Broken Frontier

If “Ethics” were a class begun in grade school, alongside such heady fellow-subjects as “English” and “Math”, its first year curriculum would read something like Lifelike, a critically acclaimed webcomic showcasing the short comic book stories of Dara Naraghi, with art by a rotating roster of celebrated cartoonists. IDW recently collected the best of the bunch to comprise a 112-page hardcover graphic novel of the same name, though while the book’s visual elements are praiseworthy, Naraghi’s particular brand of short-storytelling panache proves overly unremarkable, a Baby’s First Bible version of complex historical events, or, in other words, it’s inspired by life, but not at all like it.

Thematically, the stories inside Likelike cover extensive ground, and are, on the whole, heartfelt and poignant, as demands the book’s title. But beneath their surface subject matter lies tired, well-tread ground, shallow in depth, barren of life, quickly decorated with (“art by”) colorful, plastic aquarium accoutrements to have it resemble something vibrant. 

The stories are concept-derived, rather than character-driven — wrapped about a G.I. Joe cartoon codicil or any number of commonplace twist endings — a major fault for a series meant to reflect slice-of-life sincerity. The book manages to supply a few spot-on instances, but little beyond. The lion’s share drown in Chicken Soup for the Soul epiphanies or plot points bizarrely used, bizarre due to their obvious overuse.

It begins with The Long Journey , a tale of one Iranian ex-army man, a survivor now living in America, happy with a loving middle-class family, having persevered through the horror of military service for his homeland. Being semi-autobiographical, culled from both Naraghi and his friends’ experiences, the story could have been a powerful kick-off to the collection at large, especially as it’s graced with heavily-detailed and magnificently-hued art by Irapuan Luiz . Unfortunately, though I suppose also honestly (as it does prepare readers for what’s to come throughout the remainder of the GN), Naraghi tacks on a lackluster and familiar finale; one anyone exposed to Brazil, Jacob’s Ladder, or An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge (amongst so many, many others) will recognize instantly.

The follow-up, though, seems initially promising: the promise being that of abetting readers with a swift forgetfulness of the derivative first tale’s finish. The Imaginarians is a story that should, by all means, befit the times. It's a tale inspired by Naraghi’s viewing of a late night talk show host as he attacked some poor, hapless writer for a perceived taboo, claimed extant only by twisting the author’s works and words to fit an unintended message. Were Naraghi’s prowess as an intellectual or even ethical explorer up to the task, this short could have had a powerful impact. But alas, Naraghi chooses fiction-as-inspiration vs. fiction-as-corrupter to be the primary theme, a rather beside-the-point focus of an otherwise important-to-explore media bias. 

Worse, Naraghi doesn’t allow both sides of the argument an intelligent voice, but only the side he agrees with, thereby losing all possible merit to the story’s fundamentally insightful angle. Artist Tom Williams, in his first of two appearances, supplies the images, and with a stroke that’s appealingly amorphous, akin to Fred Darlymple (Pop Gun War, Omega the Unknown), and a suitably subdued color palate to correspond with the story’s fantasy-buried-beneath-reality veneer, Lifelike scores yet another triumph on its art side.

Double Cross at the Double Down is the third story, and it is precisely what its title implies, and therein lies its problem—the story is no more entertaining or surprising or even purposeful beyond the reading of said title. It’s another stock plot concept, a double cross between thieves in a shady bar, and not one iota of element is included besides.  The Lone and Level Sands’ Marvin Mann supplies art, which is indeed an engaging number of pages, as one would expect from this rising star.

His strong visual storytelling style aside, it isn’t enough to add heft to such an empty husk, and in fact, his minimalist élan overextends the tale to eight pages when it should have, at most, been completed in five. (In introduction, it’s revealed that Mann worked from a plot outline alone, wanting to layout the pages using his own style, rather than work from a full script, and this leads to an artist taking charge and showing off, albeit showing off well, but like a jazz master with a one-note tune, it’s gorgeous, but…redundant).

Next up is perhaps the best and only thoroughly thought-provoking piece of the book: Art/Life with properly old-school etchings by Neil Errar . The tale explores a comic artist and a somewhat heated conversation with his gallery-house fine-art friend. A theoretical as well as practical debate of commercial vs. art-for-art’s-sake creativity, Naraghi marvelously explores multiple points and arguments while never having the dialogue turn out-of-character, didactic, or sermonizing. However, in a startling exception to nearly every other story inside Lifelike, it’s the ending that turns this never-ending, unanswerable debate into something worthwhile and unique and (dare I say it) lifelike.

Remembrance follows, with stunning watercolor pages by Jerry Lange. The art suits the sensibility of the story flawlessly; it’ll tug the ol’ heartstrings, though it isn’t an unheard-of short story conceit, it isn’t an everyday one, either, and so should satisfy without offending.

Steven Spenser Ledford lends his skills to Punishment, a ridiculously overdone story idea that hardly deserves to be broken down here. Needless to say, Naraghi’s script could scarcely be more of a solid rip on so many others (not even a riff, but a through-and-through rip). Ledford’s black-and-white art, done entirely by hand (the only one in the book completed sans all computer effects), deserves to grace the next Virgin Comics title, or Vertigo original graphic novel. It wields the detailed realism of Jay Anacleto, though remains firmly entrenched within the cartoonist-territory of, say, Rick Burchett.  Beautiful, and yet definitively “comics”.

Two tales then strike back-to-back, both worthwhile, though the last of Lifelike to be so.  Intermission is a very low-key, roundabout but also entirely smart; a glance at society and  snap judgments, of outer appearances, subculture, and expectations based on such. The art by Andy Bennett (a man known for all number of Caliber, Moonstone, White Wolf, and Image books) paints a simple yet gritty scene, possibly giving the best all-around storytelling in terms of pacing and layout. 

Then comes Crush with more watercolor splendor from Jerry Lange. Naraghi puts the better of his feet forward, one last time, to present a bittersweet tale of lost lesbian love and the struggle between moving on, away from past failure, and allowing the actuality of a present love to supersede. It’s a universal theme, and one worth exploring, and thankfully, Naraghi moves against type and actually explores it.

Next comes Comeback with wonderfully thick-and-black indy-comix art by Tim McClurg.  He lends a surreal and blocky aesthetic (a la Keith Giffen), though the story itself is disappointing, yet another entry that’s head-scratching in its tiredness. As with all such examples, Naraghi scripts it like an original thing, as though it needs no mark of distinction or otherwise necessary identity.

Possibly the oddest (and likewise the longest, at 12 pages), Smoke Break sees the return of artist Marvin Mann, a story whose core is a difficult one to assess. The action is one that revolves around smoking, briefly checking in on its social status and place in people’s lives. The events, that all occur in rapid succession thereafter though, are nearly ad hoc, absolutely non sequiter, wrapping the story in relatively entertaining fashion, but the progression of its characters and subject never come to a surmisable end. The art and layouts are charismatic however, and the story beats read fluid, sans all effort. Mann’s choice of colors is equally unpretentious, whimsical as compared to his earlier offering, and, in my opinion, marks the story as the best, visually, of the bunch.

The Routine is a sophomorically sappy look at obsessive-compulsive disorders and the burden such people must bear. It’s the first of two stories wherein Naraghi tries to announce a need for tolerance and acceptance toward those emotionally or plain-old mentally unbalanced, and while it’s an admirable message, it’s handled with all the clumsiness of an after-school special, especially considering that Naraghi proves unconvinced (or seemingly so) of his own stance.

He begins with the complete allowance of one OCD sufferer, a definite message of looking past the illness to the (but of course) otherwise good-natured soul within, and then moves to a scene with a fellow victim gently reprimanded to work toward becoming healthy again. This then, interestingly, is continued thematically in the final story (so we’ll pick this back up in a mo’). Steve Black handles the art for The Routine, and they are, as with the rest of the stories, well-constructed and serviceable to the needs.

Next up is Rooftop Philosophy, a pointless and predictable short with a “twist” ending along precisely the same line as Double Cross at the Double Down . The art by Adrian Barbu is memorable, if not the strongest definitely the most unforgettable of Lifelike, expressive and exquisitely rendered, though the story itself does no justice to it, which is one mighty shame.

Penultimately, then, we come to the second Tom Williams piece, which was, so the intro claims, an earlier work than Imaginarians, though what it lacks in slickness it more than makes up for with sheer lucidity and dynamism, along with a more playful coloring scheme. 

Naraghi’s script, herein, is well-told, though much like Smoke Break it’s hindered by a complete lack of decipherable climax. Ostensibly, the story moves to explore a similar theme as Intermission, judging-a-book-by-its-cover and the dichotomy of outward appearance and internal passions, though in this case via tattoo culture and two polar-opposite businessmen friends. It nearly succeeds, but wallows too long in ever-perambulating Tarantino-esque conversation, without ever concentrating on the point at hand.

Finally, there’s Repair, a sort-of companion piece to The Routine, with Naraghi once again ham-fistedly giving a Hallmark-moment to show modern culture’s need to endure and abide, and even actively move to understand, those socially in need. And yet Naraghi pulls short of showing such understanding and instead promotes a shoulder-shrug of tolerance as equating to the same, as though passivity on one end would magically achieve a positive result on the other. 

This is a sugary-sweet and optimistic view, but not a terribly considered one, akin to saying paradise is found in simply loving one another — it’s true, but not helpful. Shom Buiya supplies the final few pages of sequential art, and with a keen flair of Ryan Otley mixed with Troy Nixey, it’s a perfect visual note to wrap with.

Lifelike is a veritable showcase of new and recently discovered talent, and, yes, that includes Dara Naraghi. I’m surprised to find myself so out-of-sorts with the writer’s personal choice of short story, as I’d thought his comic adaptations of Cory Doctorow’s fiction in Futuristic Tales of the Here and Now to be splendid, written with a dedicated sense of character, pace, and dialogue. 

Sadly, I can’t recommend Lifelike the way I’d hoped to, and this marks the very first IDW hardcover of an independent property to disappoint. Naraghi is a writer with potential, and his choice in artists is impeccable, but until he holds his own storytelling to a higher standard, Lifelike will only be for those who love short stories, showcases, and anthologies without question.  Everyone else may want to wait for round two, at least.