Alex de Campi: Gojira!

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WHO

FILM & TV

COMICS & BOOKS

28.2.05 "I'll buy that for a dollar!"

Help make my old comics go away. Nearly all start at £0.99:

MANGA: Demon Diary / Hellsing / Rebirth lot. Iron Wok Jan v1-3. Trigun v.1. Appleseed (Masamune Shirow) v2-4.

TRADES: Full run of Preacher trades, vols 1-9. McSweeney's Comic Edition (Chris Ware). DR STRANGE Separate Reality & Essential trades. Punisher (Ennis) hardback vol 2. Authority: Relentless (Ellis, v1) trade. Bryan Talbot's Tale of One Bad Rat. Jim Lee/WildStorm Divine Right trades 1 & 2.

OTHER MARVEL STUFF: Earth X singles. X-STATIX first trade plus some singles. Agent X/Deadpool singles. Spidey lot: Ultimate trades 1, 4 and 6; Amazing 499-501, a few other odds and sods. MK Daredevil early singles.

OTHER DC STUFF: Lot of Hitman singles. DC Goffick lot: Lucifer 29-57 plus most of Light Brigade and Blood+Water. Batman/Phantom Stranger & Batman/Darkness prestige books. Large Hellblazer lot of Carey, Azzarello issues, LOVE STREET mini, other odds & sods.

MORE OLD WILDSTORM STUFF THAN ANY ONE GIRL SHOULD OWN: Alan Moore: Early PROMETHEA issues incl 1; TOM STRONG 1-6; early LOEG and Top 10 issues. WildCats lot, nearly full run of v3, much of v2, v1 and rarities including a quality pig-ugly variant holofoil cover. Oh, those were the days. GEN 13 15+ issues plus some rare stuff. Big Soldier-Man comics lot: Deathblow, Team 7, Black Ops, etc. Plus full run of DV8.

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25.2.05 Crashing In Slow Motion

Friday. Coming off a massive two weeks of work. Film deadlines met; go me. SMOKE issue 1 listed in the current issue of Previews, which was a thrill to see. Spent last night going over the (gorgeous) thumbnails for Issue 1 of FAUST. There's a page turn in there that hits like a sock in the jaw. God, I love it when something works even better than how I imagined it.

DEFECTIVE COMICS actually threatening to come together in time for Bristol, as is COMMERCIAL SUICIDE. Lee O'Connor on board to do the DEFECTIVE cover; Simon Fraser doing the CS cover. I leave you with some things I'm digging, right now.

The sketches of the divine Egon Schiele:

Ralph Waldo Emerson on writing good characters: "Sow an action and reap a habit. Sow a habit and reap a character. Sow a character and reap a destiny."

Flipron, who sound like the demented soundtrack to a lost Tim Burton film about Margate. Go, download. Gig on Monday at The Social for those lucky enough to be in London.

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21.2.05 Further Adventures Of A Spoilt Brat

I am a very lucky girl. SMOKE, my first pro comic project, is being illustrated by Igor Kordey. FAUST, my second one, will be fully painted by Seb Camagajevac. The third one out of the gate, a sci-fi epic, is going to look like this (click for big version):

I can't give more details about this mystery panel at present, other than to say that I'm deliriously happy with the art and, once again, can't believe my luck.

Meanwhile, Sam Hart and I are finishing up a pitch for a creator-owned teen spy-team series. It's big, it's fun, and it's not as dumb as it looks. Stay tuned.

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17.2.05 Mecha-Lutte

Yesterday I spent half an hour with the translator for my European project discussing the right French terminology for a gladiatorial duel between two men armoured in robot war-suits.

I love what I do.

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12.2.05 You'll Never Believe A Drawing This Bad Was Published

I draw this week's illustration for Budgie Barnett's serialised novel, YOU'LL NEVER BELIEVE A MAN CAN FLY. Scroll down - the illo at the top is by the rather more talented Cath Tomlinson.

As for mine... see the rules of perspective completely ignored! Watch the inventive fudges to hide that she can't draw hands to save her life! Observe the cunning lack of background! Snicker as you tell exactly where the ink started to go all clumpy, because she was too stupid to change it! Laugh at the utter absence of shading!

Still, sometimes there's no better way to waste a day than with a number 4 brush, a sheet of bristol, and a big new pot of ink.

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10.2.05 Talk Talk Talk

Neil Kleid has a fun column about writing called The Big Pond. This week, he talks about ideas, and invites Chris Lamb and me to talk back. I get to namecheck Yeats, Cocteau and Ray Bradbury. Yay.

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9.2.05 Commercial Suicide 3.0

As with most great journeys of the human spirit, it began in the pub. "Let's do a 'zine for Bristol!" said Sick Tim. "Let's make it really, really sick, and really funny!" "Capital idea!" we all said. Somehow Kieron Gillen and I ended up organising it.

And now we are three. Nobody is more amazed than us. COMMERCIAL SUICIDE is now opening submissions for its bumper third issue, to be launched at the UK's Bristol con in May. The 'zine, perfect for fans of SOUTH PARK, THE LEAGUE OF GENTLEMEN, VIZ (UK) or simply offending passing elderly relations, COMMERCIAL SUICIDE 2.0 featured such socially irredeemable strips as "The New Adventures of Sigmund Freud" by Juan Arteaga and Felipe Sobreiro; "Daisy Cashes In" by Alex de Campi; and "Richie Clatt: Internet Twat" by Viktor Smart.

"While there may be more artistically minded anthologies in the world, we're the only one which features Sigmund Freud in S&M gear fighting international terrorism with only radical psychoanalysis and martial arts." Co-tyrant Kieron Gillen effuses, "These things really matter".

COMMERCIAL SUICIDE accepts submissions from anyone and everyone, and chooses its scripts based purely on whether they make us laugh. We need writers to script us 1-8 page stories, and we need artists to draw them. We also need artists for the front and back covers. Deadline for scripts is March 30th; deadline for finished art May 1. Email me or join the discussion on the V if you are interested in being part of our brave, vile little 'zine.

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7.2.05 In Which I Bang On About Eurofilth, Again

I write this week's Comment in Ninth Art, about fabulous European indie/alternative comics. Go, read. I've been a bit chary about writing these recently, as my predilection for saying exactly what I think means that I'm always rude about someone, and then I Get In Trouble. My New Year's resolution to only write nice reviews in the Ninth Eight has already crashed and burned. Twice. But this time, I think I've managed to be sweet and angelic for the entire column.

Erghm, except the bit where I call Frederic Boilet a rice-chaser. Forgot about that.

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6.2.05 Notes On A Sunday

To Brick Lane, for a friend's birthday lunch. In the five years I have lived in London, this area has transformed itself with breakneck speed from down at heel East End neighbourhood to the new Notting Hill. Its Disneyfication has been so rapid that many who have not seen it choose to dismiss it as a rumour put about by nefarious estate agents. My friend’s sister was aghast when she found out his birthday lunch would be in Brick Lane. She warned him, sotto voce, that there were thirty-something gangs in that area. I can vouch that this is still true - there are indeed gangs of thirtysomethings roaming the pedestrianised streets and converted warehouse malls of E1. The Ironic Hair Squad square off against the Minimalist Brigade in front of retro design shops, while the Vintageers clutch their original Halston bags and sneer at them both for not being "authentic" enough.

The area is so trendy that the dodgy street sellers don't offer white heather or bruised roses "for the lady". Instead they carry four-foot-long pussywillow branches and bundles of peacock feathers. In front of Spitalfields Market, an old Bangladeshi man, raisin-faced and white-bearded, sells bunches of peacock feathers to passersby. He wears a blue knit watchcap, a Prince of Wales plaid suitjacket, jumper, grey sarong, navy socks, white Reeboks. The teal of his jumper matches the eyes of the peacock feathers; I wonder if his wife picked it out for him.

He does a brisk business. One peacock feather, two pounds. Three peacock feathers, five pounds. From where I stand, he is perfectly framed by the fearsome geometry of Hawksmoor's Christ Church, which marks the end of Brushfield Street with all the terrifying finality of the grave. The old man, oblivious, not his God anyway, waves his bundle of feathers in benediction, blessing the wallets of the Sunday crowds flowing from vintage mart to bar to boutique. Christ Church's doors are open, its lights shine warmly, but nobody goes inside. There is nothing to buy in there.

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3.2.05 Good, Bad, Indifferent

Some good news: A French publisher is interested in the French rights to SMOKE. And it's one of the three French publishers that I consider really amazing. Nothing is certain for some time yet, but fingers crossed. Igor is getting some amazing offers of work in France, more than he can cope with.

Also, I came home to find the contract for my FAUST adaptation waiting in my inbox. It's on, baby! Six fully-painted issues of love, demons and ruin, debuting late this year. Announcements to come later from the publisher.

Stephen Wilson and I worked overtime the past few days to get a feature film pitch in to Rankin/DAZED & CONFUSED, which is why I've been a bit quiet. Check out the cover page here, complete with Stephen's ace illustrations. I'm probably going to work this up as a spec script in my (laughably small) spare time, so any producers looking for a low-budget Ealing-Comedy-meets-Japanese-Indie-Flick style feature, talk to me.

Some bad news: Our publisher for our girls' comic is umming and ah-ing over the book for longer than expected, and as we all know I am THE LEAST PATIENT PERSON IN THE UNIVERSE. Am I coping with the wait? No, I am not.

Meanwhile: Sean Azzopardi has uploaded some of his photos from Angoulême. I adore his rather David Hockney-esque pic of the queue to get into the comic museum on Saturday.

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1.2.05 Fair Warning:

If you show me your portfolio at any point in the next few weeks, this is what I am likely to say to you:

Click for bigger version. From the awesome website of manga-ka Robert de Jesus.

I'm only resurfacing after a trip to Angouleme, aka Comic Heaven. I survived; I spoke French; people didn't laugh at me. I bought lovely comics. It was all good.

Well, it was mostly good. On the first (Thursday) morning, Simon and I had a meeting with a high-powered agent. We were swept back into the VIP area of Delcourt, one of my favourite French publishers, passing by all the poor souls queueing for portfolio reviews. After a great meeting where we met some of the Delcourt senior editors, Simon and I fairly strutted out of the VIP area, feeling pretty damn good about ourselves. The folks in Portfolio Purgatory glared at us. We continued to grin, and stepped over the velvet rope separating the VIP area from the rest of the stand...

...and the back of my heel catches on the rope.

WHA-BAM!

I fall flat on my face. In front of EVERYONE.

Even better, I had managed to rip the rope out of the wall. Go, girl.

Aside from my seemingly unavoidable tendency toward property damage, the rest of the con went really well. My European editor mentioned the magic word "contract", so I'm a happy bunny. Angouleme is both more low-key and more amazing than San Diego. Killing time while waiting for an editor (something any freelancer does, a lot), I was wandering around one of the two big publisher tents, where I saw a small, old man signing books. "Huh," I thought to myself. "Dude draws just like Sergio Toppi." Blink! Dude was Sergio Toppi. FANGIRL MOMENT! And the comics! Boy, do European indie comics crap all over what we do from a very great height. I'll have an article in Ninth Art next week on some of the amazing alternative stuff coming out of Europe. Meanwhile, if you speak French, buy this book.

Big shout to Ed, Nick, Paul, and Simon for babysitting the Angouleme newbie.

( 10:32 AM ) (0) comments