The timing of The Raven’s home video release is a curious one as I am busily teaching my eighth graders about the short story, using Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart” as the first example. This feature film was released in the spring and sank without making much of a ripple at the box office, unlike Poe, who startled readers with amazing regularity for over a decade before his tragic, mysterious death.

To introduce the students to Poe, we reviewed his life which had him all over the northeast, marrying a thirteen year old relative and fighting depression and alcohol while trying to be the best writer or journalist he could be. His works of prose and poetry made for excellent reading in the newspapers and magazines while he laid the groundwork for contemporary detective fiction and helped transition us from the more genteel gothic tale to one of pure horror.

Screenwriters Ben Livingston and Hannah Shakespeare used the unrecorded circumstances of Poe’s final days and blended them with elements drawn from his works to tell this particular story that fails to be a solid detective yarn or be particularly scary. Director James McTeigue’s (V for Vendetta) best move was to cast John Cusak as Poe, giving us a sympathetic character, although he appears far too robust given what really happened in Baltimore back in 1849. Foreshadowing the serial killers that became a staple of newspapers and novels decades later, this story shows us Poe chasing such a killer.

None of it really happened and the R-rated film is too violent for my young charges to see, which may be just as well given its lack of real suspense or good writing. Even the pounding soundtrack is more distracting than unsettling, just another layer of noise on an all-too busy film.

Why is he in Baltimore? Not chasing a killing but there to woo and marry Emily Hamilton (Alive Eve), despite the disapproval of her father, Captain Charles (Brendan Gleeson). He’s also drunk and in need of work, hoping to land some assignment from editor, Maddox (Kevin McNally). During this time, someone is killing young women in a manner reminiscent of Poe’s work so Police detective Emmett Fields (Luke Evans) summons Poe for a consultation and suddenly the game is afoot.

If you enjoy Poe’s work, you will appreciate the nods which have been woven or shoved into the fabric of the story but on the whole it is tedious business, not at all helped from flat dialogue and characterizations to a less than effective atmosphere. And it also avoids being interesting by being very predictable so of course Emily falls into the killer’s hands and Poe will be the only one to save her. Had the screenwriters actually used Poe’s structure of building suspense and playing with the psychological underpinnings of gothic fiction, things might have turned out far differently. Instead, we’re left checking our watch and wondering how such rich material could feel so obvious.

The film’s transfer to Blu-ray is nicely handled and McTiegue’s dark, shadowy shots retain their black moodiness. Similarly, the audio work is just swell.

McTiegue and producers Marc D. Evans, Trevor Macy, and Aaron Ryder provide rich details on the film’s making in the audio commentary. The disc also comes with six Deleted and Extended Scenes (10:41); none of which are missed. The Raven Guts: Bringing Death to Live (13:32) is a just-right-length making of featurette while the teaching in me wanted more from The Madness, Misery, and Mystery of Edgar Allen Poe (9:50), as a pair of experts tell us what Poe’s life was really like, especially at the end. There are three additional pieces: Behind the Beauty and Horror (2:18), The Raven Presents John Cusack & James McTeigue (2:45), and Music for the Raven – The Team (5:10).

I’m tempted to be cheeky. I was considering writing this whole article in a faux-eulogy for our newly departed (departing …) series from the New 52. But, let’s be honest, I’ve done it before. So, how about we cut through the pretense and figure out why – beyond the obvious – these series are headed back to the scrap pile.

For those not in-the-know, Blue Beetle, Grifter, and Frankenstein: Agent of S.H.A.D.E have been given the axe. Ask Bob Wayne, Sales Guru of DCNew, and he’ll proudly produce the following PRSpeak:

“There’s always going to be some pressure on whether or not the new idea being pitched is maybe more exciting than another series we have that may have already told its story,” he said. “That might mean it’s maybe time to put that title on the shelf for a while or have the characters migrate into some other title. So there’s not really a hard and fast rule where there’s a line in the sand where if it falls below this point on the Diamond chart or doesn’t make this percentage of X, it’s gone. It’s really very story driven.”

So, there you have it kiddos. Blue Beetle, Grifter, and Frankenstein simply told their story. And they needed to sit out for a while so some new books can grace the shelf. Well, that’s sort of true. As ComicBookResources properly reported, all three of the titular characters here will all show up in new books. Consider then, if you will, the following conundrum: If a title is canceled in the forest, and no one cares, can you just move the important pieces into another book and call it a day?

I’ll be honest. Out of those three books, I’ve only read one. I purchased the first 10 issues of Blue Beetle. I gave up after one too many crossovers and false starts. This is after I reviewed the book, positively, over at MichaelDavisWorld. Simply put? The series has yet to find solid ground to stand on. Akin largely to the now defunct Static Shock series, I felt the editorially mandated ‘must-see-teevee’ issue drive has tanked the series. Over the course of just a year in publication, Blue Beetle has received his super powers, fought his best friend (who became a villain Beetle), moved to New York, got in the way of the DEO and Director Bones, fought his best friend again, fought Kyle Rayner’s rainbow brigade, and will end his series fighting the Reach, creators of his bug-suit. I’m pretty sure before the end of this volume, he may fight his best friend again. Is it any wonder the story is ending? It never started!

Over at Frankie and the Slim Shadies? Different song, same dance. On paper, it’s actually a bit baffling. The series has enjoyed a nearly consistent creative team – and a cursory look over several review sites even show that the book was consistently entertaining. But as I glazed over the 13 available covers, I saw a schizophrenic book. One week, the mean green machine is slaying the rot. Another week? An underwater monster. Then some insects. Then OMAC. Obviously, Jeff Lemire knows how to write well. And it appears he tried to breath as much life into the book as the lightening bolts would let him. But what I didn’t see there in all the reviews … consistency of story. I guess when you have to change gears like Frank swaps limbs, it’s not an easy task to stay alive. Heh.

And how about Grifter. Much has been written about the Rob Liefeld production. Suffering from the same repeated editorial mandates, and shoehorning of the Wildstorm Universe into the DCU … is it any wonder that all of the WU books are tanking on the sales sheets? Ooops. Sorry. I mean “story sheets.” Because all of this is really story driven, folks. Keep the simple facts in mind. They had a team in place at launch. Nathan Edmondson and CAFU. It didn’t take even six issues for the carousel of artists to fill in and out of the book. Then at issue nine, enter Liefeld’s typewriter. And three issues later? Another new penciler. Is it any shock to you that when a book changes artists this much, it’s circling the drain? Go look on your shelves right now, and count for me the number of creative team shifts that occurred in the best runs of your favorite books. Yeah. I thought so.

Ultimately, these three series each have had high points and low. By their very nature of being DC titles, they see sales indy guys like me and my kin would kill for. They are distributed far and wide. They are reviewed on countless sites. They are picked apart and debated for their merits. At the end of the day though … the powers that be want to see success. And put any spin on it you want … if the book isn’t banking beaucoup bucks (or I surmise … banking enough to be above water, or carrying the possibility of future licensing deals), the grave is dug in the ditch next to the road. Let’s not be unrealistic; we knew that the New52 was not going to deliver 52 critically-acclaimed sales-powerhouses. The zeitgeist would never have been able to sustain that much hype, love, and attention. What this is … is what it’s always been; the nature of the comic industry is to die and be reborn at the right place and the right time.

Mourn not for Grifter, Blue Beetle, or Frankenstein, kiddos. They’ll all be back, and be canceled just as quickly, when we cover the New52 NOW next year.

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

Art: Jamie Chase

Sequential Pulp Comics has shared a grisly glimpse into the nightmarish inner world of Pellucidar, as conceived by artist Jamie Chase for the upcoming graphic novel of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ classic sci-fi adventure, AT THE EARTH’S CORE.

At The Earth’s Core is written by Martin Powell with artwork by Jamie Chase. This project is authorized by ERB, Inc., and published by Sequential Pulp/Dark Horse Comics.

You can learn more about Sequential Pulp Comics at www.SequentialPulpComics.com.
You can learn more about Dark Horse Comics at www.darkhorse.com.

People with cancer describe a phenomenon they call “chemo brain,” a side effect of the tumor-killing drugs that also destroys their short-term memory. I would like to coin another term.

Con brain!

Con brain is what happens to an otherwise mature adult after several days spent in the company of a hundred thousand comic and pop culture fans enclosed in a relatively small space for a comic book convention.

My experience started out simply enough. My friend, Vivek Tiwary, was on a panel at Jim Hanley’s Universe on “A Celebration of Pop Music Comics”, and he wanted me there, since I helped him to get the deal for his graphic novel with Dark Horse. The panel included friendly faces like David Gallaher and Jamal Igle. To my surprise, it also included Punk Magazine editor John Holmstrom, whom I’ve known for decades and who, in my opinion, is the most ripped-off person in comics and graphic design (a bold statement, I know, and too long an explanation for this column. Ask me later). Both Vivek and John gave me shout-outs, proving that I am the most important person in the rock’n’roll/comics intersection.

The next day, I went to the Javits Center early for a meeting. As it turned out, the hall was closed to anyone but exhibitors until later in the afternoon, but I know how to stride in with a group like I belong, so that wasn’t an issue. Everything went swimmingly. Alas, I made the mistake of leaving the hall, and had to use my hard-won knowledge of the building’s labyrinthine tunnels and hallways to get back in.

By the time the show actually opened, things quickly got so crowded and noisy that I couldn’t hear any of the people with whom I was walking, nor could I see where I was going. I went home, put a cat on my lap, and chilled.

On Friday, I had the most surrealistic experience of the show. I attend a bereavement support group that meets near 34th Street. When it was over, I walked to the center, going past Herald Square and Macy’s, Penn Station, Madison Square Garden, and large swaths of Manhattan with office buildings. And, interspersed with tourists, people with jobs on their lunch hour, and the normal New York horde, were people in costumes heading west. If anybody but me thought it was odd to see anime characters and guys with capes and masks walking down the street, they kept it to themselves.

From then on, all is a fog. I saw more people I like (including Walter Simonson, whom I might have hugged a little bit too long). I got hit in the face with more backpacks. I ruined more pictures by walking between the photographer and the subjects, because, I’m sorry, but just because you are in costume doesn’t mean you get to take up an entire aisle.

Still, I noticed a few things. It seemed to me that almost half the attendees were female, a huge change since I started going to these things. I don’t know if shows like The Big Bang Theory have reassured girls that they can handle geek culture, or if there are simply more of us out of the closet, but it’s a much better feeling from my first shows, when women would confide in me that they were followed into the bathroom by guys who couldn’t believe they were really girls at such an event.

Perhaps as a result, there were fewer artists in Artists Alley promoting characters with gigantic breasts and other impossible tricks of anatomy. I only remember one, whose super heroine had breasts started just under her clavicle and ended at her armpit. I mean, I like a little uplift, but, you know, ouch.

By the end of the show I sounded like every character in every action movie ever made, muttering “I’m getting too old for this shit.” I’m starting to feel that, as a short older person, I need to be lifted up on a chair and taken around the rooms carried by four shirtless body-builders, like a sultan from a Bob Hope sketch.

Still, I was moved by this story on the Bleeding Cool website, comparing four days at a comics convention to a religious experience. I envy those of you who get to experience this for the first time.

It’s a treasure. Don’t bury it.

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman