming for, but here's hoping that the still-young McKelvie can develop enough as a cartoonist to create a more sophisticated work that not only appeals to a variety of ages, but has a little more substance to offer the target demographic.

Hazed OGN (written by Mark Sable and drawn by Robbi Rodriguez, with graytones by Nick Filardi and letters and design by Kristen Ferretti)

The cover on this one hooked me; the illustration and design, featuring a hot coed wielding a blood-dripping paddle emblazoned with Greek letters, had the air of an exploitation film, while the contemporary color palette suggested an updated, knowing twist. The back cover informed me that this "is a dark comedy about three young girl's perilous journey through the world of sororities and eating disorders. Hazed is to comics what Heathers and Mean Girls are to film." So, not only was this supposed to be a black comedy, in my opinion, one of the most impossible genres to do successfully (artistically; commercially as far as I know, they tend not to be too big a draw in any medium), but then to compare it to Heathers and Mean Girls demonstrates both an admirable ambition and an inevitable failure to live up to the hype.

I pretty much agree with Johanna Draper Carlson's assessment of the book: an ineffective assault can look very much like what like what it's supposed to be critiquing, and it doesn't help that Sable is missing several of the key factors in a black comedy: it's not enough to just lay bare society's hypocrisy. As near as I can figure, there should be one main character that the audience can identify at least a little with, so when he or she begins his or her self-aware descent into amorality, the audience feels implicated. (The self-awareness, I think, helps make the difference between a good black comedy and a tragedy.) As such, since the main character, Ileana, is presented at the start as both power-hungry and preachy, loses her scruples in nanoseconds and goes from providing morning-after pills to actively sabotaging birth control with nary a pang for anyone else, it's hard to put oneself in her place (it doesn't help that Sable keeps switching around points of view.) In black comedies, victories can be Pyrrhic, but they shouldn't be meaningless. Rodriguez' stylistic choices are noteworthy (pre-transformation Ileana is drawn adorably, even if, as a character, she isn't adorable), although I have a few canards: there are times when it's difficult to differentiate between characters, and the panel depicting Ileana's transformation into a sexy lady is marred by her very square jaw. Nick Filardi's graytones are uniformly excellent.

Faker TPB (by Mike Carey and Jock (Mark Simpson), with colors by Lee Loughridge)

I imagine that Mike Carey is great at pitching series. The solicitation copy for Faker sounded like it might make for a smart, minor Vertigo thriller:

But this wasn't enough to lure me in: I know that the quality of Carey's writing can vary wildly. However, I've long admired artist Jock's covers, and the first issue's seemed to be a tip of the hat to the glory days of Dave McKean without too slavishly paying tribute (the cover they selected for the trade is somewhat less evocative). This, coupled with the pleasant surprise of Carey's work on Re-Gifters, caused me to take the long shot.

This was my first time seeing Jock's interior art, and I noted his difficulty with expressiveness; in contrast to McKelvie and probably due to his run on The Losers, he's more adept at drawing male characters than female ones (he seemed most comfortable depicting the not-too-bright athlete Sack).[1] He can competently handle action and grotesqueries, and Loughridge's color work is a cut above most of DC's offerings. Especially distracting, however, was his costuming. He had a habit of putting college students running around in the snow in off-the-shoulder T-shirts and short-sleeved flannels; I know that Midwesterners are supposed to be hardy, but it would seem that even they would toss on a jacket when it's 20 below, as is explicitly stated in the caption.

Carey's story, however, is far, far from the smart little thriller I hoped it would be. Actually, with its dumb plot twist, Faker might have worked on a goofy, Z-movie level, but with all of the po-faced noodling about identity and a suicide attempt and sexual blackmail, I don't think this work pulls comedy off, intentionally or unintentionally. (Weirdly enough, I find Faker's sexual politics bizarre, but less offensive than Hazed, probably because of the somewhat hardboiled milieu.) Carey's dialogue in Faker is also conspicuously awkward, unless 2007/'08 college freshmen have taken to talking to each other in torturous set-ups:

Nick (while tossing a can of soda to his roommate, Yvonne or "Y-Front"): Here, Y-Front. One for the show.
Yvonne (working on an art project she's been paid to do by yet another roommate): Nope, it's one for the money. Thank you. [Italics Carey's.]

Not only do I canvas the Previews, but I also sift through a few hundred comics a month for work. The process of looking for a satisfying comics read can be frustrating, disappointing and often fruitless. But I'm happy that I still have a little of that gold fever, and that even a few flecks of the genuine article can keep me looking.