By: Bill Willingham (story), Mark Buckingham (pencils), Steve Leialoha & Andrew Peopy (inks), Lee Loughridge (colors)
The Story: And now we know why we make kids wait until they’re 18 before setting them free.
The Review: In one of my favorite episodes of 30 Rock, harassed writer Liz Lemon snaps at melodrama queen Jenna Maroney, “…you’re so insecure you get jealous at babies for their soft skin!” “And for all the attention they get!” adds Jenna. Setting aside the ludicrousness of the scene, Jenna alludes to a well-trodden observation about children: no matter the context, they instantly and always get all our focus.
And deservedly so; being more vulnerable to everything dangerous or malevolent, kids really do need our extra attention. Maybe that’s why the moment you have a child in a threatening situation, the tension suddenly becomes a lot heavier than you’d even notice with adults. In this arc, we have not just one, but two children at risk. One endures grievous injury and the other goes through a psychological wringer while physically wasting away.
For Darien, the novel experience of feeling actual pain, lots of it, seems to clear away some of his usual cockiness. If you aren’t impressed enough by the quick-thinking he uses to survive, you can’t ignore his determination to limp onward despite his afflictions and without any back-up whatsoever (Ranger Mike Danger literally crumbles against the Discardian defense and Lord Mountbatten sadly proves less of a match for an oversized, half-decrepit teddy bear than you might expect). Already Darien seems permanently changed, hardier and warier than before.
No less profoundly changed is Therese, who goes through a different sort of suffering. Had Willingham left her agony at starvation, that might have been enough of a burden for any child, but perhaps her maturation wouldn’t have gone so far: “…I promise from now on I’ll eat everything on my plate every night! Even meatloaf and peas!” But he goes even further, having Teddy St. Ives reveal truths that would be beyond the mettle of grown-ups, rather yet kids.
The big twist in this issue is the kind of Willingham brilliance for which he is rightfully admired. Dissecting the grief of abandoned toys is a straightforward thing (think of the premise behind every single Toy Story movie), but what about the psyche of toys who—spoiler alert—by pure misfortune cause the deaths of their owners? The presence of each resident in Madland is thus haunting, not only because of their physical and emotional damage, but also because each one represents the death of a child. More curiously, they claim that they’re “banished” to Madland, but who, it must be asked, does the banishing?
I wish I could find more specific things to say about Buckingham’s work beyond him simply doing a fine job, but that’s all I can think of. His artwork tells Willingham’s intended story without bells and whistles; it conveys action and drama with equal if not outstanding strength; and you come away from his art affected, sometimes touched, but without lingering feelings.
At this point in the Bufkin feature, I actually couldn’t care less if the revolution in Oz succeeds or fizzles out to a memorable, “Occupy”-like ignominy. That said, it does offer a dose of humor against the fairly grim stuff we have in the rest of the issue. The hilariously low bounty on Emperor Roquat (“Two lollipops for my head?”) is the kind of gag that can’t really exist anywhere else but in Fables, for which I’m eternally grateful, and Shawn McManus’ depiction of Roquat’s outrage has a Bluto-esque quality that makes it even more comically enjoyable.
Conclusion: We don’t have any massive force of darkness descending upon our fairy tale characters, but the stakes are just as high.
Grade: B+
– Minhquan Nguyen
Some Musings: – I know that if I ever declare insurrection against somebody, I will be referring to them as the “stinky poop upstart emperor.”
Grade
Conclusion